Soul Emperor Martial God - Chapter 75 - 74: The Strongest Strike

Son of a bitch! I just finished this godawful fantasy novel, and now I'm knee-deep in it – as David, the disgraced son of the Solarian Empire's top general! Talk about some twisted cosmic joke. But hold on a damn minute... maybe this isn't all bad. Armed with the knowledge of that trashy plot, I can become the ultimate shadow player, an overlord perhaps. Screw the damsel-in-distress harem too – it's time to pull the strings and become the real power behind the throne. This isekai might be a steaming pile, but I'm rewriting the ending with a little more... Debauchery (wink wink).

With her superb skills, Tang Ming has countless peach blossoms from small to large.

There is a President willing to contract fish ponds for her.

There are also overbearing male masters who are willing to make a fortune for her.

School grass keeps his body like jade for her, infatuated male leads are countless.

There are countless peach blossom debts, and the whole body is written with slag from top to bottom.

Until she encountered the system.

From then on, the road to ending slag, is getting farther and farther away…….

*School grass means the hottest guy in school.

- Description from Novelupdates

An ordinary youth living in the year 2050 in the Western calendar accidentally came to a fantasy world created by the collision of magical elements and supernatural technology at the other end of the dimension…

- Description from novelbuddy

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”