Sword Sovereign of the Celestial Emperor - Chapter 209, Seven-Star Armor

Transmigrated into a trash body of general's daughter as female lead? Peh! Too mainstream! Transmigrated to be a villainess? Common! What about transmigrating and ending up as cannon fodder? Have read it before!

He was tired of being broke. Tired of pretending. Tired of watching others win a game he didn't even understand.But when a failed job interview leads Alex into the world of a mysterious millionaire, he’s thrown into a hidden war, one where money isn't just earned… it's engineered.Guided by Uncle Raymond, a man with a dark past and deep wisdom, Alex begins to discover the suppressed history and secret systems behind money, from cowries to crypto, banks, black markets, and so on. He learns that wealth isn't something you chase... it's something you attract by understanding value.But then, Alex stumbles upon The Sovereign Circle, a group of elite powerbrokers who don't just make money... they control its very definition and rig the system for profit. Raymond? He’s unknowingly tied to them.Being torn between exposing the truth and protecting the man who changed his life, Alex faces a final test: Will he play the game like everyone else or will he rewrite the rules?***This is a story for anyone who has ever asked, “Is there more to money than making it?”

[First monster slain. Special rune obtained. Level 2 has been reached.]

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.”