21st Century Archmage - Chapter 160: Appearance of a 7th Circle Mage

A very sweet entertainment circle novel about a closeted gong x fudanshi shou.

- Description from Novelupdates

Is magic really a wish machine?

No! In a universe where magic actually exists, the ultimate nature of magic must be as simple and beautiful as the laws of physics.

This is the story of a mass-produced magic warfare tool man who learned the ultimate nature of magic.

But so what?

Just as a bird can fly without understanding aerodynamics, so a wizard does not need to understand the ultimate nature of magic to use magic.

Knowing the ultimate nature of magic does not mean that the tool man can become a great magician.

But the desire for knowledge is human instinct, and curiosity is the first driving force of human civilization. Humans hope to understand the inner workings of magic, even if it is supposed to be unreasonable.

An inquiry into the ultimate nature of magic, without any justification!

The story in the book takes place in an age where steel dances with gunpowder.

Here, muskets are in the ascendant, armor is still the protagonist, military theories are changing with each passing day, and innovations in systems and craftsmanship are emerging one after another. And this world has one more thing than ours: magic.

The world is undergoing earth-shaking changes, and no one can stay out of it.

- Description from novelbuddy

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”