The Stars Beyond - Chapter 70: Popping The ‘Balloons’

“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.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*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.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

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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My older brother, who was my only family member, lost his memory. “I have a sibling? Are you kidding me?” He was a fool who cared for me ever since he brought me from the temple… “I can’t even take care of myself, so what is this…” I left the family because I didn’t want to be a burden to my older brother, who had no memory, and was helpless in the tragedy that followed. So I turned back time. That too, to the point when my brother lost his memory. “I don’t have anything in my head, so I don’t know what to do next. What if I have a kid with me?” We must not repeat the tragedy of the past life. So I grimly said, “That’s right. I don’t have anything on my brother’s head right now.” “…What, what?” I chuckled and took out a document I had prepared. The contents of the document, written in crooked, large letters, were simple. [I transfer all the property in my name to my younger sister.] While my gaping older brother was checking the documents, I took out his seal from his drawer and smeared it with ink. Then I put it in his hand and said with a very sad expression. “So stamp it. Now.” I will protect you in this life.

Archmage Kaplan possessed the body of a boy who was betrayed by his childhood friend.

In the boy’s diary, he found by chance that he wanted to become a great magician.

“Shall we try one more time, then?”

‘Let’s do it.’

In the end, those who are good at magic should use it well.

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In a world where power is stolen from the blood of dead gods, the strong feast, and the weak are forgotten. Dante “the Fox” Hollow knows this all too well—he’s a low-tier Harvester, scraping by on leftover drops of divinity while the real monsters take everything. Quick with a blade, quicker with his mouth, and always one step ahead of trouble, Dante dreams of a day when he won’t have to run anymore.That day comes when he stumbles upon the abandoned resting place of a god—not just any god, but the Trickster himself. A legend, a liar, a master of chaos. And Dante? He’s just stupid enough to take a sip.Now, the hunger is setting in. The whispers in his head are getting louder. The gods are watching, and some aren’t happy. Dante’s power is growing—too fast, too dangerous—but the higher he climbs, the closer he gets to losing himself.Because there’s one rule every Harvester knows: the more you steal from the gods, the less of you remains.And Dante? He plans to steal everything.