Starting With an SSS-Rank Swordsmanship Talent - Chapter 254: The Despicable Richard

The Blood Warrior of the Ungpae Association, who created a sea of blood wherever he went, made the world of the Forces of Evil possible.

The Nine Great Sects and the Six Great Clans joined forces to fight him, but were unable to stop him.

Four Great Warriors, who were Murim’s last hope, appeared.

The four of them fought against the Blood Warrior and eventually defeated him at Mount Song.

The time has come for the legacy of the Blood Warrior to rise once again.

Emperor Zi Yu used 5 strikes of his axe to split mountains and unify everyone underneath the heavens. He partitioned the land into 9 areas, thus establishing the Nine Cauldrons which eventually became known as the 9 prefectures.

“Teacher, you know me. I’m usually a good student, with nearly 100% attendance, and I’m also eager to help the people.

Yesterday I flew to the coast to fight monsters, so…”

“Teacher, you know me. Which teacher is not full of praise for me, but things are prioritized. Yesterday happened to be the Ghost Festival. Hundreds of ghosts walk at night, so I…”

“Teacher, you know me well. I am an activist in our dormitory. Every day I call them to go to class, but under special circumstances, so…”

“Teacher, I’m a foreigner, I don’t understand what Xie said, and I didn’t know there was a class yesterday, so…”

The teacher took off his glasses and rubbed his temples, “I can tell that everyone in your dormitory has stunts, but this is by no means a reason to skip class! This class! This year! You guys are all done!”

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Another version of the introduction: Ultraman Delta was living in another world for unknown reasons. Originally, he wanted to be an ordinary college student, waiting for one day to find a way to return home.

But the sudden appearance of a monster disrupted his plans, and he also discovered that his roommates were not ordinary people either.

- Description from novelbuddy

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.