Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord - Chapter 202: Steam Rifle

[When the stars return to their positions, you will ascend to the throne.]At first, Bai Yi thought he was just dreaming.Then, he thought he was playing a nightmare game.In the end, when the dream became reality, and the game rewrote reality,Bai Yi discovered that he was not only the sole participant in the game, but also the only GM——Bestowing souls to all things, granting rebirth to the dead, twisting the rules of matter, creating absolute truth, writing real lies…The entire world is rewritten by him.[——The stars hold up the brilliance, casting a throne for you.] [——What you think and imagine will become reality.]***Everyone woke up to find that the entire world had changed.Spiritual energy revived, and the mysterious appeared.Ghosts prowling in the rainy night smile elegantly amidst the bloodshed;The mysterious flower shop owner awaits your visit in the depths of misfortune;In the reflection of the city, the shadow council remotely controls the world;In the sealed ancient painting, evil spirits are greedily watching your soul.Immortal arts, magic, martial arts, demons, ghosts, undead…A wave of mystery surged in the world.Someone is weaving everything behind the scenes, making the whole world dance with it.[——He is the source of all legends.] [——He is the mystery itself.]

Yasuo Zoldyck, an assassin who was once a biologist seeking to extinguish the limits set upon him- To no avail.

Now, in a world where the impossible is possible, how far will his researching mind push him? Can he break those limits?

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Gu Xingshen! Your sister grabbed my man, you helped your sister grab my man! Your family is not anything good!

[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.