Realm of Monsters - Chapter 617: Trade District Outing

A letter to break off the engagement leads Ling Family in Tangyang to endless doom. And he, Ling Zhang, is tortured to death after his legs are cruelly broken.

In the heart of the volcano, the remnants left behind by the sages yearned for their successors.Risking her life, his mother obtained the Immortal Palace Seal, handing it to Ning Zhuo before her passing.“The Buddha Heart Demon Seal!”To transcend into either Buddha or the Demon.With this seal grasped firmly, he could inscribe a heart seal and command the creation of puppets.While ordinary individuals struggled under the weight of just controlling a few, the burden was exceptionally light for, Ning Zhuo, who effortlessly commanded tens of thousands with a single gesture.“Mother, I will fulfill your wishes and obtain the Immortal Palace!” He vowed.Indeed.Immortal Puppets; capable of spiritual secrets; their work skillful and rational.A new realm unfolds, expanding the heavens,Where earthly splendor rivals celestial beauty.Ancient chimes resonate with heavenly laws,As moonlight caresses the ethereal dance.The true self embodies myriad forms,Who in this world dares oppose?

A 34-year-old NEET otaku, chased out from his house by his family, found that his life is reaching a dead end. He then recalled that his life could actually have been much better if he had made better choices in the past.

Just when he was at the point of regret, he saw a truck moving at fast speed, and three high schoolers in its path. Mustering all the strength he had, he tried to save them and ended getting run over by the truck, quickly ending his life.

The next time he opened his eyes, he is reincarnated to a world of sword and magic as Rudeus Greyrat. Born to a new world, a new life, Rudeus decided that, “This time, I’ll really live my life to the fullest with no regret!” Thus starts the journey of a man yearning to restart his life.

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.