MTL - Ghostly Masked Prince Xiao: Pampering and Spoiling the Little Adorable Consort - Chapter 1693 If there is nothing like closeness (plus more)

Dewitt, known as the Iron Marshal, is now on the verge of death. Just when the whole empire thought he was not going to survive, a small fox came down from the sky. The little fox was so powerful that it woke up the Marshal who had been in a coma for a month with one paw. If Wen Jin knew that the price of his paw was to become the Marshal’s fiance, he would refuse, because the legendary, ferocious Marshal was a well-controlled villain, only touching his fluffy body every day.

Wen Jin: You’ve had enough, I’m going bald!

Dewitt: Ten more minutes.

Wen Jin: Not a minute longer!

Dewitt: Then let me kiss you.

Stupid and lazy fox x black-faced Marshal meet in a world full of Zergs and war. Follow this intergalactic tale as they begin to trust and depend on one another.

- Description from Novelupdates

In this world, only if you are strong, can you protect the people you love.

At nineteen, Dexter was already one of the world’s most celebrated authors. His books topped charts. Critics praised his genius. Fans devoured every word. But behind the acclaim was a lonely boy—raised without parents, love, or real friends—just stories.He published his first novel at fourteen. By seventeen, he was a literary star. But the higher he rose, the hollower it felt.Then came the writer’s block. The headaches. The blackout. And the transmigration.Dexter awoke in the body of Daylan, a disgraced young man in a crumbling, medieval world laced with steampunk tech, divine law, and political unrest. Daylan had already failed two of the three sacred Trials—rites that determine one’s magical potential. He was drowning in debt, entangled in plots to overthrow a corrupt Divine Church, and branded a lost cause.With no way back, Dexter took the final Trial—the most brutal of them all—and began a path that would earn him the whispered title: Soldier, Poet, King.But as his powers grew, one question haunted him: Did he truly die? And if so, who—or what—chose to bring him back?

How long I’d been here, I couldn’t quite recall. From this sorry situation, I as always raised my eyes to the sky; a sky in which the great, massive sun was clad in levity. Sunlight poured gently upon all. What a blessing it would have been for the world if only the skies could remain clear. For tomorrow too, and for all days to come, I was to continue to pray for calm. To endure for those who cried, with desperation I remained in prayer.

And then, one freezing, forlorn, soulless, stagnant, drizzly day we died. Or so I thought…