The hivemind is conquering for me? - Chapter 448: Spoken Daydream

After saving one world from a demon god and earning the trust and admiration of a perverted goddess who wants to be his plaything, Sol's terrible luck causes him to get summoned again to another world with her almost as soon as he returns to his own.However, this time around he refuses to take on the role of a hero.Instead, he decides to challenge a pantheon of gods as a side quest while living as a simple and misunderstood man under the protection of his goddess who took his place as hero. Unfortunately, even without trying Sol can't avoid attracting trouble and is constantly getting dragged into epic battles against the gods without even trying because of his cocky personality and bad habits.But that's fine too, if the gods want to fight then he'll gladly take them on and plunder them into ruin!

“Corpse Processing” is over, but the lord has a lot to write, so this is it.

A person is a mage.

Three people are a team.

A group of people is a territory.

A group of people is the rise of an era.

I, Karen Heise, want to lead an era. If you think you are young and self-motivated enough, send your resume here.

My address: Gold Flash Town, the center of the world.

- Description from novelbuddy

Born and raised in a lab Tristan must figure out how to live and survive in the outside world. To make matters worse he has 4 others to look after. He's the oldest but is always being taken care of, to make sure his lab siblings want for nothing, Tristan will need to make a difficult decision. The goal is to provide for his siblings but he ends up living just like he was groomed to live. On top of everything else, there are four alphas who want to mate with him, and they don't mind sharing. Will Tristan accept his fate? Or will he runaway?

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.