Above the Galaxy - Chapter 37 - 25, Take the Initiative!

The novel Chronicles of the Hero of Frosimar is a story about the failures of the protagonist not the successes.“It’s not good.”The First Emperor, who conquered the whole world, closed his eyes with a brief appreciation (after reading the novel).But the moment he opened his eyes again, there were only a few lines about him in the Chronicles of the Hero of Frosimar.This was because he became an imprisoned prince who met death with his first appearance (in the novel).

WPC APRIL WINNER 2024Orion had worked hard his whole life, but success always eluded him.He couldn’t cross the threshold that required him to and got plunged into the abyss of despair because of it. However, life gave everyone a second chance. Orion also got one, and he put his soul and sweat on it, but he still failed to grasp that chance.As a result, he died.But when he thought it was all over for him, he found himself reincarnated in the world of fantasy, where every individual boasted super talents and devastating curses on themselves.He also had a talent, but he didn’t know what to make of it as his talent was “Copy Curse.”He could only copy other people’s curses.“Why? Why, god, why? Why do you have to reincarnate me and give me this shitty talent?”As if God had heard his plea, something appeared in his field of vision.[Congratulation to the host for awakening the system.][Talent: Copy Curse — Host can copy other people’s curses.][Curse: Null Body — Host’s body can’t feel mana because of this body.]“What the hell! My talent is already shit, but this freaking curse has to make things worse for me.”However, what Orion didn’t know was that, with the crazy combination of his talent and curse, he had the ability to become the strongest being in the three domains.

A mechanical engineer Poul Nielsen along with his best friend Jonathan Axelsen a civil engineer died after a truck crashed at the coffee shop where they were hanging out and got transmigrated in a late 19th-century parallel world, in the country of Avalonia. It was at the height of the second industrial revolution and to survive daily, they’ll have to work like others to earn pennies to get by the day. However, the two didn’t settle for less. They want to be the Edison, the Chrysler, the Rockefeller, the Carnegie, the Ford, and the Westinghouse of this new world.

This world doesn’t seem to have electricity? Then let’s start an electric power distribution company. Light is not enough, let’s build appliances and motors as well to make our business profitable.

This world doesn’t seem to have vehicles and ground transportation relies solely on horse-drawn carriages and trains. Let’s start an Automotive Manufacturing Company.

Huge infrastructure projects such as metro stations, skyscrapers, bridges, tunnels, and dams? Let’s start a Civil Engineering firm and build miracles in this world.

There is always money in guns, they say. Fine, let's invest in another venture, the arms manufacturing company.

And before we even know it, we will be the richest men in the world. However, the path won’t be easy as fierce competitions are up ahead. Robber barons who would do everything just to crush their competitors. Predator against predator, and government intervention.

“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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