MTL - Dressed As the Scum a In the Campus Literature - Chapter 174 (two in one)

“Even if this universe is truly nothing more than a brutal bloody shadowy forest, we Cultivators will burn all that we have just to give off a single weak flickering spark in the darkness!

No matter how weak each spark is, how short-lived, how small… As long as the sparks flow unabated, then one day one of those sparks will light some tinder, and that tinder shall light some fallen branches, and those branches shall set ablaze each and every last tree of the forest!

In the end, even the smallest sparks will eventually set the shadowy forest ablaze, and illuminate the whole world!”

In a world teeming with cultivators, Li Yao, who makes his living collecting scrap metal, encounters the soul of a titan powerhouse from forty thousand years in the past.

- Description from novelupdates

Pick one of the 100 lord characters to be the final winner of the game “Territory Wars”.I became the first person in the world to complete the game using the world’s worst shitty character, Otto de Scuderia.I’m thrilled to see my name in the Hall of Fame, but I’ve been possessed into the game in the body of Otto de Scuderia, the worst of the worst.The memory of the experience is clouding my mind, but…If there’s no turning back, let’s just enjoy it.This time as the real Otto de Scuderia.

When I woke up after a pretty crappy death, what greeted me was one of those famous fantasy worlds! I didn’t expect anything like becoming the strongest with a common job, or rising to the top with the weakest class…

I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.