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... one with them. However, Wilmar asked one person to stay.

This person held great influence within the Atria Empire and knew about Aldrian. In fact, he had even attempted to kill him by hiring assassins from the Thunderous Shadow Pavilion.

He was Carlson Harris, the head of the Harris family and the leader of the Golden Swan Commerce.

Wilmar looked at the man and said,

"I regret that one of your family members was killed by that man, but do not worry. As my subject, ...

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At the age of 5, Leon's parents were slaughtered in front of him, but instead of getting arrested and punished, the case was closed off, with the villains of the incident running free.

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“Screw you all and Screw the world.”

“I wanted to have peace but since you are not going to let me in peace, you will see my dark side.”

Follow Leon's journey as he tramples over the so-called childrens of heaven and destiny villains, and strives to the top of the world.

................

This is my first book and I am a complete novice. My English sucks still I will try my best.

However, despite all the flaws, I hope you can give it a try.

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He was The Greatest Talent in the Nine Hells Realm.

Shen Zhenyi began to practice his sword when he was four years and two months old.

At the age of seven, he studied the Ten Thousand Sword Sutra. By the age of eleven, he fought against the Yudao in Shangqing Palace. In an instant, he unleashed one hundred and eighty-five sword strikes, making it impossible for anyone to retaliate. The Yudao admitted defeat and deemed him as “The Peerless Genius.”

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“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

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*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

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As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

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