Beneath the Dragoneye Moons - Chapter 569: The Gloves Come Off II

“Oh Lord Lunareio, you are the only one who can save our world.”...My name is Rikuya Takatsuki, and I didn’t ask to be summoned to some fantasy world with my classmates. But there I was, expected to be a hero and protect the Kingdom from Realm Eaters, dimensional monsters chewing through reality.Apparently, all the races summoned forth heroes of legend, which was sort of a shocker to me since it wasn’t the cliché “slay the demon king” trope.Sounds cool, right? Wrong. While everyone else got flashy powers and legendary classes, I was slapped with the FFF Auto Hero class—no skills, no perks, and no respect.The kingdom handed me some pocket change and politely told me to scram.Fine by me. I was all set on enjoying the easy life in this new world anyways, when out of nowhere a bunch of cultists kidnapped me, claiming I’m their prophesied god or whatever.They gave me a mansion, unlimited snacks, and zero responsibilities, so of course, I played along.But then my so-called useless class kicked in. Turns out Auto Hero means my body hijacks itself whenever there’s danger, turning me into some kind of unstoppable killing machine. Efficient? Sure. Ethical? Not so much. Now everyone thinks I’m this terrifying cult leader who takes down monsters, corrupt kings, and anyone dumb enough to stand in my way.While my classmates enjoy their shiny hero lives, I’m here in the shadows, leading a cult, toppling kingdoms, and pretending I have some grand plan. The truth? I’m just winging it.I mean... what’s the worst that could happen?

To sum up in a sentence, *slag men **washing white daily, transmigrating to different worlds to wash white, and the goal is to become a good man!

Note:
*Slag men refer to men who play with women’s hearts aka scum.
**Washing white means to come clean, fix up your life.

- Description from Novelupdates

Zhao Chuchu was reborn in a time before the apocalypse. As soon as the space was filled with supplies, something fell from a high altitude and killed her. Then, she transmigrated, becoming a small villager in an unknown dynasty. She started this new life by taking out the natives, dealing with the plague, and becoming a divine doctor in one fell swoop. Using her fists, she gained high status. She bullied those scums until they cried for their mommy and begged for mercy. She produced large quantities of rice, beans, and sweet potatoes… She could do everything, and she earned a lot of money with that. Everyone watched as she reconciled with Xiao Xiucai. They watched until a baby was born, as well as until Xiao Xiucai became the top scholar and smoothly became the Chief Minister. Then, everyone waited for the day the Chief Minister would divorce his wife, who went through hardships in life with him. They waited and waited until the couple had grown old, the two living together for the rest of their lives.

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.