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... guardian who was an elf".

If the foundation of her trust is because of him inheriting the fire guardian's energy, Orun wanted to remind her that he is not the fire guardian.

What he inherited is the energy of the fire guardian, not his will. He has no desire to be of help to the Elven nation, nor does he feel any attachment to their cause.

What they are to him, is a complete stranger who are weirdly acting too nice for a reason that he is still blind to.

"I am we ...

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Sirens: a name derived from an ancient creature, used to describe those who could charm, lure, control, and heal others by singing.

Subjected to live the life of a siren, Aria had experienced, seen, and heard many horrific things. Broken beyond repair, Aria resigned herself to death, when suddenly…

The Grand Duke, Lloyd Cardence Valentine, arrived and whispered, “Should I kill everyone here?”

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And with that, Aria breathed her last and died… only to return to her 10-year-old self.

Now that she had a second chance at her life, Aria was determined to change her fate, as well as the cruel fate of her saviour, Grand Duke Valentine.

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She sold her soul to the devil and vowed to protect him.

[Marry me.] Aria extended her hand and gave him the contract. [Let’s get divorced in 10 years…]

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“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.

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“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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“Junior Brother Qin, do you want a wife or not?” A well-meaning senior martial brother of Qin Changqing's brought a wife to him, and Qin Changqing had no reason to refuse.

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