The Strongest War God - Chapter 1932: Preaching from the Strong

“Is this a game or reality?” - Michael Norman*****Apocalypse descended, and reality transformed into a game for a select few known as Awakeners.Between the ages of 16 and 18, every teenager had the chance to awaken a class and attain supernatural powers. Awakeners would then venture into a game-like world, the Land of Origin, seeking treasures and gaining tremendous strength.Michael transmigrated into this world at 18 and successfully awakened the Necromancer class. However, that was not all—Michael also unlocked a unique talent that allowed his undead summons to evolve infinitely......[Little Skeleton has successfully evolved into Skeleton Soldier!][Skeleton Mage has successfully evolved into Skeleton Summoner!][Bone Dragon has successfully evolved into Undead Frost Dragon!]......With his powerful undead summons, Michael set out on a path to become a supreme legend.Tags:#Necromancer#Undead#Evolution#Armybuilding

A thousand years ago, the Great Calamity struck Earth. Countless rifts tore through reality, opening portals between the Demon Realm and the Human World. Overrun by monsters, humanity was on the brink of extinction. But at its darkest hour, something miraculous happened—those who died returned, awakening strange new powers that allowed them to fight back.Vale knew that story well. Maybe that's why he wasn't surprised when he heard the voice of the system speak to him.[ Congratulations! You have died. ][ Your First Trial of Death begins now. ]What truly shocked him, however, was the question burning in his mind:“Who would dare to assassinate the Second Prince of Verythmia?”

“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.

This novel is also known as Mr. Mayor Please Be Kind

She is an old spinster of average status. He is young and powerful, achieving status as a high ranking official of River City within a span of just a few years. She had a deep love, but being unable to endure the harsh reality of life, she left. He had also loved once before, but he had been suffered betrayal from his girlfriend and friends, he delayed his marriage.

Having exchanged a few coincidental glances with him, she mistakenly assumed him to be her blind date, and without asking any other questions, she directly inquired him: “Do you want to come with me to get a card (marriage book)?”

He recognized this woman, and holding her with a feeling that was neither love nor hate, pleasure replacing surprise, he nodded: “I’m free in the afternoon!” He had not corrected her.

As per martial business, she offered him an agreement, calmly stating: She will agree to roll the bed sheet once a week! He quietly raised an eyebrow, mouth half-smiling, and flamboyantly signed his name. So because of this agreement…

“Wife, it’s late, let’s get some rest,” the man stated. The woman looked in to his eyes, nodded, and turned off the bedside lamp. In the darkness, a pair of large hands probed into her clothes, caressing her skin like satin. It was a beautiful night.

On the second night: “Wife, it’s late, let’s get some rest, ” the man stated. The woman looked in to his eyes, nodded, turned off the bedside lamp and lay down to sleep. His dark, large hand reached up to her again and slid into her clothes, probing her smooth skin until it was then suddenly caught.

“What are you doing? ” the woman asked coldly.

”There is a marital agreement to fulfill! ” the man said, take it for granted, and then pressed on top of the woman. It was a spectacular night.

The next morning, the woman who was brimming with an aching waist and grief, came out from the study room with eyes wide open, angrily said: “Su Yicheng, you crafty Official!”

The agreement read: marriage, rest once a week!

Love after marriage, warm and spoiled.

- Description from Novelupdates