Survival Story of a Sword King in a Fantasy World - Chapter 246

A door unfolded before him.Evil thrived, and whispers spilled from within.The resentful compound eyes flickered and vanished, the presence longing to burst out was blocked inside, and the alluring murmurs echoed in the ear.The sticky, pink brain mumbled something. A figure cloaked in a yellow robe watched from a distance. A dark green presence, smelling of blood, roared. A string of wondrous soap bubbles released friendliness—and many, many guests.They sincerely invited Lu Li to join this mad party.Lu Li stepped in, his stride resolute and unwavering.He had no reason to refuse.

Li Qingming: “Uncle Master, lend me your Purple Gold Eight Trigram Furnace to study alchemy!”Taishang Laojun: “...”Li Qingming: “Master, lend me your Pangu Banner!”Yuanshi Tianzun: “...”Li Qingming: “Uncle Master, lend me your Zhou Xian Sword Array for research!”Tongtian Jiaozhu: “...”Sanqing: “Qingmingzi, return my Eight Trigram Furnace (Pangu Banner, Zhou Xian Four Swords and Formation Diagram)...”Li Qingming: “Waga ga, let me study for a million years, then I'll return them to you!”

[Harem + Light System + Mystery + Eerie world]After being transported to an unknown realm, Huang Ye unexpectedly obtained a martial arts manual—the Jade Maiden Heart Sutra, a technique meant for women.With no other choice, he followed the concept of opposing yin and yang, practicing the technique in reverse.By accident, he mastered a form of Dual Cultivation. From then on…

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.