PREVIEW

... ything in a terrifying essence of fire. Only unique lifeforms capable of withstanding the heat of suns are born there. They live their records based on this, and eventually, they too hold the chance of becoming Entities capable of obtaining a True Source. Frequencies of moderate Purity and Complexity—even within them, there are few True Sources capable of being born. But above Prime Frequencies... there are Frequencies born of an established and brilliant True Source of Existence itself."

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This is a time of great powers: The vast Persia, Sparta that was founded by force, Athens with its trade and business, Thebes the rising star, The ambitious Macedonia, The twin heroes of the Western Mediterranean, The rising Rome and so on.

This is an era of brilliant stars: Agesilaus II – the last king of Sparta, Epaminondas – the Rising General of Thebes, Philip II – the founder of Macedonian’s hegemon, Dionysius – the tyrant of Syracuse, Camillus – the Roman dictator and savior…

This is an era of contention among a hundred schools of thought: Plato – the great philosopher, Antisthenes – founder of cynicism, Pythagoras – school of number, Democritus – the encyclopedia scholar, Hippocrates – the father of western medicine, Aristophanes – the great dramatist…

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I had finally done it—achieved the ultimate Paladin build. Maxed stats, impenetrable armor, and so many resistances that death itself had given up on me. I was an unkillable tank, an indomitable force. Nothing could stop me.And then my PC exploded.I died.Irony, thou art a cruel mistress.But instead of the afterlife, I woke up as my Paladin character… in the wrong freaking genre. Instead of castles and dungeons, there were people flying around on swords, shooting qi beams like fantasy laser guns.“This is definitely the wrong genre,” I muttered, watching a pompous young master sneer at me.“Kowtow, kiss my foot, and beg for forgiveness!” he declared.I looked at my imaginary maxed-out health bar, then at his flimsy silk robes.Oh, this was going to be fun.

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“Mr. Zhang, it is said that you often make zombies work overtime without pay, is that true?” Zhang Ye, enraged, snatched the microphone that was pushed to his mouth and said righteously: “Who said that?” “I’ll sue them for defamation!” “Someone’s defaming me, you know!” As he spoke, he turned and grabbed a zombie, “Did I force you?” The zombie, silent, just went “Ugh ahhhh—” Zhang Ye immediately said, “See! He said no!” The next morning, the headlines of the Sanjiang Apocalypse Morning Post read: Zhang’s Group Chairman, Zhang Ye, not only admitted to making zombies work overtime, but he also abused a zombie in front of reporters, truly a man without conscience! Our newspaper expresses strong disdain for such a person! This book is also called “Who Let You Bring Zombies into the Factory”

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