I, The Dragon Overlord - Chapter 610 - Small, Pitiful, and Helpless

She was a medical expert, talented and beautiful. She was reborn as his little wife. Her in-laws did not like her, her husband did not love her, and she was as timid as a mouse. She was weak and easy to bully.

Gu Bai always believed that the stupidest thing he had ever done was listening to his bestie’s words of becoming a stallion genre novel writer, the most frustrating thing was that he changed the moral, smart, and healthy youngster, that he had decided on, into a big boss…but in the end, he discovered that the consequences of changing the original plot were more serious than he expected. Things like encountering the outrageous character he wrote with his own hand…

Oh·my·god! He freaking eats people! Right now, he can only turn devouring people into “devouring” people… maybe.

In short, this is a story about a dumb author who was the first to start a trend of human cannibalism in stallion genre novels, who in the end, was unable to escape from the whirlpool of destiny (not really).

- Description from Novelupdates

Chen Feng looked cautious in the awakening room, lest he had no martial spirit, but was detected to have nine martial spirits, and the audience was in an uproar.

Everyone thought that his martial spirits were ordinary, but they didn’t know that Chen Feng’s nine martial arts were not ordinary plants, but nine divine trees that were unique in the ancient times, and each of them possessed incredible power!

Such a divine tree, as long as one, is enough to step into the peak of the human race, and he has nine!

- 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.