The Time-Stop Breeding Uncle Want's to Retire - Chapter 59

This is a world where the ancient deities had died, and demons are born from the dark.This is a world where martial arts are common, and they’re divided into nine-class, where the highest class leads to the world of immortals.Zhou Heng transmigrated to this place and became an apprentice in a normal martial arts school. He practiced martial arts hard and at the same time, worked hard for a living.One day, when he was practicing martial arts, he heard this voice.“You’re practicing martial arts hard. Your level of proficiency has increased by 1.”“You’re practicing martial arts hard. Your level of proficiency has increased by 3.”“Congratulations! Since you have been martial arts nonstop, triggered ‘Heavenly Reward’. Your understanding toward martial arts has increased exponentially. Your level of proficiency has increased by 10.”“Congratulations! You’ve reached perfection for the martial arts! You received a Lucky Bag.”“You opened the Lucky Bag! You’re so lucky! You obtained Solo Nine Swords!”“You opened the Lucky Bag! You’re so lucky! You obtained Celestial Globe Appraisal!”“You opened the Lucky Bag! You’re so lucky! You obtained Gold Origin Medal!”

Sein was only a child when he was abducted from the surface world and forced to join the Black Magic Academy. In the Underworld, strength reigns supreme and the weak struggles to survive. As the death toll of magic initiates continues to rise within the walls of the academy, Sein’s quest for knowledge and power is a constant battle for survival.

Memories of his parents and the starry night sky in the surface world are fading with each passing day in the Underworld.

“Is Magus World the name of the world we live in? Where is my home in the Magus World?” These are the burning questions that Sein has in mind.

Will he be able to rise to the pinnacle of power, discover the truth of the world and ultimately find his way back home?

Official blurb:

He hails from the banished land of the Underworld, bound by a single unforgiving rule—survival of the fittest. He is the seeker of truth, a mage who treads the fine line between sanity and madness. In a world where myths have crumbled and chaos holds sway, it is strength that reigns supreme.

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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.

“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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