Corrupt Creations - Chapter 402

Song Woo-Moon is the son of a simple inn owner in the countryside.

His body is weak since childhood, and one day, a landscape painting received as a gift from an old Daoist causes his mind to become weak as well.

For years, he is teased as being the village fool, and he grows up as nothing more than a pathetic burden to his parents.

The day he turns twenty, however, his life changes!

Something awakens within him—the supreme martial arts within the landscape painting!

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The apocalyptic girl Luo Qiao dressed as a poor little girl with supernatural powers.

I got a space by chance, which is really gratifying.

However, he found that he not only traveled through but also wore a book, and the original body in the book had a tragic fate!

Hehe, with powers and space in hand, Luo Qiao said she didn’t need anyone.

But the disabled boss in the village, who was said to be eccentric, wanted to help her everywhere.

Luo Qiao rolled her eyes, hehe, it’s not bad to hug your thighs and find a backer first.

See how a beautiful wife is raised, and see how Luo Qiao is free. …

- Description from novelbuddy

In a monstrous post-apocalyptic setting, this is a story of how a lowly Inventor, Lance, conquered a nation governed by immoral group of Scientists called The Corporation. He grew and climbed up to the highest rank possible as a Scientist with his inventions and side businesses. Eventually, he became a weapons inventor, building weapons to two opposing sides. In doing so, Lance always crossed a dilemma. How could a nobody topple the most powerful government? How could one overcome circumstances beyond his grasp, especially in a world filled with monstrous mutations called the Abominants?

On the way to a company workshop, we fell into a world of immortal cultivators while still in the car.

Those with spiritual roots and unique abilities were all called to join cultivation sects, living prosperously.

But I, having neither spiritual roots nor special abilities, lived as an ordinary mortal for 50 years, complying with fate until my death.

That’s what I thought.

Until I regressed.