The Last Paragon in the Apocalypse - Chapter 666: Getting Ready [18+]

This is a story about a young man who sought to fight against his destiny. With the help from billions of Dragon Energies trapped on the Rising Dragon Pillar in his body, he emerged from the dark and quenched himself with the blood of ancient dragons. He fought the heaven with the Buddhist Art for the people he loved and built the Eternity Kingdom with his own hands. This is a story about the rise of the Martial Emperor who will rule both earth and heaven.

- Description from Novelupdates

All Pete wanted was to be buried in wine grapes. Was that too much to ask?Now he's in a fantasy world, far from home, and stuck underground in the body of a smelly dwarf with fantastic facial hair. The worst part though? The swill that the dwarves are falling all over themselves to drink. Its flat, it's watery, and it has the alcohol content of a rancid coconut. Can Pete save the dwarves from their own Sour fate, or will he be forever doomed to plink his pickaxe away in hopes that he hits the mother lode. Come for the cozy fantasy, stay for the beer puns that will leave you hop-ping mad! A bubbly slice of life LitRPG with love, laughter, and a little melancholy, just like drinking a bottle of Whitbier on the beach. Has some monster fights but no real gore. No elves or harems allowed.

“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

……………………………………………………………

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Look, I’m Riven Kael.Twenty-eight, data analyst, zero ambition beyond paying rent and avoiding small talk. My life was spreadsheets, instant ramen, and the occasional ghost I pretended not to see.Then one mandatory company gala, because of course it was mandatory, turned into the universe’s worst prank.I touched a cursed amulet.I just touched it.Next thing I know, I’m waking up in a penthouse that costs more than my entire bloodline, sporting a glowing marriage sigil on my wrist, legally and magically hitched to Azryth Valek.Yes, that Azryth Valek.The CEO of half the planet, a walking sin in a three-piece suit, an ancient demon lord who was literally sealed inside said amulet until I accidentally set him free.He says we’re bound. Separation means both of us die slowly and painfully.Soul-consumption optional but very much on the table if I’m stupid enough to fall for him. Which, newsflash, I am not. I’m not.Shut up.So now I’m living with an unfortunately hot CEO from hell, dodging assassination attempts disguised as corporate mergers, banishing spirits that show up at my desk like unpaid interns, and pretending we’re a power couple for the cameras while he smirks like he knows exactly how much I want to strangle him. Or kiss him. Or both.Brain, we are not doing this.I didn’t sign up for boardroom battles, multiversal rifts, or the terrifying realization that the arrogant demon who ruined my life might be the only one who truly sees me.But here I am. Still complaining, still fighting, still falling, against every shred of common sense, hopelessly, stupidly, irrevocably in love.Because when the universe marries you to the devil, it doesn’t ask for consent.It just hands you the ring.And damn it, I’m keeping it.