The Ghost of Vermil - Chapter 22: Apple VI

In a world of magic and monsters, I carved out my own empire. Hellfire Studios - my brainchild, my legacy.It all started with “The Demonfather” - a blatant copy from my past life, sure, but this world had never seen anything like it. Humans, elves, dwarves - they all fell in love with it. Critics raved, audiences cheered, and suddenly, I was on top.But the world thought I was a one-hit wonder. They had no idea what was coming.I unleashed “The Lord of the Rings” upon them. The result? Critics were left speechless, fumbling for words to describe what they'd witnessedBut why stop at movies? This world was stuck in the past, so I dragged it into the future. I created computers, birthed video games, and watched as everyone from imps to elf elders became addicted to pixels and polygons.Still not satisfied, I turned to music. I crafted stars, produced hits, and soon had the entire realm dancing to my tunes.But even that wasn't enough. Comics, manga, cartoons, anime, novels - I introduced them all. I flooded this world with stories and art forms they'd never dreamed of.Before long, people weren't just consuming my creations - they begun worshipping me. They started calling me “The Lord of Entertainment.”

I had finally done it—achieved the ultimate Paladin build. Maxed stats, impenetrable armor, and so many resistances that death itself had given up on me. I was an unkillable tank, an indomitable force. Nothing could stop me.And then my PC exploded.I died.Irony, thou art a cruel mistress.But instead of the afterlife, I woke up as my Paladin character… in the wrong freaking genre. Instead of castles and dungeons, there were people flying around on swords, shooting qi beams like fantasy laser guns.“This is definitely the wrong genre,” I muttered, watching a pompous young master sneer at me.“Kowtow, kiss my foot, and beg for forgiveness!” he declared.I looked at my imaginary maxed-out health bar, then at his flimsy silk robes.Oh, this was going to be fun.

Rakna was not normal. No, unmistakably not.

Whether it was his appearance, his personality, his abilities, his identity, nothing about him had ever been banal. Was it his choice?

No. He was merely but a tormented soul doing its utmost to live the life it had learned to never enjoy.

Would being picked by a glorified universal abductor calling itself a system bring something out of him?

Would he finally learn to breathe in the pool of blood that suffocated him? The Harvester does not sow, he only collects.

All he has ever known to feel was loss and the only thing he can do is take.

He will devour their hearts and drink their blood if it is what it takes.

Luo Qiu became the boss of a ‘club’ by chance.

It was a weird club that sold strange items and with a servant girl that had 300 years of working experience. Countless people with dreams, hopes and ambitions came to the club to exchange anything precious they own for what they want. They would offer their lifespan, items, and even their soul. Every successful trade would increase Luo Qiu’s lifespan by a little.

“Tribute successful, your lifespan has increased by 99 years.”

As thus, Luo Qiu began his endless life as the club’s boss.