MTL - Take a Door with You - Chapter 225 Warhawk, not bad! [First change, ask for a monthly pass! 】

We have all heard the legends of great wizards, but do we know how those stories begin? Ardan Egobar, a young man living in a remote corner of the New Monarchy Empire, does not. He doesn't realize that this story is about him. Not yet...In a world where steam locomotives chug along iron rails, where massive airships hover in the skies, where in the cities you might encounter orcs in suits involved in organized crimes, dwarves with cigars controlling major banks, or elves strutting down fashionable boulevards, where humans have built vast nations on the brink of a world war, almost anything seems possible.Maybe, in such a world, even an ordinary young man, the last of the mountain hunters, might one day become the greatest wizard in history.

To exist in a certain place, at a certain time—it's always either by chance, or by choice.But sometimes,There is a third force.One that doesn't ask.One that doesn't explain.It simply places you—wherever it wants.Arséne had always been dragged into places he never chose.Situations he never asked for.Realities he never belonged to.And when, at last, he decided to act on his own terms—To take the initiative,To move first,To choose…He simply died.

When I opened my eyes I had become a princess!

But out of all characters in this romance novel, why is it the princess who has the fate of dying to her own blood-related dad, the emperor!

If I want to live, I must not be seen by that emperor dad.

“When did this kind of scumbag start living in my castle?”

The man who doesn’t have single drop of blood nor tear to drop, that cold emperor Claude! Will Atanasia who had been caught by the emperor be able to survive?

“I… What do I do…..?”

[Longevity + Discipleship + No Female Lead + Lighthearted Humor with No Tragic Moments]When his master picks food, he spins the table there;When his master chants spells, he chats without a care;When his master takes rest, he sings a lively song;When his master lies late, he bangs the pot along;His master lives on long, but his life is rather short;His master lays him down on the hillside, as a sort;His master lifts a cup, but he won’t take a drink;His master shares a tale, but he won’t stop to think;His master holds a feast, but he leaves the table wide;His master calls his soul, but he’s nowhere to abide.Spring returns to the hills, with blooms so bright and fair,Yet master and disciple are parted, one in heaven, one elsewhere.