True Martial World - Chapter 1600: Waiting For The Highest Bid

“Block him.”“He's technically still my boss.”“Then block him with dignity.”The call ended again.And then started again.I let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a sob, then finally answered with the enthusiasm of a snail crawling through salt.“Yes, Mr. Walton?”“Have you changed your mind yet?”I collapsed onto the towel and gazed at the sky as though it might consume me entirely if I pleaded sweetly enough.“Do you ever take a break?” I asked, shielding my eyes with one hand.“You're avoiding the question.”“Because it's a dumb question.”He exhaled, the sound sharp and irritated even over phone. “It's not a dumb question. It's a business offer.”“It's a weird offer-one that I already said no to.”There was a brief pause, and I could practically hear him clenching his jaw through the speaker.“You are acting unreasonably.”“ Unreasonable?” I sat up. “I'm not the one drafting fake girlfriend contracts like it's a normal Tuesday.”“Isabella-”“Certainly not, Mr. Walton.” I mimicked his tone perfectly. “I told you I'm not doing it. You need to find someone else to play pretend with.”SYNOPSISIsabella Miller thought saying no to her boss’s fake dating offer was the end of the story.But Adrien Walton doesn’t take no—especially not when he’s convinced she’s a gold digger.Suddenly, her student loans are piling up, her father’s vet clinic is on the brink of eviction and her brother is about to be kicked out of college. Coincidence? She thinks not.Adrien Walton is calm, calculating—and he's just pulled every string to corner Isabella into the perfect position.Now she’s stuck choosing between pride and survival.So she agrees to his offer: be his fake girlfriend.No feelings attached. No drama. Just business.Or so she thought.“Conference Room B. Fifteen minutes,” he said, passing by without a glance.The folder he pushed across the table landed with a thud.I opened it. The contract. All of it.---Enemies to lovers? Check.Slow burn? Hmmnyea.Banter so sharp it might file your nails? Yes.Delicious workplace tension? Of course.Tension that could melt steel?Absolutely.Smut?? Wanna find out?Welcome to corporate romance warfare. There’s no escaping this contract.

“The more the Church supports me, the more it proves I have done the right thing. The more the heretics oppose me, the more it proves I have done the right thing.” “Even when heretics praise me, it further proves I’m right. If heretics stay silent, it shows I have done impeccably!” “If the Church opposes me, it means they have all fallen into evil heresy, and the more heretics oppose me, the more it proves I have done the right thing.” In the year 681, An Su was crowned the youngest Pope in the history of the Church. During his speech, he provided important guidance for the forthcoming de-divination work, emphasizing: “Now that both the Church and the heretics oppose me, it precisely shows I am on an exceedingly correct path!” ... The year 685. “It is not that the Evil God cannot be summoned, but that choosing him to take the stage is more cost-effective.” Such was the assessment of the former holy woman of the demons, Yage Silvia. This statement, once made, instantly attracted attention from all sectors of society—the extensive documentary “The Legend of Pope An Su” continues to broadcast for you.

“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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The God of Magic stopped blessing his believers.

The Tower of Magic, where the mages gathered and worshiped him was destroyed.

Magic Fell.

The surviving Mages were looked down upon by the rest of the world.

Normal Mages, that is.

The Mages from the Strongest Magic Family, the Vesta Family, were an exception.

For 5000 years, the Vesta Family continued to produce exceptional Mages that were strong enough to resist other forces which came after their family heritage and treasures even without the Blessing of the God of Magic.

Now, however, the Vesta Family found themselves in a difficult situation where they didn’t have a single capable heir.

That was until, Christopher Davis, an underworld Gang Leader, transmigrates into the body of Vaan Astra Vesta, a well-known pushover and the ‘waste’ of the Vesta Family.

Christopher, now Vaan, soon realized that he could see otherworldly magic spirits with knowledge so vast that the Magic books that the Vesta Family treasured for 5000 years were nothing in comparison.

That, combined with Vaan’s own God-like Talent,

The ‘Hope’ was born.

A prodigy strong enough to not only protect the Vesta Family and its treasures,

A prodigy who will restore Magic to its former glory was born.

“Haa!? Who da fuck said a Mage can’t use fists!? That crab-like face of yours, I’ll punch it till it is deformed into something better looking!”

And of course, Christopher’s gangster-like tendencies won’t just disappear.

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