AI Doctor : From Slave to Beast King - Chapter 93: Axyria

Rickshaw, toilet water, four detectives, Kowloon Flower Boat!

The swaying cheongsam girl, and the dreamy Xiangjiang!

Reborn Xiangjiang——

Shi Zhijian relied on a pile of king fried rice in his hand, and it blossomed everywhere!

- Description from novelbuddy

When a man finds himself in the presence of absolute power, what will he do? Dying has already happened, but he wasn't given permission and the creature responsible finds his tragedy amusing. Forcing him to continue his life in a new world, he is given an unknown task that must be completed if he ever wishes to rest.

……………………………………………………………

Dear readers! Without any ads, maybe you will prefer .

The dungeons appeared 3,000 years ago. New wealth and ways to gain power poured into the world, tipping the world’s power balance.

People rejoiced in their appearance. Now the poor could thrive, escaping poverty.

There were countless people trying to enter the dungeons. They formed a guild to manage them. We named them the Explorer’s guild.

All who ventured into those dark, evil places given a title to signify their status.

[Dungeon Scout]

A special occupation created to control the people who entered the dungeon.

A young orphan, adopted by dungeon knights and, would eventually follow in their footsteps.

His name was Vincent Schwartz, born in a fractured world of death and decay.

On the day of his 18th birthday, when children could ingest a special fluid and awaken.

Vincent awakened the unique [Summoner] class.

Able to summon distant beings that wielded endless power, able to perform terrifying attacks.

The only problem was the strange system, which appeared out of nowhere.

[The Demonic Choice System]

This system would give him random choices and give different rewards at different intervals in his life.

Would his system help him attain a wonderful life, filled with women he loves?

Perhaps the world will force him to fight, as the dungeon’s purpose remained hidden in shadows.

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.