MTL - Supreme Throne of Doom - Chapter 1087 Dragon turtle

Jake wasn’t a saint—just a man who played the role people expected. A former athlete turned aimless drifter, he spent his days coasting and his nights as someone’s little secret, paid for services no one wanted to admit they needed.But one wrong move, one moment in the wrong place, and his life is over.When he wakes up, it’s not to the world he knew but to something out of a myth—a land ruled by powerful elven women, where men are nothing more than ancient legends. Now reborn as the child of a powerful princess, his existence is an anomaly—one even his own mother doesn’t understand. Fearing he may be some kind of curse, she keeps his identity a secret, shielding him from the world.Because in a world of only women… what happens when they find out what he really is?As Eren learns more about this world, he discovers that he is linked to an ancient prophecy—one that speaks of uniting the seven tribes. To survive, he must rely on his wit, charm, and thirst for adventure, forging his own path to bring them together—before the world tears itself apart.|||||||||||Note: Mc growth will be slow until chapter 18*My first book and my entry into WSA!

Chen Mu, a low-level officer, thought he could only live a cautious life, but unexpectedly he got a system panel that could accumulate experience, and he could master all the skills with just one practice.

[Blast Knife + Gale Knife + Wind Chasing Knife = Blast Artistic Concept]

[Jade skin grinding method + sand iron method + coarse salt method = skin of copper and steel]

A peerless martial saint with unparalleled swordsmanship, bronze skin and iron bones, and a body of pure gold was born step by step.

- Description from novelbuddy

“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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