Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love - Chapter 416: The Day of Declaration

Ariadna Lereg Ilestri Pre Agrigent. And so my life begins with this ridiculously long name, born to royalty and the center of attention — all because of one dangerous man; the veritably insane tyrant king, ruthless conqueror of ten empires, nightmare of all continents… and my father?! Will I be able to survive this maniac?

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.

I don’t know the length of Hydra, or the depth of S.H.I.E.L.D.

I don’t know that Ant-Man has an outfit, and I don’t know that the Winter Soldier has an iron fist.

I don’t know that there is chaos in the Bliss Space, and I don’t know that Miss Xiaoyu wants to get married.

I don’t know if the walking corpse is cheating, I don’t know whose fault the alien is.

I don’t know the legend of mutants, I don’t know that Kryptonians can’t afford to provoke them.

I don’t know that Black Panther’s family has a mine, and I don’t know that Iron Man is a mess.

I don’t know what happened to Lei Shen’s family, and I don’t know that Thanos is thinking about making troubles.

He doesn’t know the past or the way forward, he only knows that he stands firm at the critical moment and cannot be cowardly.

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Cool and talented female painter VS dark-bellied and poisonous-tongued business boss

When Wen Rui met Xie Yanqing for the first time, Mo Shang was like a jade, and his son was unparalleled in the world.

When Xie Yanqing saw Wen Rui for the first time, she smiled sweetly and looked forward to her beautiful eyes. With just one glance, he knew that this girl had lived in his heart.

The noble and desolate second master Xie in the capital broke his precepts, fell in love, changed his low-key style in the past, showed his affection on the Internet every day, and even abused his own son when he abused dogs.

“Second Master, black fans on the Internet say Madam’s paintings are plagiarized!”

“Go and block his account for me, and send him to the police station.”

“Second Lord, some people in the Chinese painting circle say that Madam was hired as a senior consultant of the art institute, so there must be a financial backer!”

“Post the marriage certificate of my wife and I online.

“Second master, Madam said she wants to drink porridge from Yipinju.”

“Hurry up and buy the ingredients, how can the outside smell as good as mine?”

“Papa, can I see what you locked in the safe?”

“No, that’s a portrait your mother painted for me.”

——

One day, Wen Rui was surrounded by reporters for a post-marriage interview at the Golden Lottery Awards Ceremony.

“Miss Wen, it is rumored that you are a cold beauty. How did Second Master Xie win your heart?”

Wen Rui’s bright eyes moved slightly, and said quietly: “Rely on thick skin.”

Reporters: “…”

Someone strolled over and grabbed Wen Rui’s slender waist: “Huh? Miss Wen, the wind hasn’t moved and the flag hasn’t moved, it’s your heart that’s moving.”

That night someone put Wen Rui against the wall: “Ruirui, are you still excited?”

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