If I Don't Die, I'll Truly Be Invincible - Chapter 4 - This Official Swears to Death, Will Not Hand Over the Imperial Seal!

“Give me a bunch of adorable players, and I can easily overturn a parallel world!” - so said Reveno·Murphy·Le SenbulaPs:The titles owned by the honorable Murphy include but are not limited to counterfeit vampire, celebrated NPC role-play artist, multi-talented Dog Planner, the only savior of Transylvania, benefactor of the old continent, defender of the new continent, brave and loyal earl, irredeemable big-sister fanatic, spotless saint of the Blood race, Alpha of the Night's Guard, and so on (here ignoring the other 108 nicknames). He's indeed the homebody of the Fourth Cataclysm and the best old friend when you need to clean up a mess, thus all testers of “Real Different World,” please stand up when you see this line! Let us give Lord Murphy the highest respect!Murphy, ka-ka! Full marks!

“I was nothing... and now, I have one chance to steal everything.”In his previous world, Ethan was just another failure. No talents, no dreams, no hope.But death wasn’t the end it was a new beginning.He wakes up in the body of “Valerian Lucard,” the son of a great family... but the weakest among them. Neglected, shunned, broken.But this time, things are different.He has an unbelievable ability:Fate Theft.Skills, talents, future opportunities... he can steal them, but at a heavy price.And the worst part? What’s stolen... never lasts.Now begins his race against everyone: the elites, the geniuses, the chosen heroes.Not because he's strong, but because he refuses to be nothing... ever again.In this world, either you steal glory... or everything gets stolen from you.

Su Yanyi: The president of Resplendent Entertainment, the legendary Entertainment Queen, and the support pillar every artist wanted.

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.