Enchantress Amongst Alchemists Ghost King's Wife - Chapter 1147 - Fire Phoenixs Return Part 5

A high-ranking Duke’s daughter, Roxana, and her fiancé, the crown prince.

Everything came crashing down when a Baron’s daughter Claire came between the two.

Honor, reputation, even her fiancé, the Crown Prince…..

In the depths of despair, the infamous Grand Duke Elvin reached out to Roxana.

“I can help you.”

It was a dubious proposition, but Roxana accepted it in the end……

The fragile and lovely Claire and the wicked Princess Roxana.

But who was the real villain?

When the Chinese athlete laughed that video game championships existed, you, as a professional e-sports player, should use your size 42 shoes to measure just how long his smug face is!

When parents, relatives, friends, and all of society squint at your gamer profession as improper, all you, as a true lover of e-sports, can do is to show them a unyielding view of your back!

Have you ever imagined that in four years, e-sports would be one of the events on the Olympic fields. A hair-raising showdown that combines hand speed reactions under a second, great coordination from a five man team, and the ultimate limits of the human response time– –it is the video game competition! Let the enthusiastic followers of the world yell ‘Demacia’!!

This is a story of a modern man returning to ancient times, returning to a real world without any extraordinaryness, and slowly rising by relying on the ability to attribute all data.

- Description from novelbuddy

“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.