Tyrant of the Ruined Sun - Chapter 49: A Second Council Meeting and the Southern Plans 1

Well-known Composer Fang Zhao was in the glorious stage of his career, when the Apocalypse arrived; After finally experiencing the bitter difficulties of a thousand dangers, when the Apocalypse was simmering down to an end, he collapsed; When he opened his eyes, he was reborn in a New World, 500 years after the end of the apocalypse, in the body of a student who had been dumped barely after graduation, who had been cheated of his hardwork barely after he started working…

The World of the Future, Virtual Idols PK Real Idols

“Every time background music plays in my head, I feel like there is nothing to be afraid of.” —Fang Zhao

Toward the end of the apocalyptic period, Fang Zhao lost his life. However, instead of dying, he found himself 500 years later in the body of a young and aspiring composer who shared the same name. Having received a second chance at life, Fang Zhao sets out to achieve the previous owner’s dreams.

Armed with the experience of living through an apocalyptic age and his profession as a composer before that period, Fang Zhao uses his talent, wits, and knowledge to make his mark in the entertainment industry of the future.

- Description from Novelupdates

The end of the world comes suddenly, and when most people turn into zombies, order and morality collapses completely. Our Protagonist is determined to stay alive.But he isn’t completely alone. He has a special pet; a Thousand-Legged Blood Centipede, a powerful creature that gets stronger with every battle.As he fights through the chaos, the centipede transforms into a Six-Winged Blood Centipede, then into an Eight-Winged Golden Centipede, and finally into a Ten-Winged Divine Centipede. Together, they become a powerful team that can change the future, even in the darkest times.The protagonist isn’t a hero; He kills zombies and keeps some in captivity.He saves people, protects people, and draws human blood to feed zombies.As the remaining people fight over what little they have, the idea of right and wrong is forgotten. He walks a thin line between being a hero and a villain, doing whatever it takes to survive.

“Y-young master, the Lord is requesting your presence.”

I looked at myself in the mirror as a maid's voice, laced with trepidation, reached my ears.

“Tell him I'll be there shortly.”

“I understand, y-young master.”

I paid no mind to her quivering presence, my gaze fixed on my reflection.

And this is exactly why I despise this character, Yes, He is a villain with my name but does it matter, no, the problem is this guy's weight he is so heavy that this tub of lard is weighing me down, literally.

For someone who prides themselves on muscle, nothing's worse than “fat,” and this guy before me? Well, he's a prime example of that.

“I suppose I need a workout.”

Reaching the door, exhaustion gripped me and I found myself gasping for breath. It was unbelievable – this body was so darn heavy.

After an arduous struggle, I finally made my way out of the room, causing servants carrying a litter¹ to scurry over. They lowered it, creating a path for me to step onto it.

I tried to ignore the spectacle – it was this pampering that turned this fatty into a giant tire. Pushing the annoyance aside, I began to move, managing only about 10 steps before my legs gave out.

Damn it. Seriously? I collapsed, leaving the twenty servants to hastily lift me and place me onto the litter. For me, it felt more like a stretcher. There I was, sprawled on it like some mountain, panting heavily.

“You damn god! I hope the protagonist of your favorite novel gets NTRed!”

“We're here, young master.”

Can you believe it? his father's office is just thirty steps away from this pumpkin room, yet he insists on using a litter.

“Give me a hand.”

I ordered while cursing this hefty body under my breath.

“Oh, come, come, my dear child. How was your day?”

I glanced at the middle-aged man, his face exuding warmth and care.

As for my feelings? This old man right here is the reason this chubby exists. Not that I give a darn about my indulgent father.

“I'm alright, Dad.”

Yes, imagine this: as a noble, this old man spoiled this pumpkin so much that he thinks he can go around scolding the mansion's maids and servants.

“Take a seat. Hey, fetch his chair!”

You might wonder why he doesn't sit on a regular chair. Well, that's because the chair is custom-made to accommodate this hippo-sized frame.

“What's going on, Dad?”

Seriously, why would he summon this big old hippo over to his quarters? There's gotta be a reason for it....

“Your fiancee is coming tomorrow”

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