Iron Blooded - Twenty Seven: A Reckoning

This red dragon came from the vast wilderness, coveting all the powers of the world. He has held countless titles: Mountain Fury, Purgatorial Calamity, Red Emperor, Ember Dragon…The world trembles under the shadow of the great dragon. He ignited the surge of the magical industrial revolution. In the empire he established, wyverns roar, cannon fire resounds, steel behemoths appear in the sky and on the earth, and disasters from other worlds run rampant.“Submit, or die.”Cassius spread his sky-shading wings, looking down upon the trembling humans, elves, and dwarves beneath him, and spoke thus.………A story of a red dragon with a built-in player template conquering, ruling, and transforming another world.(Pseudo D&D, Fourth Catastrophe, Red Dragon, translation )

In her third year living in this steampunk world, Ciel gained the ability to simulate both the past and the future.These simulations turned into a game where she could act without restraint, and after countless trials, real life became a replica she could navigate as though speedrunning it.Churches, potions, mutations, the Old Gods, witches, sealed artifacts… none of these have anything to do with Ciel. She’s just an ordinary girl who wishes for a peaceful life.She just happens to be particularly skilled at snuffing out danger before it even begins.

The Overlord, Kang Chul-In. The man who was so strong that he had to be defeated. Having lost, he must now go back in time to take up the challenge of becoming The Emperor in the Continent of Pangaea. Will Kang Chul-In be able to overcome the 9 other Overlords in order to grasp the Continent of Pangaea within his hands?

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”