I Came Back And Conquered It All - Chapter 142

This is the story of Kir, who has to thwart the will of Heaven, Hell, and his parents in order to survive, protect the people he loves, and achieve happiness.He just has to make it through life at a magical academy, avoid dying, and survive to find his birth mother, the lost Daughter of Heaven. Or be forced to take his place at the side of his father, a Duke of Hell bent on destroying the way things are.It's a lot to handle for a quiet, brooding angel boy.Fortunately, he has company. A succubus, a foxkin girl, and a half-angel boy to start. And Kir has his own secret: this isn't his first go at life.

This is the story of how I became the greatest genius in the history of humanity, destined to go down in the annals of history for all eternity!This is the story of how I made humanity what it is today.It all began on a fateful night in New York. With a certain peculiar dream.The Universe is grand and mysterious. What's important remains hidden...

I thought I had seen bad endings before—but nothing prepared me for the garbage conclusion of The Hero’s Path.Years of investment, countless struggles, and for what? The protagonist failed. The villain won. Everyone else? Dead. Furious, I sent a message to the author, only to get a chilling response:[Do you think you could do better?]Before I could even blink, my phone exploded in a blinding light, and the next thing I knew—I was waking up in a completely different body.Now, I’m Merlin Everhart, a fourteen-year-old with a 12-star talent, the kind of gift only the strongest should have.But here’s the problem: I have no idea who I am supposed to be.With nothing but a system and a first-day-of-school alarm ringing in my ears, I’m thrown into the world of The Hero’s Path.Am I just another side character in a world that already ended once?…Either way, I refuse to let this story beat me too.

[Longevity + Discipleship + No Female Lead + Lighthearted Humor with No Tragic Moments]When his master picks food, he spins the table there;When his master chants spells, he chats without a care;When his master takes rest, he sings a lively song;When his master lies late, he bangs the pot along;His master lives on long, but his life is rather short;His master lays him down on the hillside, as a sort;His master lifts a cup, but he won’t take a drink;His master shares a tale, but he won’t stop to think;His master holds a feast, but he leaves the table wide;His master calls his soul, but he’s nowhere to abide.Spring returns to the hills, with blooms so bright and fair,Yet master and disciple are parted, one in heaven, one elsewhere.