MTL - The Era of Hard Work - Chapter 562 Empty rice bowl (seeking monthly pass)

“ You must level down to the rock bottom of hell”, a demonic voice said when he was summoned to the other side.

Seth Johnson was 16 when he was sacrificed in a cleansing ritual organized by his parent’s cult, to find himself reincarnated and transmigrated to a new world that was already on the brink of extinction.

People were divided by their magic power’s ranking to live in different regions and sat on ascending levels in the sky.

Being born again as Isiah Duncan, the brother of Lucas Duncan the prodigy who brought the apocalypse to this world was confusing to him, he who had no powers to survive, until he was forced to level down instead of leveling up, using the diabolic core of magic instead of the divine one …

The first time I realized that I ‘couldn’t die’ was during a practical training exercise in my third year as a hero cadet.A beast suddenly leaped out of the bushes and tore into my neck.‘How did I come back to life?’Yes, I came back to life. I didn’t die.And now, after hundreds, even thousands of years, I was still alive. Only I had survived.“But now… it’s finally over.”After wandering for millennia, I thought I could finally put an end to this long existence…“Dale! Dale Han! How dare you sleep during my class? You’ve got some nerve, don’t you?”“…Huh?”But what awaited me at the end of my long existence wasn’t a period, but a repeat sign.

By the fourth year of Su Wan's career, every league rookie hears the same warning from their coach and veteran teammates: “You can try to impress him. You can even try to defend him. But no matter what—no matter if he hurls the most brutal insults your way—never, ever talk shit to him!”

[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.