Ghost in the City - Chapter 222

A phoenix is a creature of legends, a wonder of the world, an imagery of life and destruction. This fabled creature signifies the rise of a hero in a virtual world where battles occur for the sake of honor and glory!

Zhang Yang was a professional gamer in the first and most fantastic game that revolutionized the world: God’s Miracle. A game where traditional knowledge in RPGs did not matter anymore, players would have to manually target and evade attacks, giving rise to a significant gap in skill between a professional and an amateur gamer.

Zhang Yang’s downfall came a little too soon. His girlfriend was snatched, his guild was harassed and disbanded, and he was even driven to commit suicide! Jumping off the top floor of a hotel, Zhang Yang seemed as though he was soaring like a phoenix. Little did he know that the end of his life also signified his rise from the ashes.

- Description from novelupdates

“Now you see?” she shouted in a mix of annoyance and disappointment. “You can't outsmart Scrients! They're the most intelligent beings across the two realms.”“You're right,” I muttered, averting my gaze with a heavy sigh. “I made a mistake. I was too arrogant to think that a mere human like me could fool them.”—BOOM!!“Heik! Wh-What was that?”“Hmm? I'm not sure. Maybe you should go and ask the most intelligent beings across the two realms. Oh wait, you can't. I killed them all.”______My name is Samael Kaizer Theosbane.On the last day of high school, I got into a fight with a kid I used to bully.It was a stupid, pointless scuffle, and in the middle of it, I tripped and hit my head on a rock.That’s when the memories came flooding in - the memories of another life, of a different world.Suddenly, everything made a twisted kind of sense. I realized two things.First, I was in a game I used to play in my past life.Second, I was a villain. A villain!Not the cool and mysterious kind, either.No, my destiny was to be manipulated and die a dog's death!I was the worst type of cliché: an ungrateful, privileged, insufferable young master. The sort you'd find in those poorly written fantasy stories.The kind everyone hates — a snobby brat from a powerful noble family who thinks he owns the world just because he was born with a silver spoon lodged in his mouth.You know the type. The one the hero beats to a pulp to prove his worth.Yeah, I was that guy.And the hero? The hero was the kid I’d been bullying all this time. The same one I got into a fight with.He was the supposed savior of this damned world.A world teetering on the edge of destruction, beset by wars, calamities, and a grim future that only I knew.And at the end of it all, the final antagonist of the game, the undefeatable boss… the Spirit King, was waiting.But could I even make it to the end?Could I conquer a game where defeat was the only certainty?A game that was now my reality!“Ah, fuck it.”I had no idea if I could, but I sure as hell was going to try.Extorting extras, manipulating main characters, twisting the story to my advantage, stealing the hero’s cheat items, killing villains before they could become threats - nothing was beneath me.Would the main characters be affected? Who cares!Would the story change? Even better!All I cared about was me—my survival, my life, my choices.“I will live this life with no regrets.”…But as I soon discovered, fate was not easily changed.And the price of altering one's destiny was steep.

“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

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