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... him, with some kind of cap on his head. Next to him, someone who looked like a herald stood. He blowed on the horn he carried with him and the formal clothed person talked, as Rostam and his army was preparing their siege towers and battering ram.

"I am Hromozd, governor of Herat, appointed by my lord Endarghar. I come here to discuss the terms of surrender!"

Rostam was pleased by this, but didn't show it. His soldiers, though, were cheering from pure happiness. No one wanted to ...

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This emperor, a beggar can do it, a slave can do it, a bandit can do it, but a house slave can’t do it?

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The first time they met they had battled fiercely, just for a mere bunch of herbs. She needed it to save people, and he wanted to use it to save his own life.

“Let go of it, or you will die.” The man’s violet eyes were cold and sinister as he said in a low voice.

She held on tightly to the base of the herb and pulled its roots right out of the ground, before she turned her eyes back with a crafty smile. “It’s mine now. Snatch it from me if you can.”

When they met several years later they were no longer on opposing sides in hostility. In order to repay the debt for having stolen the herb back then, she went on to miraculously cure his body’s condition, relieving him of the inhumane torment that wrecked at his body day and night. He was amazed by the godly skills in Medicine she possessed and his heart went on to fall irrecoverably head over heels in love.

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Dual cultivation and apocalypse—words that mix like oil and water. There's nothing charming about seducing feral women on the road.

However, when Kaze Lexicon, the emperor of the Immortal Plane, got transmigrated into the past, he refused to give up his debaucherous ways—apocalypse or otherwise.

Armed with the knowledge of the future and an encyclopedia of overpowered cultivation techniques, he immediately set forth to obtain resources and build a lavish settlement to live a comfortable life dual cultivating in the apocalypse.

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“Why is this happening…?”

Mia Luna Tearmoon, Princess of the Tearmoon Empire, muttered to herself as she stood shackled on the execution platform.

The faces of the spectators surrounding her were, without exception, filled with indignation.

Before long, Mia was executed at the hands of the revolutionists, who were fed up with the heavy taxation.

But the next moment, she unexpectedly found herself lying on her bed.

It was eight years ago, when she was just a mere kid.

For a while, Mia even wondered if she was hallucinating. However, what appeared on her bedside table was a bloodstained diary that she had written herself.

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After she regressed back to her childhood, Mia struggled hard to trace back the events of the past with the help of her blood-stained diary and memories.

Was it to save the future of a declining empire?

Was it to save the soldiers who died in the civil war?

Was it to save the people from famine?

No, she had only one goal.

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