BIOLOGICAL SUPERCOMPUTER SYSTEM - Chapter 692 Orders Issued

[MATURE CONTENT]“Are you mating with someone?”Stunned, she took a step back, widening the space between them. “ Excuse me?”“Ah…” A sigh left his lips. “ Perhaps, I need to rephrase my question. Are you f*cking someone?”She sucked in a quick breath, not knowing what to say. Anger reared itself in her head, mixing with unexpected desire. Sadly, desire was winning.He lifted an eyebrow, and in the next instant, he was already standing in front of her body. Her instincts kicked in. She took a couple steps back until her back hit the wall.The smell of chocolates and almonds rolled between them. Entranced, she thought she smelled the sweetness of the wine but it disappeared as quickly as it came.“I don’t think that is any of your business, Mr. Graydon.” she made a sound of annoyance.“Is it not?” His breath fractured, his eyes darkened with desire.“No.” Her lips quivered at her obvious denial. She mustered all the courage she could, hoping he wouldn’t smell her arousal. She knew it was for naught.His fingers lightly brushed her cheeks, then they trailed down her neck, lingering on her collarbone, the contact sent shivers down her spine. It awakened the primal need she had been wanting to hide since they met.She wanted him.No.She needed him, inside her.Her face flushed at the thought of him taking her, preferably right against these walls.“You want me,” he stated. ““As much as I want you.”Shocked by her own raw and potent yearning, she turned her head away.“I don’t…”“Shhh…” he silenced her with a finger. Then he inched closer, so close his long lashes brushed against her cheek. Her heart pounded like a drum against her chest, fast and hot in anticipation.“Now tell me little one… do I need to get rid of someone before I make you beg me to let you come?”......Is love worth the chaos it brings?.....Tags: #lycans #witch #strongfemalelead #strongmalelead #norape #smut #mates #slowburn

“They Call Guys Like Me a Simp.”(Meanwhile, I’m out here living what their favorite MC only dreams about.)You ever notice how stories glorify the ones who feel nothing?The MC who never laughs.Never feels.Who plays women like chess pieces and calls it intelligence.He manipulates a girl? “He’s strategic.”He never opens up? “He’s mysterious.”He never flinches, never laughs, never lives —And you call that strength?Funny.Because to me?That’s just a prison in disguise.You see an “alpha.”I see a boy too scared to feel anything real.While they spend ten chapters monologuing about logic and sacrifice,I’m already making the Saintess scream,drenched in sin,halo cracked,legs trembling from truths her prayers never taught her.And I didn’t get there with cold eyes or control.I got there with laughter and chill. With warmth. With a grin and a hand on her thigh.I didn’t need to dominate her mind —I freed her heart.But that scares people, doesn’t it?Because readers trust the ones who suffer.Who stay quiet.Who kill without blinking and love without showing it.But me?I flirt.I laugh.I take hits and smile back, bloody and defiant, as if too weak to get angry.I don’t need to pretend emotions are weakness.I weaponize mine.Pleasure. Connection. Laughter.That’s my arsenal.And while your favorite MC is still calculating his next five moves,Trying to outwit death and romance like both are math problems,I’m already balls deep in the jade fairy — her sacred yin furnace clenching like it’s worshipping my shaft, her Dao Echo shattered into breathless moans, and her so-called cultivation path leaking down her thighs while she begs me to break her meridians again.You call that luck?Nah.That’s mastery of the three worlds.Because in a world that respects coldness,I came in hot.Where others manipulate, I connect.Where they posture, I play.Where they sacrifice, I seduce.So go ahead.Call me a simp.But while your genius MC is busy monologuing about destiny,I’m the one making goddesses question theirs —with a smirk, a touch, and no regrets.I’m not the hero.Not the villain.I’m just a simp… the kind who leaves your cold, emotionless MC’s woman dripping, ruined, and too stretched to go back to him.

“What should I do with your tantrums? I’m too busy right now to be by your side.” Well, since entering the dungeon, I hadn’t really paid proper attention to Cha Sahyeon due to being occupied with various things. It was a golden opportunity to make my face known by Kwon Taehyeok and Ryu Seonghyeon, the targets of the main quest, not to mention the unexpected participation of the Ronic Guild in the raid. Cha Sahyeon seemed to have caught my playful murmurs as his shoulders trembled. Eventually, I heard his subdued voice: “…Don’t go.” “What?” Leaning against my shoulder, Cha Sahyeon stared at me intensely. “Don’t go.” “…!” For a moment, a strange light seemed to flicker in Cha Sahyeon’s green eyes directed at me. Simultaneously, a loud notification sound echoed around us.

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In a usurped kingdom , amid a war-torn and blood-soaked Italy, Conradin's battleground is set. To reclaim his birthright the crown of Sicily, he must tread a path paved with blood, learning that he must do whatever it takes to ascend the throne.

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In the year 1266, the tale of Conradin, the last scion of an ancient imperial dynasty, unfolds. His once-great kingdom, Sicily, has been ruthlessly usurped first by his own uncle and now rests in the hands of the cunning French Count Charles. Through a treacherous plot involving the Pope, Charles managed to oust the Hohenstaufen from the Kingdom of Sicily and crowned himself as its king.

In the East, powers such as the Despotate of Epirus are keenly observing the instability in Sicily, poised to seize any advantage that may arise from the chaos. Meanwhile, the small Italian communes are caught in the political crossfire, aligning themselves with one side of the conflict or the other based on the prevailing political party in power and their vested interests. These shifting allegiances turn the Italian peninsula into a powder keg, where all-out war seems inevitable.

As the shadows of history close in around Conradin, the world watches with bated breath. Will he emerge triumphant, his name forever etched in the annals of Sicilian glory as the rightful king who defied insurmountable odds, toppling both the Pope and the usurper? Or will he, in his valiant struggle, become a tragic figure, a symbol of lost opportunities and shattered dreams? The future of Sicily hangs in the balance, and Conradin's destiny remains uncertain, poised on the precipice of history.

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