MTL - The Reborn Lady is Farming - Chapter 1462 Extraordinary Qi Haoran (4)

“What? The wild chickens I raised are pure blood phoenixes? ““What? The carp I raised are true dragons?”With a wave of hand, the river was cut off; with a slight stamp of foot, the mountain collapsed.A group of incredibly powerful cultivators knelt in front, worshipping and calling ‘senior’.“What the hell wrong with this world?”Li Fan shouted,” Oh no, that’s impossible!”“How could I possibly be a Supreme Master?!”

The world that nurtured the civilization which reached the pinnacle of magic was on the verge of destruction.
The last survivor transmigrated to the past, when the magic civilization started growing, as countless mages were still fumbling their ways through the thorny paths of magic knowledge.
He, who came from the end of the magic era, aim to reach the pinnacle of magic.

- Description from Novelupdates

The villainous young master Dark Demon finally recalled the memories of his previous life at the sorting ceremony of the Dueling Academy. He was reborn in a very strange Galgame world.

And he was the ultimate villain in the game, the Demon God of Seven Original Sins!

Superbia、Invidia、Ira、Accidia、Avaritia、Gula、Luxuria！

Once any one of these seven indicators broke through the critical value, he would irreversibly transform into the Demon God!

In the era of Saint Marian, where the demons had been completely destroyed and the demon king had fallen into eternal sleep, no heresy was allowed to survive!

“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.