STRIKER: Independent Beast Tamer - Chapter 34: Hidden Intentions

A tree of 10,000 flowers, the world is the door.
The spells change a lot, but the hearts of the people are unchanged.

- Description from Uukanshu translation

In the distant Eldrathis Galaxy, a vast and uncharted frontier teeming with ancient ruins and deadly secrets, humanity is a small fish in an ocean of monsters. But that doesn’t stop treasure hunters like Clara Dravenmoor, a brilliant and reckless archaeologist, and the Safira's crew, from chasing lost relics buried in the void.Her latest mission? Recovering a priceless artifact from the ruins of Zhaaros, a hostile planet plagued by nomadic warlords and nightmarish creatures. But what she finds isn’t just a relic.It’s him.A pale, otherworldly man, locked away for centuries in a high-tech sarcophagus, covered in mystical markings and dripping with an aura of power that defies reality.He looks confused. No memories. No idea why he was trapped there.But he doesn't look angry.He looks eager.Excited to follow Clara in the Safira through the vast and magnificent galaxy.

What would you feel if after living your whole life out, you found out that you're just a character in a book?

That every encounter and misfortune were just the machinations of the author?

And if one day, you will be given a chance to escape, will you grab the opportunity or remain drunk by your role?

***

Philip was one of the puppets of fate and the main character of a famous book. Yet, unlike other main characters, his life was filled with tragedy and later ended terribly.

Then one day, along with the other 99 men, he was summoned to fight for his freedom. He immediately agreed to participate. He wanted to live freely and control his own life.

However, after seeing the might of his 99 enemies, he instantly became reluctant. Can he win against those who control magic and create miracles? He was just an unlucky soulless player with no interesting ability to begin with!

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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.