Reincarnated With The Van Helsing System - Chapter 15: Hot springs

“I can definitely become an immortal,” she said.He looked her up and down, sneered, “You can indeed become an immortal, a Lazy Immortal.”She breathed a sigh of relief, fully self-assured, “A Lazy Immortal is still an immortal.”He was speechless. Great, very powerful, who says a lazy person can't become an immortal~

At 32 years old, Harry Potter, Order of Merlin – First Class, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE), walked through the Veil while awaiting his death. Because he was tired of this life.But Fate or maybe Death had different plans.Beyond the Veil, he arrived in a world unknown to him. Woke up with a 7-year-old boy’s body in a Kingdom called “North”. With the symbol of Deathly Hallows on the back of his right hand. As the son of a House Lord.A new life, a new beginning, and a second chance to live the life he wants.---------------If you want to access early chapters, maps, character pictures, and read ahead of time, you can visit my p@treon page and become a member or patron.You can find my page at: www.patreon.com/c/vanguard_v7 chapters weekly and 7 bonus chapters for every weeks if we reach the quota for Power Stones. So don’t forget to send Power Stones, please.The cover belongs to me.P.S. The story was originally an old, dropped fanfic. I am rewriting, editing, and making some changes and additions. There will be more magic and kingdom-building materials. I will also continue to write after the dropped part and complete the story.If you want to read original dropped version of this story, its name is 'HP transmigrated into Domeric Bolton' by Fortunate_Soul.

I transmigrated into the gacha game I abandoned for 10 years.But, the state of the heroes I raised is strange.

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.