Record of a Demon's Cultivation - Chapter 11: Testing the Medicine

WARNING [MATURE CONTENT]

Ella clenched her chest and tried to scream but an invisible hand was placed over her mouth.

The nurse brought out a sharp and pointy knife. “Let’s carve out that dead baby, shall we?” She took off her veil only to reveal Chloe’s face.

“Chloe!” She said inaudibly as she thrashed and wrestled to save herself and her baby.

“No!”

“No!”

…

After five years of hard work, commitment, and devotion to the fashion company she worked for, Twenty-four years old Ariella, ‘Ella’, was more angry than devastated when she didn’t get promoted to creative director, a position she not only qualified for, but one she deserved.

While she is trying to figure out her next move, Ariella finds herself entangled in a contract marriage arrangement with Leon Treshvier– The very bossy, arrogant, and playboy billionaire CEO of a rival fashion company.

Will Ariella be able to tame her playboy husband? Will she be able to keep up with the demands of their contract and achieve her sole purpose of creating a niche for herself in the fashion world?

When you're reborn as Jorah Mormont you ain't got much. A Dad looking to bale and go spend his days hanging out with the guys on the Wall, a wild Aunt raising your wild cousins you can't stand, an arranged marriage to a girl you never met with a dowry almost low enough to be an insult, and a populace of smallfolk so inebriated and incompetent its no wonder nothing's changed around here in 8,000 years. Hopefully the gold finger granted by Levid's Magically Wheel of Reincarnation can help.A really nice pair of testicles.With that, the right attitude, and a shovel I have everything I need to dig a nice grave to lay in.Or Bag End. Let's see which happens first.

The prosperity is about to come to an end, and the poor boy quietly rises.

Traveling across time and space, seek the leader of the world.

- Description from novelbuddy

In a world of shallow-minded, materialistic mortals, what would one from humble beginnings – whose face had been stomped on, spat on, oppressed for the longest while by the arrogant, pampered upper echelons of society – do, when a mysterious application pops up on a brand new phone that was meant to be the birthday gift of an ungrateful girlfriend? What if the application takes the form of a chatroom where its occupants, bearing the names of mythical, fictional beings, start giving out ‘Red Packets’, all the while spouting nonsense?