Demon Lord and His Unknown Child With the Empress - Chapter 302 : This is the Gift Your Husband is Giving You~

Trojas was a land of beauty, rich in warmth and culture. It was also home to some of the finest warriors on the continent. The people of this prosperous nation lived happily, taking great pride in their homeland.Ceremus Marcrinos had just inherited the throne, and despite his grief, he carried out his duties the best he could. Unfortunately, his loneliness overwhelmed him, and the only escape from the pain in his heart came through his vices. Whether it was drinking the night away, sleeping with countless strangers, or getting into unnecessary fights, the king just couldn’t stay out of trouble.The citizens of Trojas initially tolerated his behavior, sympathizing with his loss, but things only grew worse. Ceremus, once revered as a benevolent king, became a tyrant. His abuse of power pushed the people to their breaking point, and in desperation, they prayed to Kaleeso, the goddess and creator of mortals, to ease their suffering. The goddess, moved by their cries, chose to send someone who could finally put the unruly king in his place.A man emerged from the heart of the Aphthonia Forest becoming the protector of its land. He had but one mission—to save the people, but more importantly, save the King of Trojas from himself.The problem was, would the prideful Ceremus be able to accept such a change? Especially when all he had known for the last eight years was solitude? I mean his chosen one was destined to be a man!

So here's the pitch: I got reincarnated with Mangekyo Sharingan.Sounds overpowered, right? Instant win button?Except I can barely keep it active for thirty seconds without feeling like my brain's being microwaved. My chakra reserves are pathetic. My combat experience is zero. And the system that gave me these powers took one look at my situation and said “good luck” before fucking off into hibernation.Oh, and the Hero Killer—the guy who murders heroes for not being “worthy”—just decided my mom wasn't good enough. She'll never walk again.I know when he'll strike next. I know where. I've got exactly four weeks to train.Four weeks to go from “can't throw a punch without tripping” to “can survive a fight with a serial killer.”The smart move? Stay out of it. Let the pro heroes handle it.But I'm fifteen, angry, and apparently making life decisions with the wisdom of a shounen protagonist.At least I'm in General Studies. Low expectations.What does being a hero have to do with revenge anyway?

“I beg you, please teach me how to pick up female angels!!!”
Pleaded the twelve-winged angel.

“Teacher!! How can I fool more people into my sect?”
Asked a devil in the devil world.

“Do you know how to save the family cat that died last night?”
Someone in the sky is too embarrassed and asks me quietly.

“All the angel, all the big deity, please I am not God, I am really just a summoner….”
I said painfully.

This is the story of a poor boy and how he becomes the greatest summoner who dominates the six worlds because of an accidental acquisition of Dimension.

- Description from Novelupdates

“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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