Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel - Chapter 41 Make Of The Villain’s Weapon 6 (Ganja’s Dream)

Next up is——The venerable master of Hydra, the High Priest of the Purple Sweet Potato SpiritThe psychiatrist of The Avengers, and the financial advisor of S.H.I.E.L.D.Batman's dissertation killer, Joker's soulmateThe head physician of Arkham Asylum, the professor with all positive reviews from Gotham UniversityA recipient of the Red Flag Medal, a possessor of God's blessingsThe iron curtain of New York, the breath of fresh air in GothamThe eternally undying Dark Sun——Schiller Rodriguez!(All titles mentioned above have been rightfully earned within the main text. Any new titles will be added as they arise.)(This isn't a web novel with a system, and the system disappears soon, those who don't like it can skip the first thirty chapters.)

【Survival + Wasteland Reclamation】

Welcome to Survival World!

Here, forget everything you once had and try to live!

In the beginning, there is no tool other than a tree house seed, but you need to find hope in this dangerous jungle.

[Unlocking the creator permission of Survival World…]

what’s the situation? !

[Creator permission unlock failed…]

What is the situation? ? ?

- Description from novelbuddy

Wendy Waltz, a diehard anti romantic! Though born as royalty, she had been neglected by her father and bullied by her stepmother and younger sibling. To make this worse, she had been betrayed by her lover. She throws away her royalty and name and starts anew with a new name and a strange power! But who is this Head of the Imperial Guards, Lard Shroder, who keeps appearing beside her?

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.