The Palaces of the Twelve Sacred Beasts - Chapter 47

A Sword Dao expert, mastering Sword Control across thousands of miles, traverses heaven and earth.An Peak Alchemy Master with supreme power, their Medicine City can revive the dead and regenerate bones.A Talismanic Elixir can annihilate strong enemies and demons.The youngest Eternal Life Pill Master of the continent is betrayed during the refining of an Immortal Pill.Three years later, a young man named Chu Feng from the fallen Sword King Mansion joins the Ten Thousand Sword Sect.The enemies and treacherous disciples who once opposed the Eternal Life Pill Master are now in utter fear.

“Mr. Lei, rumor has it that you have a crush on me?”

With a cold icy face, the man ignored her question and continued reading his documents. He later decided to explain himself, “I swear to God I want nothing to do with you! The b*stard who spread the rumor is a dog!”

Snap! Suddenly, a pencil snapped in his hands while their eyes meet. The surrounding seemed to have frozen.

A few moments passed…

“Grrr woof!” Lei Xiao barked…

On Christmas day, seemingly overnight, God summoned everyone on Earth, giving every single person a 'Gift' along with a System.

These Gifts, synonimous with special abilities granted people powers beyond comprehension.

However, with these abilities came tragedy that enveloped the world. The Apocalypse!

Jeremy Lewis, a reclusive loner, is mysteriously exempt from this phenomenon and finds himself being the only one without a Gift.

God decides to grant him the last Gift available, [Subspace], and forcefully returns him to a world that has become hell.

Horrifying monsters now lurk around every corner, and inevitable death awaits.

Arming himself with his wits and the Gift he possesses, how will Jeremy survive this cruel new world that he finds himself in?

“Everything will go according to plan, and ultimately the path I have started will lead to my victory... these tools will be useful in achieving that!”

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.