MTL - Wei and Jin Cooks - Chapter 52 go to

The objective was the World Domination.

108 Demons and their Dungeons descended upon the land as they battled each other to become the Strongest Dungeon Master.

Isaac Constantine, a Demon Baron who managed to survive until the end of the game, only to meet betrayal that lead to his death.

Just as he thought it was over, he received a second chance

[Artefact Sand of Time has been activated.]

[Players can restart the game.]

[Synchronizing…]

[Displaying status]

[Isaac Constantine - Rank 99]

The battle between Dungeon Masters has restarted!

With a thirst for revenge, Isaac swore to create the best Dungeon and the Strongest army to win the game. Demons, Monsters, Superhumans even God himself will know his name.

Follow Isaac's story as he Rebirth to become the strongest Dungeon master

Next up is——The venerable master of Hydra, the High Priest of the Purple Sweet Potato SpiritThe psychiatrist of The Avengers, and the financial advisor of S.H.I.E.L.D.Batman's dissertation killer, Joker's soulmateThe head physician of Arkham Asylum, the professor with all positive reviews from Gotham UniversityA recipient of the Red Flag Medal, a possessor of God's blessingsThe iron curtain of New York, the breath of fresh air in GothamThe eternally undying Dark Sun——Schiller Rodriguez!(All titles mentioned above have been rightfully earned within the main text. Any new titles will be added as they arise.)(This isn't a web novel with a system, and the system disappears soon, those who don't like it can skip the first thirty chapters.)

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.

Having been reborn, she takes one glance at her ridiculously handsome husband and wonders if she had suffered from brain damage back then—she had actually demanded for a divorce with him. Repeatedly!