Reborn at Boot Camp: General, Don’t Mess Around! - Chapter 4135 - : Revenge

I'll take care of it. The uncle of her husband on their wedding night whispered viciously in her ear. In front of a frightening Steel Blooded Business Demon, he was the one who was crazy for favoring his wife.

He had begged her to pave the way for her so that she could do whatever she wanted. If not, he would pamper her to the heavens. Just because he glanced at the clothes, he directly monopolized the entire shopping mall under her name. He said, As long as you want it, I want it!

What should I do if I cross to another world and become an NPC?

This idea has been deeply rooted and sprouted in William’s mind!

Therefore, he decided:

I want to be the strongest NPC in history.

Wear the thickest armour and give the most vicious beatings!

Who says an NPC will be killed by players?

Who says an NPC upgrades more slowly than players?

Who says an NPC must explode equipment, I can explode in more ways… Bah humph.

Anyway, it’s impossible for me to die. Just take a look at all you trash players. Your father will stand here and let you chop for an hour without a frown!

- Description from Novelupdates

She is the underworld Ghost Doctor’s only disciple, who accidentally transmigrated into the body of the main wife’s daughter in the general’s mansion. She used to be a punching bag.Now, she stepped on her dregs of an older sister, put her father’s concubine in her place, and teaches any objectionable aristocratic ladies a lesson.

Her days are rather free and unfettered. But when did that cold as ice prince from the rumors, sporting a deadpan face all day long, fix his gaze on her?
He unexpectedly fawned and pandered to her like a devoted dog?

“Go away, you rotten man! Careful or I’ll needle you like a pin cushion!”

“Wife, why are you so fierce? As a husband, I’m so scared”
….the man is all smiles as he approached, his eyes gleaming with a cunning light.

- Description from Novelupdates

I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.