MTL - Creating a Virtual World - Chapter 562 battlefield

In his past life, as the countdown in his mind reached zero, people discovered they could enter and exit a virtual game at will. Inside, they could fight monsters and level up. Like most, Ye Qiu didn’t pay much attention to it and became a casual player, only logging in occasionally.But ten days later, the game suddenly shut down. And then, it merged with the real world!Monsters began to rampage, demons started to roam freely! Along with them came levels, equipment, skills, pets…And Ye Qiu, at the moment the server closed, was only level 5!From then on, he could only struggle to survive, hiding and fleeing, even enduring humiliation and ab*se!Until his final breath, he remained unknown, weak, and pitiful!In this life, Ye Qiu has returned to twenty years ago. And the game has just launched…

Li Yi accidentally obtained a black science and technology library, which contains countless books of the inheritance of high-tech civilization and records countless knowledge.

There are thousands of bells in the book, there is a golden house in the book, there are many horses in the book, and there are Yan Ruyu in the book.

Li Yi has completely turned into a bookworm, learning all kinds of knowledge from the library, grand unified theory, particle Tebo theory, …, acquiring various black technologies, superconducting materials, super batteries, intelligent algorithms, … .

- Description from novelbuddy

Warriors train their bodies. Scholars fill their minds. Every cultivator must have both and the talent to harness qi. But when the youngest princess of the murim lord was born, her golden core had to be sealed immediately because her talent for harvesting qi was too strong. Follow her as she regains her talent as the weakest murim princess.

“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.