Cultivation: When you take things to the extreme - Chapter 1116 - 677: Direction_2

Some crowns are forged in blood. Others are drowned beneath it.In a city strangled by smoke and silence, where children are shackled to machines and shadows rule behind gilded masks, Keiran is just another forgotten soul—until the mark appears.Buried beneath the factory’s foundations lies a world long erased from history. Ancient oaths whisper through stone and water, and something older than memory begins to stir. As Keiran is drawn deeper into the abyss, he uncovers a legacy not meant for mortal hands—a crown shattered in defiance, a flood sealed by sacrifice, and a power that demands a price.Hunted by tyrants, haunted by echoes, and bound to secrets he never asked for, Keiran must choose: drown in the tide of what came before, or rise against the current and reclaim what the world was forced to forget.But the deeper he goes, the more the truth unravels…And beneath it all, something still breathes.

Lin Jie, a transmigrator, is the owner of a bookstore in another world.

This is the story of Kir, who has to thwart the will of Heaven, Hell, and his parents in order to survive, protect the people he loves, and achieve happiness.He just has to make it through life at a magical academy, avoid dying, and survive to find his birth mother, the lost Daughter of Heaven. Or be forced to take his place at the side of his father, a Duke of Hell bent on destroying the way things are.It's a lot to handle for a quiet, brooding angel boy.Fortunately, he has company. A succubus, a foxkin girl, and a half-angel boy to start. And Kir has his own secret: this isn't his first go at life.

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”