Eternal Cultivation of Alchemy - Chapter 2497: The Rewards

I am a Snow Owl-Leopard Griffin and I do not have much to complain about my life, I have a great yet odd mother, live on floating fairytale islands filled with other flying creatures, magic and mysteries, but how did I end up in the arms of this rascal of a demon?!

When chased away from my homeland I have to grow strong fast or perish on the way before I can even learn how to fly properly, but thankfully destiny traces my way into the world of cultivating as I grow obsessed with the power pursuing such knowledge gives me.

Especially because I have people to save… and those to take revenge upon.

*Thinks cool phare while staring at the horizon, the wind brushing his clothes and hair, all serene and determination oozing off from his cool demeanor… except for the glimmering eyed demon staring at his side with yet another gift for his cold beauty.*

…I don’t have time for anything else, so take your gifts away you rogue demon!

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ML: Cold beauty, I bought you flowers!

MC: Uhum…*doesn’t take any*

ML: I bought us matching outfits lovely beauty!

MC: Uhum… *doesn’t change clothes”

ML: My king, I brought you to our chambers.

MC:Uhu- Wait, what? Daring rascal, scram!

~~~~Warning~~~~

Mature content including gore, explicit smut, swearing, relationship between men.

Enjoy~~ ~,^

PS. This is the second book of the series Reincarneted into a … but it can be read as a StandAlone.

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I’ve always dreamed of becoming a villainess, but I never thought that I would actually become one….!

This is the story of a young girl who aspires to become a villainous noble girl who’s capable of growing stronger through every confrontation that she is faced with.

Disclaimer: The main character’s standards for a villainess are a bit off.

On that fateful day, a voice in the sky told everyone on Earth that the world they called home has just been part of some sort of simulation.

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.