MTL - Dressed Like the Scum In the Ancient Bloody Text A - Chapter 65

This is a story about a legend, of one that can never be forgotten.
Summer, first time down the mountains in 16 years, after being raised by his 3 masters and Fairy sister.

‘Why won’t you follow the Rules of society?’ The rules are the tool made by the strong, so I follow my own rules.

‘Why won’t you just use your brain instead of your brawn?’ Idiot! Have you ever seen anyone use their brain, to get back at an ant that bites them!? No, they just casually step on it.

‘Oh, everyone says you’re a first-class beauty huh?’ well, I’m sorry but even you are not qualified to be my wife. Only a ‘Summer class beauty’ is worthy enough!

‘My enemy is sick?’ Oh, don’t worry, even if you’re on your last breath and I feel it’s beneath me to slap shot you dead. I’ll just fix you up and then beat you!

‘Who am I?’

“I am Summer in the spring, the autumn, and the winter, I’m the world’s first above the heavens!”

Follow me, Summer Day as I step by step become known as the world’s first master, the world’s first doctor, the world’s richest man…… a lot of other world’s number one, but most importantly, The worlds happiest man.

- Description from Novelupdates

I'm the villain !?

In fact, I never considered myself to be a hero, I always believed that the hatred people had towards me was somehow my fault, and that I was honestly not as kind or as nice as the protagonist.

But at the same time, I didn't consider myself a villain but one day I woke up and realized that actually everyone else does, including the people that I was willing to sacrifice my life to protect.

And if that was not enough on that same day, I woke up with the biggest burden a human can bear, the burden of saving fu*** humanity. Indeed, as a villain, it is not my duty to save the world, but to whom would I leave this duty? Should I leave it to the protagonist who spends all his time luring beauty to build his fuc** harem? The protagonist who got the most powerful cheat code but still failed to do his duty in the end, the same hero who wants to protect our enemies only because they are living in peace for the time being.

Ahhh! Even the thought of that hypocrite who convinces himself that he wants to control everything just to protect the innocents makes my blood boil.

Sigh, ok I'll do it I'll save this chaotic world, but I'll do it my way and anyone who gets in my path will discover why the world itself considers me a villain.

Chinese fringe international Licado became the alien Ronaldo’s half-brother in 2002.

This is a nearly omnipotent Ronaldo who has not been plagued by injuries.

As a huge fan of Ronaldo, Licado is his biggest supporter?

And when he himself picked up the Golden Globe for the first time said, “He [Ronaldo] didn’t lose to me, he wouldn’t lose to anyone,” . He just lost to time … ”

Without a system, without a golden finger, rebirth is his greatest luck.

- 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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