Heavenly Demon Cultivation Simulation - Chapter 45: Cheonghae Warrior Training (1)

An F-Class Hunter.

And on top of that, a F-class older brother who can’t even begin to catch up to the heels of his amazing S-class little brother.

After living a life that fell to pieces and even destroying my little brother’s life,I got another chance by regressing 5 years back. I picked up the resolution:
This time, instead of making those mistakes, I will quietly live my life leisurely .

Is what I thought… but the S-Ranks are all kind of… weird and for some reason I can’t seem to be able to get away at all?

After finishing the DxD light novel, a Warhammer 40K fan loses his life and finds himself, without any clear explanation, in the body of an angel banished from paradise by his Heavenly Father.[Ding!!!][Congratulations, Lord Sanguinius.][You have been selected to become a member of the dimensional discussion group.]“'m just a member... not the administrator?”Author's Note:A story born from a whim, but one that can flourish with your support.## Warning:I do not own any of the works represented here, such as DxD, Warhammer 40k, or others (the cover doesn't belong to me either).This is a harem (small, but still a harem).Author’s note:!!!! Another important piece of information!!!Please, do not read this story if you are unable to distinguish between an Ecchi light novel and religious events or statements related to various sacred scriptures.If that’s not the case for you and you post crap in the comments, I’ll just delete it (this is a fanfic, not a place for religious debates or discussions related to the divine word).Honestly, I didn’t want to include this in the synopsis (it makes me seem like I hate faith when I actually have religious friends), but a VERY intelligent reader managed to persuade me to explain to people the difference between an Ecchi light novel and the precious writings of human history

I was possessed by the game (forced).

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.