Stray Cat Strut - Chapter Forty-Five - Air Superiority

Heaven and earth are the guest house of all living beings, and time is the passing guest through the ages.

The difference between life and death, just like the difference between dreaming and waking, changes and cannot be questioned.

So beyond life and death, beyond heaven and earth, beyond time, what is waiting for us?

This is Ergen’s sixth novel “Beyond Time” after “The Immortal”, “The Devil”, “I Want to Seal the Heavens”, “An Eternal Thought”, and “Three Inch of the World”.

- Description from novelbuddy

The 13th disciple of the Great Mount Hua Sect. One of the Greatest Third-Generation Swordsmen. The Plum Blossom Sword Master, Chungmyung.

After slicing the head of the peerless Heavenly Demon, who threw the world into chaos, he slept an eternal sleep on the peak of the Hundred Thousand Great Mountains. Jumping over a hundred years, he comes back in the body of a child.

But… what? Mount Hua declined? What the hell are you talking about!?

It’s only natural to want to live if you’re going broke.

“Decline? Even though I’m here? Who would dare!”

Plum blossoms eventually fall.

But when the cold winter passes and spring comes, plum blossoms shall bloom again.

“But I’m gonna die first before Mount Hua gets revived! If you’re gonna go bust, might as well do it right, you bastards!”

The beginning of the Plum Blossom Sword Master, Chungmyung’s solitary struggle to save the thoroughly declining Mount Hua Sect.

The empire has turned into the land of the undead due to a spell gone wrong. God summoned heroes from countless worlds to purify the empire and plant new hope. Lee Shin Woo, an ordinary earthling, was also summoned. As an undead, that is.

“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.