MTL - My Legend Still Exists in the Cultivation World - Chapter 70

Lin Yuan traveled through time.What? The life-saving pill was replaced with a piece of candy by someone?I only want a peaceful life, so why are you forcing me!No martial arts technique? I'll let Jiu Zhang deduce it!No old master by my side? I'll catch one myself!Finally, after swallowing the opponent's ancestor in one go, Lin Yuan sighed: “No one can force me anymore.”

Many people wish to become a character in a novel they like. Side characters are the best ones to reincarnate as. And Ceaser was the same. However, the problem is, the person he reborn as, was supposed to die at that time when Ceaser appears in the fantasy world. The childhood friend of the main heroine, who was supposed to be a stepping stone for the main lead so she can grow stronger. However, now that Ceaser was in that person’s body, naturally, he couldn’t let himself get killed just after rebirth. But what consequences will he bring by staying alive? And what awaits near the end of this story, about which even Ceaser is unaware?

In the highly anticipated release of the first-ever VRMMO, Yeager found himself mysteriously traveled back in time. He is poised to rise to the summit and achieve the impossible. Armed with years of gaming experience and a wealth of strategic knowledge from the future, Yeager believes he can bring about the miracle of immortality. But just as the game begins, fate takes an unexpected twist as Yeager finds himself transformed into a young woman. In a tale that challenges identity and defies the limits of virtual reality, join Yeager on a mesmerizing journey of self-discovery as he navigate a world of mysteries, battles, and alliances, all while grappling with his newfound femininity.

“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.