Rise of the Rejected Deity from Chaos - Chapter 92 - 91: Blind Fang’s Turf [2]

Originally, the question Tang Xian was thinking about was whether he should be a hero for a second among this group of destructive bosses, or continue to pretend to be a boss.

Later he found out that if you pretend to be fake, it becomes real.

- Description from novelbuddy

Dying in a tragic accident Marcus Ferrous gets transferred to a fantasy world of monsters and magic, except when he arrives contrary to what he expected he is now level one and a ghost. Left with nothing on a strange new world, Marcus will struggle with everything he has on his journey to get stronger and uncover the secrets of his new world.

Lives are a currency, and Noah Vines is rich.Reincarnated into the body of a poisoned magic school professor, Noah is given more than just a second chance at life. Every time he dies, his body reforms. With infinite variations of runic magic to discover and with death as a painful soul wound rather than a final end, Noah finally has a chance to wander the lands of the living once again. And this time, he plans to get strong enough to make sure that he never has to wait around in the afterlife again.

I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.