Civil Servant Hunter's S-class Resignation Log - Chapter 215

After mistakenly contributing all of his attribute points to the drop rate, Xiao Shi found that every time he killed, he would get an item.

Slapping a mosquito to death, drop a pill.

Killing an evil spirit, drop a secret book.

Slashing a martial artist to death, drop the opponent’s cultivation tips.

….

When killing, Xiao Shi was shocked… “How did I become invincible?”

“You want to steal my genes then leave?” He grabbed her and tried to force her to hand over the child that was born three years ago.

Chi Yaoxi, showbiz’s most famous figure and winner of the best actress award was being cheated on by her boyfriend—and it had to be with her stepsister! And his excuse was that she’s not willing to cohabit and have a child? Laughable!

Chi Yaoxi attended a high-class party, intent on getting drunk and throwing money to a handsome face, whom she would spend the night with! Once she got tipsy, Chi Yaoxi threw herself into the arms of a gorgeous man.

“You’ve caught my eye. Come to my room tonight, and I will give you millions.”

Li Qianming, a CEO of his own right, was stunned. He had met countless women who wanted to seduce him—this was the first time he met one buying him for the night. At the same time, the woman’s stunning figure was latched to himself, her warm breath spraying all over his face. He carried her to his room.

Waking up the next day, Chi Yaoxi smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I was drunk last night, but I will pay you anyway.”

Li Qianming studied her in her naked form with just a towel covering his own modesty, and whipped out a prenuptial agreement. “My son likes you. Let’s get married today.”

“What??”

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.