I Can’t Be Sword God - Chapter 12

While I was reading the first volume of “Danmachi,” I suddenly felt my cock grow. It grew so much that it started to hurt.Suddenly, my sperm gushed out. Before I could understand what was happening, I realized I was in a familiar place.

A person carving out a path through life in a chaotic world.Zombies: Roar.Lin Fan: “We're all neighbors, why be so irritable?”Lin Fan: “I still need to go grocery shopping.”Lin Fan, looking at the zombified Xiao Qing: “Xiao Qing, I bought a few bottles of water, and I've already scanned the QR code.”Lin Fan: “Boss, I'd like to settle my wages.”Sunshine District, the community where Lin Fan lived, swarmed with countless refugees seeking shelter.We should learn from Lin Fan, adhere to the law, work for money, and strive to buy houses and cars, becoming outstanding citizens in a city overrun with zombies.

Every drop of this family bloodline is stained with sin. They are the embodiment of contradiction; calm yet maniacal, with great memories yet often forgetful. They pledge themselves to their dreams yet often compromise, are angels that are also devils… It’s why I hate them. And also love them.

The only hope of his family, a youth with the blood of elves and devils walks on a battleground of annihilation and rebirth. He wills his way through boiling lava and icy depths, killing on this field of despair to strike down the lofty figure in his sight. One day he’ll grasp his blade tightly and survey his surroundings, only to find no more enemies to kill.

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.