Marauder of the Apocalypse - Chapter 32: Strength [2]

Getting transmigrated inside a novel is not really a bad thing—you know the story, you have the power of the future in your hand, you know all the hidden keys. You might as well end up as the most powerful and omniscient being in that world.That is, if you don’t wake up during the epilogue.And yet I find myself in the body of a fallen priest at the end of the novel, a tragic hero who had his mana circuit broken in the last war, being shunned, drown in debt, and destined to die not long after.Fortunately, I know just the cure.Unfortunately, the cure was in the hand of one of the Demon Lords—you know, the race that my kingdom just wage war with.Would he give me the cure if I asked him politely? There’s no harm in trying, right? I’d die if I didn’t get the cure, anyway.“Sure, but you have to be my bride as the price,” the Demon Lord said....huh? Sir, you know I’m (technically) a priest, right?

Upon reaching home, the number of little girls at home has doubled from one to two?! Moreover, no one in the family actually noticed this strange situation… Jiang Ziya possesses a strange left eye that lets him see things he shouldn’t be able to see. Usually, turning a blind eye to them is his life principle. However, something that shouldn’t be there has appeared in his house. This time, he can no longer continue pretending that he hasn’t seen it. So what should he do next?

This world has never been peaceful. Sometimes, just “seeing” things is dangerous. Facing the unknown, are you willing to choose to see – the truth?

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”