I Became the Youngest Disciple of the Martial God - Chapter 184

History speaks of a famous Genius... a genius who at the start, no adult whished for their child to emanate.GORT FAIRBANG.That's the name.He was the son of the current village chief, the son who won awards and even headed out to prestigious schools in a grand manner.But one day, a few screws came loose in his head, and he decided to return to the poverty stricken village, throwing away his good cards for the live of nothingness!Crazy! Crazy!He must be insane, many concluded.But what they didn't know, was that this one-in-a-million-year genius, had returned with one sole mission in mind.And that was to SAVE HUMANITY!

“I wasn’t born a lucky person, I’m just too strong.”

The witch, Elonora Asil, has fifteen previous convictions.

And the transmigrator, Noah Park, had no intentions of being involved in the novel’s original plot of the dragon beheading the villainess. With that thought in mind, she abandoned her titles as The Wicked Witch and sought to live a long and peaceful life.

So she heads down to the countryside wrought with deep remorse for all her misdeeds. And all should be happy… or she thought.

“Please raise me!”

And so it would seem that she stumbled upon the heroine’s pet dragon — the black-haired kid that would turn ballistic and obsessive later on — imprinted the villainess as his mother. And to make matters worse, the male lead suspects her as the prime culprit of stealing the dragon.

“How long should I keep up with you?”

She thought he’d arrest her right away, but seems like the male lead was slowly becoming the dragon’s butler.

“Can I hug you?”

“No.”

“Then… can you hold me?”

The villainess believes that the dragon needs a bit of taming.

‘Oh, male lead, won’t you sign a life contract as a real butler?

[Longevity + Discipleship + No Female Lead + Lighthearted Humor with No Tragic Moments]When his master picks food, he spins the table there;When his master chants spells, he chats without a care;When his master takes rest, he sings a lively song;When his master lies late, he bangs the pot along;His master lives on long, but his life is rather short;His master lays him down on the hillside, as a sort;His master lifts a cup, but he won’t take a drink;His master shares a tale, but he won’t stop to think;His master holds a feast, but he leaves the table wide;His master calls his soul, but he’s nowhere to abide.Spring returns to the hills, with blooms so bright and fair,Yet master and disciple are parted, one in heaven, one elsewhere.