I became a god by treasure hunting after arriving 500 years early - Chapter 17 - 15 Must embark on the path to transcendence as soon as possible

The celestial celestial beings who lived for more than 100,000 years were born and reborn in a small monk in a human world.
His motto: “It’s not as good as a medicinal medicine for ten years of hard work.” “Even if you practice a copper-iron bone, it’s not enough for my soldier’s attack.”

- Description from Novelupdates

“Villains aren’t born, they’re made...blah...blah...”Cute quote. Stick it on your Tumblr header next to your anime pfp.You boys love your villain stories, don’t you?You want carnage. Chaos. Control. You want a dark throne, a cold smirk, and a woman kneeling at your feet begging for mercy.But you?You don’t want to lift a damn finger.You’ll cheer for the villain as he kills a god, but cry when he gets betrayed.You call it “plot armor” when the hero survives—but call it “art” when the villain does the impossible.You’re not fans of villains.You’re fetishists.You want the violence, but not the silence after it.You want domination, but not the burden of being hated.You want power, but only if the story forgives you for it.You don’t read these stories to understand evil.You read them because you think you're too good to win the normal way.“Villains don’t play fair.”Exactly. That’s why you love them.Because you wouldn’t last a day in a world where strength mattered and excuses didn’t.You don’t want a villain’s life.You want his results.You want to watch him burn the world for a woman.But you’d cry if a girl left you on read.So tell me—What exactly are you rooting for?At least unlike you, I support heroes—the ones with boobs.You know the type.Tits squeezed into latex, thighs tight in spandex, preaching virtue with cum-drunk eyes the moment they fall into my arms but always end up screaming my name instead.She flies above cities, saving lives like it’s her job.But at night? She crashes into my arms, trembling, moaning, clawing at my back like I’m the only real thing she’s ever touched.Her cape drops before her guard does.But I don't need to tear it off.She hands it over herself—bit by bit, kiss by kiss, lie by beautiful lie.You ever felt a heroine's breath hitch in your ear as she begs you to stop pretending you're the bad guy?Ever watched the symbol of hope ride you like you're the last man left after the world ended?That's not conquest.That’s devotion, baby.Unfiltered. Undeniable.And the irony?They fall the hardest.Because no villain ever tried to understand them. No hero ever dared to see past the shine and into the ache beneath.But I do.I whisper into the cracks of their perfection.I plant kisses where they hide their pain.I fuck them where they forget to wear their strength.And when they break—when their moans turn to prayers, when their strength melts into submission—That’s when I rise.I’m not just some brooding misfit out for revenge, or a misunderstood loner sitting around hoping for a shot at redemption.I’m not a villain.I’m the SUPERVILLAIN—the kind your heroines moan for when the cameras are off and the capes are crumpled on my floor.

The Night Has Come, and kermesinus moon ascends in the sky.Hoarse whispers flow at the street corners, and brass steam machines spew out bloody mist.Your brain is singing a hymn, eyes are chanting a melody.Skin cracks, and flesh buds swell.Amidst the Mist, the wall of flesh that has devoured thousands of corpses wails endlessly—“Weep not, our players don't bite, they just want to play with you.”Annan, the lone strategist, the top player, the savior of the mist-covered continent, the leader of the Thirteen Saints, the friend of the Twelve True Gods, the king of pioneers, “the Just”, the Gatekeeper of the Fourth Calamity, the uncrowned deity, advised kindly.

A relaxing story of a business tycoon who, sick of machinations and struggle, returned to the medieval world and married into a merchant family to become a “zhui xu,” a husband that lives in the wife’s home. Even though his intentions were not so, he could not avoid the matters of family, country and world.

“There was once a person that stood at the top of the golden pyramid,

with the innumerable cheap jealousy and envy of people,

he walked this road escorted by tens of thousands of people,

yet he could not escape the long and lonely sleep under the gravestone. ”

- Description from Novelupdates