MTL - World of Cultivation - ~ Eighty-six-sixth section of the original source of power [second more]

After Chu Zheng was inexplicably judged to be dead, the only trouble was – spending money.

Since the binding of this system, her waist has not been sore, her legs have not hurt, and she is not even breathing. She lives in fear of spending money every day.

System: Let’s set a small goal and defeat it by 100 million… Miss, stop! Don’t just turn on the invincible mode! (▼ dish▼#)

Chuzheng: Can you first explain what this thing holding my thigh is?

Something: Baby, you can do whatever you want.

Chuzheng: (touching the knife) Well, then I’m welcome.

System: Miss, please put down the butcher knife! ! (▼へ▼メ)

#Miss, you can really do whatever you want, find out#

- Description from novelbuddy

On this land of real souls, with millions of different martial art institutions, there are so many strong fighters just like the trees in the forests.

Among all, a mediocre apprentice from one of the mediocre institutions suddenly became a martial art genius after a mysterious incident. Not only did he acquire a photographic memory and keen perception, but he had also come to discover that his ability to comprehend martial arts is astronomically good, which eventually made him an almost godly existence.

From the hot-blooded intense battles to the clashes between the top geniuses, Martial Arts is no longer limited to the mortal world, it reaches to a level that can do everything from controlling the oceans to flying up the sky and diving under the ground.

- 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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