The Sacred Ruins - Chapter 1622 - 1622 Chapter 1621. The path was filled with enemies

A hundred years ago, he was a genius of the Emperor's Domain who made even the God of War wary. He was unparalleled in both alchemy and martial arts. However, his friend betrayed him, leading to his untimely demise.A hundred years later, he rose from being a dandy young master, starting everything anew. From then on, the world witnessed the emergence of an extraordinary genius.“Boss is even more ferocious than a wild beast!”“Boss values friendship above all else. He is forever my best friend!”“Kevin, no matter how long it takes, I'll wait for you. I won't marry anyone else!”“Don't ever provoke that man of calamity. That guy is a beast!”“I am Kevin Anderson, who dares to defy me?!”

Our MC dies from an accidental electrocution and ends up inhabiting the body of a young prince in another world, his new profession being the Necromancer he chose in the game he was playing before his untimely demise. However, things are not what they seem – including his own Necromancy skills!

The Ring of Magic had shattered.Calamities emerged.Lind, who had crossed over to become a wild monster NPC at a stronghold in the apocalyptic Magic World, saw a group of undead shouting “Pass the flame” arrive at his territory. They held lofty ideals and were willing to sacrifice themselves to save the world.Therefore, Lind prepared to masquerade as the village chief of Newbie Village.Lind: As a remnant of the old era, I will craft a ship that can carry us to the new era.Player: After enduring endless hardships, we finally met the BOSS, and then the BOSS just knelt down and swore fealty to the lord....“I, the King of Game BOSSes, Just Want to Be a Good Newbie Village Chief”“Player: Every NPC on Our Side is as Strong as a BOSS”“Player: That BOSS Actually Can't Beat the Quest NPC We're Supposed to Protect?”Tags: Lord, Farming, Kindombuilding, Fantasy, Fourth Apocalypse

[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.