Breed Me, Daddy Alpha - Chapter 332

Lin Zhao, transmigrated as the framed son of Zhongliang and was sent by the emperor to a dilapidated temple.

‘Bind the temple management app and become an abbot!’

Clean up the broken futon and turn back to a pilgrim at the foot of the mountain.

Ding dong! Mission accomplished.

Get the bonus: watery Chinese cabbage x1.

Abducted pilgrim: The old man in the family has been sick all the time. When I went to the temple, the abbot gave me a cabbage with water and spirit. After eating it, my old mans health was healed!

Other listeners: What!? That broken temple is so spiritual, let’s go!

Lin Zhao: Don’t crowd, don’t crowd! The Palace of Heavenly Kings will be crushed!

——The emperor who has not yet consolidated his power sent a secret letter:

Aiqing, your life is going well, but I have a headache!

Recently, there have been found few illegitimate children, which is very troublesome.

I have arranged for someone to come to you, I hope you can share my worries for me!

Lin Zhao: …… Shave the prince’s head, it’s not tiring to say it directly.

1. There are magical tables, magical seeds, and magical fertilizers

2. There are many short stories in the unit

3. There will be a bridge to develop the surrounding economy in the back

4. The protagonist is an honest monk on the surface, and secretly attracts talents and transfers funds for the emperor.

5. The work is inspired by a game. (Because it involves propaganda, I can’t say the specific name)

- Description from Novelupdates

In the neon of blue and purple, under the thick steel sky, at the forefront of this surge of data, lies the world post-tech revolution.It’s also the dividing line between reality and illusion.Steel and flesh, past and future.In this place, the world outside and inside coexist. Everything in front of us feels like a wall of time within reach.The darkness is slowly creeping in.But hey, my friend, you gotta know, we can’t just counter darkness with softness.Gotta use fire.

Welcome to NecroCorp – Where War is Always in Stock!“Now with 15% off main battle tanks, because peace is bad for business.”Hello, traveler!Looking for a bone-forged sword? A modular mana cannon? Perhaps... a discounted main battle tank for your next kingdom raid?Oh wait, you're not a customer, you're a reader.Right. This is probably where I give you my “tragic backstory.” Fine.I used to be human.Then I died.Now I'm a Lich with a factory in a dead dungeon, a skeleton workforce that doesn't need lunch breaks, salaries, and a magical system that rewards me for selling stuff. So, I did what any sane undead would do: I started an arms corporation.Now I sell weapons to orcs, goblins, elves, humans, anyone with a grudge and a pile of magic stones. Need siege engines? Got 'em. Crossbows that reload themselves? Yup. Flamethrower golems? In development.But here's the trick: you can’t sell weapons if there’s no war.So when the world started calming down... well, I may have encouraged a few border skirmishes. For marketing purposes. Nothing personal. War drives demand, after all.So, if you're here for drama, explosions, undead capitalism, and morally questionable business strategies wrapped in bone and steel, you’ve come to the right dungeon.Just don’t ask about the warranty.There isn’t one that lived to tell and ask about it.

Her childhood was forged in shadows, and she was sharpened into a weapon, trained to be a ghost, a killer—an instrument of vengeance. The target: a decorated general who brought down her family.But fate doesn't follow orders.Just as Lara was about to execute her long-planned mission, everything spiraled out of control. A military convoy intercepted her escape route—escorting none other than the general himself. And then came the moment that changed everything.A blinding crash. Screeching tires. Her body was thrown like a ragdoll, then darkness.She had a fleeting recollection of another world, another lifetime where kings ruled the land with an iron fist.But she woke up, and twelve long months had passed. She did not know where she was or who she was. She remembered nothing.They told her different names.A child with trembling hope whispered, “Mommy, your name is Moira Torres.”Her doctor insisted, “Your admission slip says Larissa Reyes.”A hardened general leaned close and commanded, “Remember who you are. Remember your mission.”Then another general—dangerously calm, incredibly familiar—looked at her as if she mattered and asked, “Can I call you Lara?”The name unlocked something buried deep in her soul.Lara Norse Kromwel.Daughter of General Odin Norse.Empress of the First Empire.But the man who watched her most closely dismissed it with cold certainty.“This is the 21st century,” he said. “What nonsense are you spouting? What Empress? You are my woman. You can only be mine!”