Don't worry, i'll divorce you - Chapter 36 Gambling Time 4

Existing all over the world sleeps treasure tools with special powers.

Riches, Prestige, and finally Power.

Chasing glory, an era where Treasure Hunters rampage through Treasure Shrines without regard for danger.

Together with his childhood friends, Krai shares the dream of becoming a hunter. On their first expedition he notices that out of the six of them, he is the only one without any talent.

However, that was only the beginning of their adventures.

“It’s too unreasonable. I want to quit this dangerous job already. I’m gonna throw up. ”

“Ok, got it. In other words we should get strong enough to cover your part too. Nice handicap.”

“Don’t worry Krai-chan. We’ll make sure to protect you.”

“Ah, stop. If you step there you’ll disappear without even leaving dust behind. Take care, ok leader?”

Protected by his childhood friends that are too strong, relying on his juniors and other hunters – they aim at being heroes and obtaining treasure.

Will Krai be able to quit being a hunter while still in one piece?

……………………………………………………………

Dear readers! Without any ads, maybe you will prefer .

Frascoia Continent… Various races like Celestials, Demons, Humans, Monsters, Elves, Dwarves, and so on occupied this continent.

Humans and the other races lived on the mainland of the continent while the Celestials and Demons lived in Heaven and Purgatory, respectively.

Within the Demons, a prodigy named Azaroth rose quickly, even by demons' standards, to the point of being dubbed a Demon God. There was only one person above him within the demons: The Great Demon Venerable, the Demons' Supreme Godfather.

Azaroth's extraordinary talent never had the chance to blossom to its full potential; a terrible calamity struck him down and he died soon after. But was this calamity just misfortune or was it hiding an opportunity for him?

Near his deathbed, he prepared for his future ascent to achieve his lofty goal.

Millions of years had passed after Demon God Azaroth's demise and now a young aristocrat called Edwin Rhodes came across a mysterious cave.

At a low point in his life, Xia Ruofei discovered that a scroll that was passed down in his family had a hidden secret: it contained its own independent world.

In the space, there was a spiritual pond that enhanced the growth of plants. There were mysterious spiritual flowers that could cure illnesses. Time in the independent world flowed at a pace ten times that of the outside world. Everything he planted there was of supreme grade and grew at a rapid pace. Everything he raised gained sentience.

From that day forth, Xia Ruofei began a different, brilliant life of planting succulent plants and vegetables, raising animals and flirting with beauties.

“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.]

……………………………………………………………

Dear readers! Without any ads, maybe you will prefer .