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... Demon Abuzzard of the Demon King's Palace!"

"Who?" Lydia asked, and Arshella replied.

"You two don't know, I suppose. He was a spirit who led the famous <Magre canal> troop. I heard he was killed in the battle for Feymbaum."

"spirits can be killed??"

Tiriel asked back, her eyes widening.

The spirits are living armors, powerful armored knights with no essence and no life. It is also the direct guardian of the demon king and is known to be unleashed a ...

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[Delicate little fairy VS ruthless villain boss] Sweet pet article.

Lin Qianxiao, the princess of the fairy world, accidentally got cannon fodder when she was watching the gods fighting.

After waking up, she transmigrated into a book written by her old opponent to smear her, and became the short-lived female partner of the same name in the book.

The female supporting role was originally a wealthy daughter, but she did a good job. She cheated on the villain’s boss husband, angered her mother-in-law to death, and finally, was tortured by the villain’s husband’s revenge and died tragically in a mental hospital.

Fortunately, Lin Qian smiled before the death of the original female supporting role. In order to avoid the same tragic ending as the original owner, she tried to please her mother-in-law and hugged the villain’s thigh tightly.

*

When he first got married, Jiang Zhi drove his newlywed wife to sleep on the sofa, and warned her coldly: “If you don’t want to be cleaned up, just be more obedient.”

Later, Lin Qian smiled impatiently with the energetic Jiang Zhi, hugged the pillow and threatened, “I’m going to sleep on the sofa tonight!”

Jiang Zhi clasped his wife’s slender waist, pampering and coaxing: “I promise I won’t do anything.”

the next day.

The sun was shining outside the window, and the man was lazy in bed. Lin Qianxiao ran to throw off the quilt, but was pressed into his arms by the man, and his warm breath sprayed her ears, “You woke me up.”

Lin Qian blushed with embarrassment and protested angrily, “I just told you to get up.”

Jiang Zhi kissed her with a smile on his dark eyes.

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On that day, the fog blocked everything.

On that day, he became the captain of a ghost ship.

On that day, he stepped through the thick fog and confronted a completely subverted and fragmented world—the old order had vanished, strange phenomonoms dominated the endless seas beyond civilized society, and isolated island city-states and fleets of ships challenged the sea that had become the last ember of lights for the civilized world. All of this while the shadows of the old days were still stirring in the deep sea, waiting to to devour this world that was about to die.

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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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