Who Let Him Cultivate Immortality - Chapter 508: In theory, I am now in the Elemental Infant stage

Arthur Reynolds lived as a quiet, compassionate soul who loved to read and workout in his spare time, sacrificed himself to save his family, trading his own life for theirs.In death, his journey was far from over. Reborn into the mystical world of Sylvara as Raegar Blackwood, he discovers a land teeming with Aether, prestigious magic academies, perilous dungeons, and fearsome monsters.Join Raegar as he learns how to harnass his Fusion Magic to become a legend in the making. Witness him conquer dungeons, win tournements and become the strongest.

In the early days of the virtual reality game, Arena, meleegod was the strongest ranked player! He deleted his character and suddenly left. In order to restore his bankrupt family, he returned to Arena!

“Do you want to create a character?”

“Give me a bunch of adorable players, and I can easily overturn a parallel world!” - so said Reveno·Murphy·Le SenbulaPs:The titles owned by the honorable Murphy include but are not limited to counterfeit vampire, celebrated NPC role-play artist, multi-talented Dog Planner, the only savior of Transylvania, benefactor of the old continent, defender of the new continent, brave and loyal earl, irredeemable big-sister fanatic, spotless saint of the Blood race, Alpha of the Night's Guard, and so on (here ignoring the other 108 nicknames). He's indeed the homebody of the Fourth Cataclysm and the best old friend when you need to clean up a mess, thus all testers of “Real Different World,” please stand up when you see this line! Let us give Lord Murphy the highest respect!Murphy, ka-ka! Full marks!

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.”