MTL - Lord of the Secret Art! - Chapter 250 Eleventh Ring

In the third year of the reign of Yu State, it rained in the city of Weizhou.

Li Ang woke up in a daze, dreaming that there was a sword hidden in his head.

- Description from novelbuddy

Cal was the pride of his guild, the one that other Initiates looked up to. Then he died. So did his guild.His understanding of the world shattered before his death. His guild was nothing compared to others, which meant he was the best of the worst.When Cal was given a second chance, he wouldn’t repeat his mistakes. Who cared about being a [Mage] when it would just mean death? He would survive, even if it meant being something he sneered at in his previous life.A [Farmer].Of course, when did anything go according to plan? Never.

In a zombie apocalypse world, Earth has become a place inhabited by people with twisted hearts. In a dog eats dog world, she struggled to survive and witnessed the deaths of love ones until she met her own gruesome death.

But she was reborn, she was back to the beginning of the end. She held a divine sword: meet a god, kill a god; meet Buddha, kill Buddha! Regardless of which methods, she will use anything in her disposal in order to protect her loved ones!

He is gentle as jade, just like his name. Despite his extremely poor shooting skills, he can make powerful people follow him faithfully. He has an army in his hand, and his power shakes the world.

They are two people who have never met in the previous life, yet their paths kept intertwining in this life. Is it fate? No, for Bai Ling, maybe it’s an evil one!

- 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.