MTL - Rebirth of the Urban Immortal Emperor - Chapter 3977 Evil Cultivation of Spiritual Consciousness

A maid who is beaten on behalf of a noble boy.

Some memories of her childhood were cruel, but Yuriel held no resentment towards the boy. Rather, she liked it–The hand that carefully applied medicine to her wounds was always warm.

“M-Master, stop, Raph, sa, save…ah, mm…!”
“That’s why.. I told you.. to wait.. till I returned.”

But the Raphlet that appeared in her dreams showed nothing but passion and lust.

Prophetic dreams.
The ability that was like a stigma drove Yuriel towards an unknown future.

All I want is to be next to you.

In a world where everyone changes jobs, I actually awakened to a unique dual career.

And a life-defying career?

High-quality items to cherish? I synthesize directly.

Cherish high-quality skills? I synthesize directly.

Senior pet cherish? I continue to synthesize, wait, how did this beast girl become so big after synthesis?

Let’s start with the synthesis of three skeleton summoning books…

Synthesis – [Undead Army]

Three more dark staffs to synthesize…

Synthesis – [Death Scepter]

The game competition of billions of races in the universe, our solar system, can we earthlings stand on a broader stage!

…

- Description from novelbuddy

Three Emperors have died in quick succession. The prince whom nobody had taken notice of unexpectedly succeeds to the throne. He is quickly plunged into layers upon layers of danger. The Empress Dowager dislikes him, wishing to install a younger, more obedient Emperor. His half-brother dislikes him, accusing him of stealing the throne that is rightfully his. The palace attendants and servants dislike him, believing that he is not a true Emperor. The Child Emperor must save himself.

[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.