MTL - My Backyard is the Tang Dynasty - Chapter 366 The best gear!

In the God Domain, Cultivators were far and few between, but each of them wielded power that would make them known as gods.

How did they come to have such power? They comprehended the laws between heaven and earth and became those very laws.

But something occurred, a youth that hadn’t gained the acknowledgment of the heavens to become a cultivator chance upon Qi. Determined to reverse the bad hand faith had dealt him he started researching it and came to a shocking conclusion. The very laws that the heavens prevented him from comprehending were swirling around in this strange energy!

The youth thought to himself that if he could somehow control it, then he could defy the heavens and become a cultivator. Without any hesitation he began researching more and found out that the only way to control this newfound energy was to absorb it within his body.

After many years of preparations, he did exactly that.

However, he promptly died from the finger size strand he absorbed.

Ten years after his death a cultivator found his research journal and decided to further study this fascinating idea.

Skip forward to an unknown period in the future and a baby was born into a powerful royal family as the second prince. Upon his birth this child had the laws of heaven and earth swirling around him. This immediately sent the royal court into a stir as they thought the heavens themselves had blessed the Emperor’s second son.

But as that was happening, the baby that had just been born saw the midwife use a spell to turn Qi into water to clean him.

Upon seeing this, the baby’s eyes widen into saucers as a voice screamed hysterically in his head, “W-WHO THE FUCK STOLE MY IDEA?!”

“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.

The Night Has Come, and kermesinus moon ascends in the sky.Hoarse whispers flow at the street corners, and brass steam machines spew out bloody mist.Your brain is singing a hymn, eyes are chanting a melody.Skin cracks, and flesh buds swell.Amidst the Mist, the wall of flesh that has devoured thousands of corpses wails endlessly—“Weep not, our players don't bite, they just want to play with you.”Annan, the lone strategist, the top player, the savior of the mist-covered continent, the leader of the Thirteen Saints, the friend of the Twelve True Gods, the king of pioneers, “the Just”, the Gatekeeper of the Fourth Calamity, the uncrowned deity, advised kindly.