Miss Witch Doesn't Want to be a Diva - Chapter 11 - 6 - Message from the Past (Thanks to the Alliance Hierarch’s Grand Victory, Little Qingji)

Doctor Jiang Fei, considered closing down the clinic because business was so bad, but unexpectedly his game character entered his body, making him omnipotent.

Not only is he superb in medicine, he also controls the life or death of the flesh bones of the dead person, and just like Yama he snatches people’s life.

He is now proficient in even cooking, playing piano, gardening, and domesticating pets!

People thought this was all of Jiang Fei’s skill, but Jiang Fei would smile and look at the martial arts cheats book. ‘The Dragon’s 18 palms’, ‘Six-pulse excalibur’, ‘Northern Profound Magic’, ‘Lone Solitary 9 Swords’

- Description from Novelupdates

On the night when the savior of the wizarding world should have been born, Harry Potter died under the unforgivable curse.

The man who made almost all British wizards dare not call him by name, regained the wisdom and ambition that belonged to him from the Horcrux.

Darkness has completely enveloped the island of Great Britain.

Wizards are divided into high and low according to their bloodlines. Pure blood firmly holds the authority that belongs to the superior, and people called mudbloods can only be as humble as mud and trampled on throughout their lives.

The Ministry of Magic, which is supposed to enforce justice, is full of villains, and the castle, which is supposed to impart knowledge, is full of oppression.

In these dark times.

Jon Green, who came from across time, was brought into the exiled carriage that truly inherited the title of “Hogwarts”…

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There are already two million-word finished high-quality old books, quality assurance, welcome to enter the pit!

- Description from novelbuddy

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.