MTL - Following a Hundred Years of Cultivation, I’m dying Before I Got Cheats - Chapter 120 Zifu Moxiu [Happy New Year's Day everyone]

A Mature Lady: You have a house?

Jiang Xiu: I can cultivate.

A Ms. Perfect: You have a car?

Jiang Xiu: I can cultivate.

A Loli: Big Brother Jiang Xiu, do you have a seven-figure bank balance?

Jiang Xiu: I can cultivate.

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Jiang Xiu once transmigrated to the Immortal Martial Continent, living out a long life there and establishing himself with renowned fame. He finds himself waking up to strange circumstances and discovers that he’s returned back home. What happened exactly? And what’ll he do from now on? Follow Jiang Xiu as he deals with the crazy scenarios fate has in store for him.

- Description from Novelupdates

The Empire's forces retreated in desperation—trampled by faceless horrors bringing darkness and death to these once beautiful lands.Only the most courageous stood in defiance, forming a last defence to buy the people time to flee—fighting until the final embers of hope burned out.A man stands with a silver sword, like a beacon of hope to those around him. He roared with all his might drawing his blade against the overwhelming enemy!“You face Lancelot, Sword of the Empire! ”These horrors tested the Lord's grit and loyalty in the final moments.“Should my blade break, I will use my body!”The knights had fallen, broken swords for their tombstones, and lords fled, betraying the Empire to survive.“If my body breaks, I'll use my Soul!”Lancelot, the sword of the Empire, fought alone.All hope seemed lost.“And if my Soul fails...”What could a single man and his army do?He fights against the dark tide, blade in hand, heart on sleeve.“I will sell myself to the devil for revenge!”But he was too weak, too fragile.The last Lord of humanity stood against the enemy.Lancelot was a master of the sword, a mortal, neither a God nor a Saint.Miracles were beyond his reach.Now only a broken man impaled on his own destroyed throne.His blade shattered—now, like rose petals, it was scattered across the charred ground.Lancelot's soul was fated for the abyss as the light faded from his eyes.His last ounce of resistance used staring at the man who betrayed the Empire.Now with only the desire to kill, crush and seek revenge smouldering inside him.Now unwilling to die and desperate to fight once again.He desired to fight for the people who supported him.Lancelot refused to surrender, to fall like this.As quietly in the abyss, a voice whispered to him.It tried to entice the Lord, ignite his desire to win and fight again.“If given a second chance, to relive your life with a different choice... Would you Accept?”Blood gathered in his throat, forcing him to reply in his mind.A frail and broken voice'There is no reason to ask, of course!'“No matter the cost?”'Even if I were to lose everything...''If my people can live on. I would sacrifice everything I have!'“You will no longer be the same, a monster, twisted and vicious.”“Will you still accept?”The Lord's heart ached, taking great pride in his humanity.To lose that caused his mind to falter.Finally, out of power, unable to speak or reply with a trembling arm.Lancelot reached out.Towards the raspy voice.Towards the abyss.Towards a new future.[So you would accept after all...]'I must accept.''I must stand tall.''I must not break.''Because...''I am the Lord of humanity![Nay, you are the king of demons]

“Martial Arts World...” Death murmured, shocked by the turn of the events. How could he, primordial being of the afterlife, get tricked by a mere human? Not just a mere human, but also earthling, race that was weakest of the twenty realms. Death realized the extent of his mistake. An earthling had just jumped into the river of the reincarnation, where he definitely didn’t belong. It was too late. The damage has been done. The matter was now out of his hands. “Kiernan Hunter...” ... Remake of the Martial Arts System, and while the concept stays the same, the story is completely different. A few names, etc, stays the same, but mostly whole new story.

The protracted ’witch hunting’ had faded into silence with the end of the Seven Years’ War, and the mysteries of the East Coast had begun to conceal themselves, yet gunpowder was on a rapid rise. Mo Qishang, who should have been utterly confounded, stood at the crossroads of destiny in the name of Arthur. He stared in astonishment at the charging knights, the wizards atop the high towers, and the bizarre wilderness. He felt the sharpness of the longsword and the recoil of the firearm, both clear and unfamiliar. At last, he excitedly shook his robe and, with a smile on his face, said— “Do not believe what I say, for to believe is to exist!”