The Reincarnated Assassin is a Genius Swordsman - Chapter 561

When the eldest prince Luo Fei reached 18 years old, the database automatically screened the genes of omegas across the entire empire for matching. The only son of a wealthy businessman, Mo Lin, had a gene match of more than 90% with the eldest prince. However, the moment he saw Mo Lin, Luo Fei learned that this omega is a sick child with paralyzed legs, hemiplegia, and severe mental illness???

The fallen Sky Knight was the sky's tears,and with altitude still at hand, he wouldn't give up,Blood and Fire and Iron descended from the heavens,Behold, the heavens were crying!The roaring soul was rising through the sky!!!

Magic is the programming language of the world. But in a fantasy world, nobody has ever heard about programming. That is, nobody except Aurea. Formerly known as Aurora, she was reborn with all the knowledge she brought from Earth.She spent the 40 years of her previous life studying society, science, programming, hermetism, mythology, and alchemy. She died financially broke and emotionally broken, but all her accumulated knowledge and her nerdiness are about to pay off.She starts her life as the daughter of a slave, set against impossible odds from the beginning. But if incantations work as a programming language, then she knows exactly what to do to turn the tables. Words and syntax were the bread and butter of her former life, and material components look more like APIs and plugins.She didn’t meet a Goddess, wasn’t summoned like a hero, didn’t have a System giving her an ability. Instead, she was just dropped there to fend for herself. But with her knowledge, she doesn’t need a cheat skill. She is the cheat herself.

“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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