Flower Stealing Master - Chapter 807: Pledge of Allegiance

Mo Ran felt that taking Chu Wanning as his master was a mistake.

His Shizun was just so similar to a cat, while he was like a silly dog.

Dogs and cats were biologically different. The silly dog hadn’t originally intended to put his furry paws out towards that cat.

He originally thought that dogs should be with dogs, like his senior brother, who was beautiful and docile, like a cute Japanese Spitz. They would look so good together.

But after dying and coming back to life, after living two lifetimes, the one he’d brought back to his den both times was that snow-white kitty Shizun that he didn’t even have his eye on at first.

- Description from Novelupdates

In the 30th century, Tyler Rustel is an eccentric and visionary genius, renowned as a brilliant inventor. His life, however, comes to an abrupt end when a small experimental nuclear reactor explodes in a series of unforeseen events. Yet, death is not the end for Tyler. He awakens in a body that feels both familiar and foreign—a parallel version of himself in a completely different universe.This is not a world of technological progress or orderly civilization. Here, twisted gods roam the cosmos, shaping realities according to their cruel whims. The moral laws that governed his previous world do not exist. This is a magical universe, one marked by brutal betrayals, interdimensional wars, and endless massacres. The balance between the forces that rule this cosmos is fragile, and Tyler finds himself at the center of schemes involving powerful entities and boundless ambitions.However, Tyler is no longer an ordinary man. Upon awakening in this new world, he discovers that a fragment of his technology has survived with him: an advanced artificial intelligence system capable of analyzing, adapting, and enhancing anything, provided it has the necessary data. From magical weapons and arcane spells to alchemical techniques and enchanted jewelry, everything can be optimized under his supervision.Armed with this technological advantage in a universe dominated by magic, Tyler quickly realizes the potential of his unique position. While others struggle to survive, he schemes to conquer. Driven by his sharp intellect and a questionable sense of morality, Tyler embarks on a ruthless campaign to achieve magical supremacy and subjugate all worlds around him. He seeks neither redemption nor alliances. His ambition is clear: to rule everything and everyone as a tyrant, to amass an immense harem of women, and to father one million children to establish his legacy across all realms.

“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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