Rise of the Poor - Chapter 140: A Father Comes from Afar

Kai of the Sorcerer’s Tower is one of the last mages left, barely surviving in a world ruled by creatures of the dark — where the era of mages ended, and most of the lands got contaminated with dead mana. To save his world and fulfil his master’s last wish, he put himself through a forbidden ritual, risking his soul being ripped into pieces to make his way into the past. In an era with abundant mana — an era yet to enter the Golden Era of Magic. Things go wrong, of course, as they always do, and he finds himself thousands of years before the world fell to mana contamination — in the body of a young lord, Arzan. All is not well, though, as the young lord was murdered by someone right at the cusp of a beast wave threatening the territory, while larger threats loom on the horizon. There was a lot to do for Kai to regain his former strength in this time of primitive technology, but then again, he might just be able to change that.

Ethan never expected to wake up inside the game he once played.Tower of Ascension, a world where every adventurer fights their way up through endless floors, each more brutal than the last.Here, skills define everything.But all skills are capped at Level 100. No one can break that limit.Except him.When Ethan transmigrated, his system glitched.His skills could rise infinitely.[Congratulations, your skill level-up][Sword Swing Lv. 999+ — A single slash could shatter a fortress.][Fireball Lv. 999+ — An army reduced to ash in a breath.]What began as a bug soon turned him into the tower’s greatest anomaly.Guilds will hunt him. Kings will fear him.Even the gods guarding the highest floors will see him as a threat to erase.But Ethan doesn’t care.If the world insists he’s an error, then he’ll climb to the very top and prove that even the Tower itself can’t stop him.

“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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