MTL - Super Security in the City - Chapter 4433 Danube

Qu Xiao unexpectedly transmigrated as the spoiled wife of a business magnate. Despite her good fortune, the original owner of her body failed to see that, and helped her maiden family to conspire against the magnate, even trying to divorce him and elope with a scumbag ex-boyfriend!

Rolling her eyes in frustration with one hand on the divorce papers, Qu Xiao simply leaped into the magnate’s arms while crying, “I would not divorce you!”

Shang Liyan was stunned. “A-Are you still Qu Xiao?”

Qu Xiao nodded fervently, and having the full script in hand, she wielded her omniscience as she wiped out all scumbags.

Her ex was trying to seduce her? She sent him some hookers and secured compromising photographs of him, and sent him directly to the precinct!

Her maiden family wanted the Shang family’s stocks? She took their company instead!

“Darling, you seem different from before!”

Qu Xiao stared at the man before her, and swore to pamper him and love him in the place of the original owner of her body! She would protect the stoic magnate!

The only game in my life that makes me laugh: The Lands of The Lunerra... I played this game for six thousand hours in three years, and the day I thought I had done everything I could in this game, I felt a great emptiness inside me. I thought nothing in my ordinary and monotonous life could make me happier than when I played this game. But it didn't take long for me to realize that I was wrong with an e-mail I received the night I finished the game.

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Hi! Thank you to everyone who came to read this story. There are two things I want to tell you.

First of all, I first started writing this about two years ago, but I was writing in my native language, Turkish, and on a different site. But unfortunately, the website where I published the series came to the brink of collapse. While I was thinking about where to publish the series, I remembered Webnovel and here I am. So this is my first English novel and I believe I will make mistakes while translating. Please forgive me for these if you encounter some of them. I will do my best.

Second... yes, while writing this novel I was inspired by most of the novels I've read so far. Like The Novel's Extra, that novel is a pure diamond for me and I don't think I will ever reach the level of that thing. So I want to say the first few chapters may feel familiar to you, but I'll do my best to smooth it out.

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A Professional Transmigrator meets a newbie Regressor.

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He lived an average, fulfilling life and died of old age. The next moment, he opened his eyes as the Princess of Asmaria.

While looking forward to his new life, he died again.

And so began his 151,897,914th life as Samur Eckart.

Samur is a Professional Transmigrator- or so he says so, as he gets transmigrated into a new world every time he dies.

However, each time, his memories return only moments before his death. If he successfully survives, he gets to live that life, if he dies, well, he just moves on to his next moment of death.

Once again on the verge of death as Samur, he’s saved at the last moment by a young boy.

Surprise, surprise, the young boy is a Regressor.

As a man of honour, Samur intends to repay his debt then leave because the world is too inconvenient to live in.

Well, that’s what he thought, at least, but the Regressor and his friends are kind of… weird, and he can’t seem to get away at all?

However, not everything is as it seems. Samur’s whims have made him the part of an eternal lie.

Shadows dance in glee as they concoct a requiem far grander than anyone can imagine, while the Lights tremble in delight as the apocalypse threatens the Universe.

The dies have been cast, the play has been written, the characters are on the stage, and the sacrifices have been made.

And so, it’s finally time to let this game begin.

“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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