Accidentally Yours, My Super Rich Second Husband - Chapter 49: Locked Doors and Open Gates

I had nothing left to live for.No family. No friends. No future.Just a shattered soul wandering through a world that had already taken everything.Then I died.And that’s when everything changed.I woke in a world of light. A void between realms. A place where gods whisper and broken souls wait to be judged. There, I met Ashen Crimson—a man who had once been worshipped, then feared, and finally cursed by the very gods he had defied. A tyrant who had destroyed his own world.But now, he’s offering me something terrifying:His life. His past. His power. His chance to make things right.The catch?The world of Zerawell is fractured.Ashen’s name is soaked in blood.His fate is sealed—exile, ruin, and eternal hatred.And now, it’s my name.Because I’ve been reborn as Ashen Crimson, heir to a house that both reveres and reviles me. A noble with dormant shadow magic, a shattered reputation, and a cursed destiny I never asked for.But I’ve lived a life of pain. I’ve walked alone through hell already.And I won’t follow his footsteps into madness.With a divine system familiar in my soul, a second chance burning in my chest, and the memories of a monster as my burden—I will rewrite this fate.Let them call me villain, disgrace, or traitor.I didn’t choose this story.But I’ll finish it.Even if it kills me.

After forming ties with Tang Zichen of the secret Tang sect, Wang Chao began to rely on his exceedingly unusual determination to slowly walk towards the peak of martial arts. Fighting masters of every form of martial arts, joining and betraying the mysterious organization, and even joining every faction of power!

“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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The poor Commandery Princess is down and out. Her father died when she was young, and her mother passed away not long ago. Her grandfather, the only one she can rely on, is now at death’s door from his illness. Faced with the merciless uncle, the greedy aunts, as well as cousins competing to present the model of the worst relatives, the Commandery Princess could do nothing but feel depressed in heart.