My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World - Chapter 230

In a fantasy world where martial artists can split mountains and creeks with a wave of their hand and break rivers with a kick, there exists a little restaurant like this.

The restaurant isn’t large, but it is a place where countless apex existences will rush into.

There, you can taste egg-fried rice made from phoenix eggs and dragon blood rice.

There, you can drink strong wine brewed from vermillion fruit and water from the fountain of life.

There, you can taste the barbecued meat of a ninth grade supreme beast sprinkled with black pepper.

What? You want to abduct the chef? That’s not going to happen, because there’s a divine beast of unfathomable level, the Hellhound, lying at the entrance.

Oh, that chef also has a robotic assistant that killed a ninth grade supreme being with a single hand and a group of crazy women whose stomachs were conquered.

In an unfortunate twist of fate, Adrian, a man from the 21st century, is accidentally killed by the Goddess of Fate. As recompense for her mistake, she grants Adrian a second chance at life in an alternate world. Upon awakening, Adrian is startled to find himself surrounded by a setting reminiscent of eighteenth-century Europe. It quickly becomes apparent to him that he has been reincarnated as none other than Napoleon Bonaparte, the indomitable figure who once ruled over Europe for two tumultuous decades.

Disclaimer:

This work of fiction explores a speculative narrative in which the protagonist is reborn as Napoleon Bonaparte and embarks on a journey to power, encountering both historical and fictional characters. While the story draws inspiration from the life and historical context of Napoleon Bonaparte, it is important to note that the events, interactions, and outcomes portrayed in this work are entirely fictional and should not be interpreted as a reflection of real historical events.

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Epic fantasy presence: Ashes Of The First Tyrant [AOTFT]Prologue – The Law of AuraThey say every soul burns.Some flare brightly and fade. Others smolder quietly for a lifetime.But a rare few, rare beyond reason ignite with such intensity that the world bends to them. These are not gods. Not yet.These are the Tyrants.And their aura is not a gift.It is a weight a burden.In this world, aura is everything.It is the breath behind a sword strike, the pressure behind a command, the silent will that can crush or inspire. Most are born with it. Few master it.But only one…only one in an ageawakens the Tyrant’s Spirit…the aura that dominates not by force, but by presence alone.