Leveling Up With My Pet - Chapter 437 10..9..8..7........

“Do you think sleeping with you once isn't enough after what you did to make me famous? Would you do it a second time?”Li Qingshen remained silent.Ling Momo pouted before biting her finger. “Ten times?” She asked.Li Qingshen still remained silent.Ling Momo tugged at her own hair. She clenched her jaw. “Twenty times?”Li Qingshen turned around to leave.Ling Momo was frantic. She stomped her feet. “Is twenty times still too little? You can't possibly want a hundred times.”Li Qingshen smiled. “That'll do...”

I am but a traveler in a foreign land, with no desire to become an immortal.After cultivating Daoism in the deep mountains for twenty years, Master sent Song You down the mountain to witness the demons, ghosts, spirits, monsters and myriad aspects of life, to explore the famed mountains and rivers, and seek the legendary immortals. She said that was the true path of cultivation. Who would have thought, after traversing every corner of the land, the immortal I sought turned out to be myself.Original Blurb:In the remote wilderness, amidst the whispering winds and ancient trees, Song You, a wanderer from a foreign land, treads a path of solitude with no intention of becoming a celestial being.For two decades, Song has immersed himself in the rigorous discipline of mountain cultivation under the guidance of his master. Unexpectedly, his master instructs him to descend from the secluded mountains and explore the world of demons, monsters, and the myriad facets of human existence. Song embarks on a journey to witness the diverse landscapes and encounter the supernatural, seeking out renowned mountains and mighty rivers rumored to be the abodes of true immortals – the epitome of authentic spiritual cultivation.Little does Song realize that his quest will lead him far and wide, traversing the vast expanse of the land. In a surprising turn of events, he discovers that the celestial being he seeks is none other than himself.As Song journeys through the bustling regions of the north and the serene landscapes of the south, he unravels the mysteries of his own existence. The people he meets, the challenges he faces, and the secrets he uncovers become integral parts of his transformative journey. The pursuit of enlightenment becomes an odyssey of self-discovery, and the boundaries between mortal and immortal blur.

It was in the year 2800 of the Midgard calendar. Back then, there was a Overlord who once reigned supreme and had reached the very brink of subduing the world.

“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.