Binjiang Police Affairs - Chapter 290 - 207: Running Out of Money Again_3

What if a power to level up or upgrade everything—your way of living, battle skills, military prowess, etc.—but this power is limited to your Eldritch tribe.Would you expand your tribe to rise above all adversaries, would you use it to gain more personal power or use it to toy with everyone?Lyerin wanted nothing more than peace on himself, but all he had was regret. He possessed a secret ability that allowed him to quickly excel at anything he chose, but he could only use it once.While others had to spend a long time to reach higher levels or master new skills, he only needed to complete a simple, specific task to level up.However, he had already used this ability to count a specific number of sand grains to save his own life. After that, his existence became a living hell.One day, he was unexpectedly sent back in time, where he would witness numbers appearing in the sky, signaling the end of the world again—an apocalypse he despised the most!But Lyerin realized he could use his ability once more, this time on a certain group of people.A TRIBE!```[ Ding! ][ You have chosen to level up knife slash! As a Wildling of your tribe, you can level up your knife slash. ][ Condition: Slash the knife 500 times. ][ You have chosen a random tree to level up! The tree is part of your tribe; you can level it up. ][ Condition: Water the tree 300 times. ][ You cannot level up anymore due to your limited rank within the tribe. Raise your rank in the clan first. ][ Condition: Give honor to the tribe. ][ You have reached the peak level of your tribe. If you want to level up further, improve and level up your clan! ][ Condition: Level up the Ancestral Healing Ritual, level up the Newborn Den, and level up the tribe's farm. ]```With this overpowered ability, can he still hold onto his selfish wish for peace within himself?

A world only I know of, now I will take it all for myself.There’s no kind soul here willing to share and eat nicely with others.Only the ruthless one who will devour it all alone exists here.

There is always the desire to be the strongest, the fastest, the smartest, and to reach the apex of everything. To some, they believe that talent determines everything. To others, hard work is more important. For many to reach the apex of any field a combination of talent, hard work, and determination is needed.

In a world where powerful demons, unkillable immortals, and strange monsters ran amok. Where human lives were treated on the same level as ants. Yoze, a young man who had transmigrated from earth to this dangerous world could only rely on his hard work, strong will, and his cheat, the Second Best System to that makeup for his lack of talent and resources.

With his desire to improve his family's life and his ambition to reach and surpass human limits, he set his eyes on passing the Scholar exam as he took his first step toward dominating the world.

“You are a genius of 1000 years. Okay, I'm a genius of 900 years.”

“You are the most talented runner in the world. That's okay, I'm fine with taking second place.”

“Having the most talent doesn't mean anything unless you use it. You are born with talent. I earned it. You are afraid of demons while I cherish seeing every demon.” Yoze smiled as he looked at the Immortal below his feet.

“I heard that Immortals can't die. Let's test that rumor.”

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“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

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