Death God of the Drifting Moon - Chapter 129 -

This is the era where people prioritize science and Martial Dao. After the great disaster, the human race discovered the Ancient Zenith civilization. They entered the Age of Great Cultivation and began their journey to colonize the Kunlun Realm!

Emir, a 24-year-old man, finds himself reincarnated as a newborn into a post-apocalyptic world of peril and hardship, where monsters and humans fight an unending battle for survival.

He now resides within the very pages of a novel he once read—a narrative fated for a tragic conclusion, a narrative that granted him an early death.

Diving deeper into the realm of hunters, he unravels layers of the tale that far surpass what he once thought of as a simple novel.

He realizes the truth of the massive world he resides in and that he is but a speck of dust under its control.

However, he was at least acquainted with the rules of this captivating game before it fully consumed him.

Now, no longer content with mere survival, he seeks to dominate over the very fabric of this unforgiving universe.

Within its expanse, Ancient Clans, Galactic Federations, and Factions preside over colossal ruins that dwarf the concept of life itself.

He ascends through these entities’ diminished versions as they leave a mark on his journey.

This causes him to grow from the pawn he once was, as he drives himself relentlessly to unravel the boundaries of Aether—the essence that binds their reality—in his pursuit to seize his starless destiny at any cost, earning him the epithet “Prince Of The Fallen.”

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Jianghu was in turmoil, an era of great strife. The leader of Great Qin wielded the Mo Blade, leaving the world battered and bruised. The ageless figures of Jianghu crouched upon the mountains, and with a single turn, they cast the entire world below them. Strong men measured the earth with their feet, and heroes of Jianghu could cleave the heavens with one sword, yet in the blink of an eye, they were drunk in the embrace of beauties. The Taoist carried his sword, the Scholar drunk on wine. Wearing tattered clothes, a beggar grasped a rotten branch and dared to storm the ancestral hall of the Taoist Sect. On the willow-lined causeway, in the long pavilion, a man who had sat withered for thirty years turned and stepped out, holding a peach blossom, with a flick of his wrist, he shattered ten miles of red candles. The era of Great Qin was renamed the Great Yuan Era. The youth with the Wooden Sword left his mountain village behind.

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