Memoirs of the Returnee - Chapter 310: Milky Way (4)

# pet beasts # impart cultivation

Everyone said that Yi Qing was the number one Sword Cultivator in the world, with a swordsmanship and cultivation that no one could surpass. Whether it was when he was cultivating in the Lower Realm, or when he was in the Ten Heavens of the Upper Realm, he has always been undefeated.

Cyril was a Harry Potter book fan. He unexpectedly obtained a chatterbox system that said it would take him to experience the desired Wizarding World.

He rubbed his hands together gleefully. Was there such a good thing?

However, once the system was finished, he found that this Wizarding World didn’t seem quite right?

Cyril (eyes shaking: Forest monster? Brass steam train? Gloomy wizard’s tower? Wizarding academy of the fittest? This wasn’t right!

System (forcing itself to be calm): Magic creatures! The appearance doesn’t matter! The architecture isn’t the key! It is still a wizarding academy! There isn’t anything wrong with it! Not bad, not bad!

Cyril struggled to make it through the Blackheart Wizard Academy. Fortunately, there was the gentle and courteous chief gentleman to cling to. This was until he found that the handsome chief seemed to be plotting against him…

My god! This seemed to the other identity of the crazy great magician and necromancer?

***

According to legends, the dark, paranoid, crazy and perverted great necromancer rubbed the white and delicate neck of the beautiful young man in his arms and whispered, “My dear, I heard that you have been very close to the commander of the Holy Light Knights recently?

Cyril denied it three consecutive times with an innocent face, “I’m not! I didn’t! Who is talking nonsense?”

- Description from Novelupdates

[Longevity + Discipleship + No Female Lead + Lighthearted Humor with No Tragic Moments]When his master picks food, he spins the table there;When his master chants spells, he chats without a care;When his master takes rest, he sings a lively song;When his master lies late, he bangs the pot along;His master lives on long, but his life is rather short;His master lays him down on the hillside, as a sort;His master lifts a cup, but he won’t take a drink;His master shares a tale, but he won’t stop to think;His master holds a feast, but he leaves the table wide;His master calls his soul, but he’s nowhere to abide.Spring returns to the hills, with blooms so bright and fair,Yet master and disciple are parted, one in heaven, one elsewhere.