Itai no wa Iya nanode Bōgyo-Ryoku ni Kyokufuri Shitai to Omoimasu - Chapter 162

Welcome to Freia. A continent where evil magi ruled. Until firearms came, that is. Now the people live free of those demons…

More, however, must lurk beneath the surface.

Claude, a transmigrator from another world, finds himself in the midst of this changing world, attending ‘middle school’. Or, as he calls it, ‘boot camp’. His destiny was to graduate and join the military, but the future is seldom so simple.

His life, and the world, is set on the path of upheaval and chaos the day he finds a cookbook.

A magical cookbook.

- Description from novelupdates

It was the twenty-third year of Tianxi*. Rumours traversed the streets that the all-knowing Imperial Advisor suffered a great calamity and could not help but enter seclusion to focus on cultivation. However, the commoners secretly clapped their hands and rejoiced. In the winter of the same year, a young monk appeared in the Hui Zhou Fu’s Ningyang District.

The monk’s monastic title was Xuan Min, his memories all missing, yet was versed in the arts of Feng Shui Kan Yu**. On the very first day arriving in Ningyang, he did not hesitate to take care of a dangerous manor, picking up Xue Xian, who was hidden there, along the way.

Since then, Xue Xian – who had been all-powerful in the first half of his life – gained a new life pursuit: to get this baldy*** who had only a good outer appearance to take his last breath and “smile from his grave”.

Xue Xian: If you are unhappy, then I will be happy. If you die, I’ll laugh my ass off.

Xuan Min: …

- Description from Novelupdates

One day, a tower appeared in the skies of all the major cities…

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”