Rosie's Games - Chapter 13: Warrior of the North

Because of an accident, Max transmigrated to the Lous Land and became a newborn red dragon.

He could’ve just grown up and matured normally, and he would already be at the top of the food chain, but then he obtained the Discipline Makes You Stronger System.

“Congratulations to the host for completing 20 push-ups daily and persisting for one week, bonus reward Red Dragon Physique +100.”

“Congratulations to the host for completing daily swims in the lava and persisting for one week, bonus reward Dragon Breath damage x10.”

“Congratulations to the host for kidnapping one princess a day and persisting for one week, bonus reward Never-falling Golden Gun.”

“Cough, excuse me System, I’m a Dragon, I’m fine without this reward!” Max said hurriedly. Many years later, the name of Max the Red Dragon echoed through the multiverse. Only the mother dragon standing beside tilted her head and said with a puzzled face, “What, what in the world did I give birth to?”

[Linguistics Skill: Lv0 (7/10)] [Apothecary Skill: Lv1 (15/100)] [Knight Breathing Skill: Lv2 (36/200)] [Knight Breathing Skill Experience Point +1] ------ In the year 3077 of the Berta calendar, during the era of confusion before wizards had reached the throne, he brought them ’Straight A Student Panel.’ He stepped into the sorcerer world, perfected sorcerer knowledge, like a bright moon dispelling the mists of the era. He was Ivan Marichardon, a pioneer of knowledge, he blazed trails for the way of the sorcerer.

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.

Is it wrong to face the perils of Dungeon alone, in a single-member guild blessed by a failed goddess? Maybe.

Is it wrong to dream of playing hero to hapless maidens in Dungeon? Maybe not. After one misguided adventure, Bell quickly discovers that anything can happen in the labyrinth-even chance encounters with beautiful women.

Only problem? He’s the one who winds up the damsel in distress!