World of Women - Chapter 31Book 3:

Fifty years ago, the oxygen in the atmosphere changed, giving rise to a new form of air known as Spiritual Qi. Humans, plants, and animals alike suddenly awakened latent mutant genes and began evolving, gaining Superpowered Talents and Classes. Life took a new turn, and humanity had to adapt.Everything seemed to be going well until, fifty years later, a 16-year-old boy named Klaus awakened a terrifying Talent and Class. His awakening marked the beginning of a new era in human evolution.Unbeknownst to everyone, Klaus, who was shunned by society and dropped out of school to work for a better life for himself and his mother, was actually the last of the Nine Paragons—a being so powerful that even the heavens feared him.Watch as Klaus climbs the ladder of strength, pursuing absolute power with a single purpose: to protect and make his mother happy.

He was supposed to transmigrate to a magic world, but due to an accident, he ended up trapped in a massive library. The system assigned him a task: for every book he read, he would be rewarded with mana stones, until he finished reading all the books. A trillion years later, Daniel finally finished the last book! [Ding, detecting that the host has finished the final book. Calculating system rewards.] [Ding, reward calculation complete. Dispatching rewards. The total number of mana stones the host has accumulated: 99999999...9999.] “Damn, am I that rich now?” [Ding, detecting that the host has completed the task. Loading world...] ... Goddess of Fate: “Daniel, my divine realm needs expansion. Could you sponsor me with some mana stones?” God of Storm: “Daniel, the divine punishment is about to descend. Could you lend me some power to help me get through it?”

I don’t want to die. I want to be free. To that end, I shall….reconcile myself to the fate of becoming a “monster”.

A strange disease that racks one’s entire body with intense never-ending pain, until the person slowly withers away and eventually dies. After a few years of braving through the pain, the boy is in no luxury to even feel despair. With nary a soul to tend to him, he breathes his last.

The next time he opened his eyes, the boy had become an “Undead” of the lowest rank through the power of an evil Necromancer.

The boy rejoices at having his earnest desire fulfilled, which is a body that will never feel pain. However, he realizes that he is still under someone’s control and how it was no different from when he was cooped up in the hospital ward.

But the world would not leave alone the boy who only wished for peace.

The Necromancer who revives the boy from the dead, names him “End” and attempts to gain control over him.

The Undead Knights, lay their lives on the line to persistently chase after and annihilate the beings of the darkness.

With countless monsters under their command, the Demon Lords rule over their own lands while they all contend for ultimate supremacy.

The motivation being survival and freedom. The requirements being caution and power.

This is the tale of the cowardly King of the Undead. In his pursuit for freedom, he heads into battle and turns tail at times. He knows when to fear his opponents and when to waver in his decisions.

“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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