This Isn't an E*otic Game? - Chapter 50: It’s Your Holiness’s Fault

Wu Jin, as a trainee from a certain entertainment company, had a peerless, stunning face. He was qualified to debut as a lead performer even if he just sat there and did nothing.

In a world where ferocious monsters and dangerous Gate are an everyday occurrence, only the strongest survive.The weak, as always, are sacrificed for the greater good.Jeremy is one of them. Betrayed, discarded, and condemned to death, he seems destined for certain doom.But fate is always unpredictable, and the choices of some never unfold as expected.“I'm not a monster, I swear,” he said, turning around with a grin. “They are the real monsters.”A wave of disgusted stares hit him from all directions.“Okay, maybe they're not monsters… maybe they're worse,” he added, nodding seriously. “But me? Nah. I'm the exception.”And then it wasn’t just the humans looking at him with disdain.Even the so-called “monsters” behind him were staring in silence, their eyes fixed on him with what could only be described as mild offense—like their master's behavior had somehow embarrassed them.Not that they could—or would—kill him over it. Probably.The novel contains some violent scenes. They are skippable and do not affect the reading experience. However, I feel it's important to mention it.Additionally, the novel will have a sarcastic tone and won't be too serious.#Undead#Necromancer#Summons#Skeleton

The clock struck midnight when Ruelle heard the echo of footsteps. She tensed, the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end in the cool night air.“You shouldn't be here,” Ruelle whispered, her voice a breathless murmur. The silhouette finally came to stand under the moonlight, his dark red eyes watching her and his inky black hair ruffling.“Shouldn't I?” His voice was a dark caress, and she stood there captivated by the danger he exuded like perfume.“I haven’t seen you for the last two days,” his tone low. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against the silk of her nightgown, tracing the trembling outline of her collarbone. “Tell me, were you avoiding me, or perhaps... entertaining other offers?”Ruelle’s heart raced, her breaths shallow. She declared, “I don't belong to anyone.”“A bold claim,“ he murmured, his breath a tantalising chill against her skin as he leaned in. ”Yet here you are, pulse racing, your body tensed as if in anticipation of my touch.”His fingers gripped her chin, tilting her face towards his. The moonlight caught his eyes, revealing a glint of predatory intent. “Or must I remind you whose touch you truly crave?”

Catching arrows, running up walls, crushing boulders and bending metal, these are but petty parlour tricks in the eyes of martial artists. But where can a genuine martial artist stand in an era where martial artists are nothing more than a myth?