PREVIEW

... cause a chill passed through him. Was this how ghostcallers found lost items?

Possibly not so funny, after all.

He didn't know much about ghostcallers. Was there even a guide?

It was not a craftmaster class, and with the recommendations even now detailing the uselessness of subclasses in Redlands, how many people would have chosen it over the more useful picks like miner or blacksmith.

He only picked it because of the meatshield and scout potential.

He looked aroun ...

YOU MAY ALSO LIKE
Genius Wizard Takes MedicineChapter 268
 4.3k
4.5/5(votes)
ActionAdventureFantasyShounen

“World” is a game renowned for its remarkable freedom.

In “version 3.0”, I made the decision to maximize my focus on boosting magical abilities!

All stats now revolve around magic! But In turn, I embraced a substantial number of disadvantageous traits.

However, that is inconsequential. I am determined to forge the ultimate Wizard character, It matters little whether the character’s outward appearance resembles a walking corpse.

Yet… What is this?

I have suddenly transformed into that very character – a character with prodigious talent, yet unable to survive a single day without relying on drugs.

Everyone Is A Lord: My Talent Is A Little Too StrongChapter 1075 - 659 The Battle that Ended Before Dawn_2
 86.8k
4.5/5(votes)
ActionAdventureFantasy

The Hidden Dungeon Only I Can EnterChapter 143 - Second Semester
 1.4k
4.3/5(votes)
EcchiHaremAdventureComedy

Noir, third son of a “beggar noble,” lost his job and was at a loss, but fortune struck just as he was contemplating becoming an adventurer.

I Am Overpowered And A Comedian In Another WorldChapter 59: Sexis, Please Delete Those Pics of the Crack
 9
4.5/5(votes)
FantasyActionAdventureRomance

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.