I Just Want To Slack off In Cultivation - Chapter 1793 Code Words

Dying in a tragic accident Marcus Ferrous gets transferred to a fantasy world of monsters and magic, except when he arrives contrary to what he expected he is now level one and a ghost. Left with nothing on a strange new world, Marcus will struggle with everything he has on his journey to get stronger and uncover the secrets of his new world.

With a sword in hand and wine in tow, he roams the martial world; her slender waist is light as a feather in his palm.The young man strides forward with a long blade slung over his shoulder and a flask at his side, yet the world of martial arts he seeks remains elusive.As the chaotic world book turns a new page, decades of relentless nights in the martial world pass by.Suddenly, he looks back and finds he has already shattered the mortal realm.

Welcome to Freia. A continent where evil magi ruled. Until firearms came, that is. Now the people live free of those demons…

More, however, must lurk beneath the surface.

Claude, a transmigrator from another world, finds himself in the midst of this changing world, attending ‘middle school’. Or, as he calls it, ‘boot camp’. His destiny was to graduate and join the military, but the future is seldom so simple.

His life, and the world, is set on the path of upheaval and chaos the day he finds a cookbook.

A magical cookbook.

- Description from novelupdates

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.”