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... ator in the void stage or above.

Cultivation was not just a method of gathering qi to gain strength but more akin to an evolution to a higher life form.

High level cultivators had fearsome abilities like the ancient immortals of legends. They could regenerate from almost any sort of physical damage, gained the ability to fly and could even survive in the vacuum of space.

Humans in their base forms were weak and fragile creatures with none of the physical enhancements of other s ...

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In the year 4 Before the New Calendar, just four years before the arrival of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, Lyle finds himself sitting by the roadside, gnawing on a piece of coarse black rye bread. His gaze is hollow, tinged with despair—he has been transported to the world of Overlord.The prospect of facing the devastating events to come chills him to the bone. In just a few years, the Great Tomb will unleash its might, razing nations and reshaping the world. Lyle foresees two grim paths ahead: perishing in the cataclysmic aftermath or surviving to live under the rule of the Sorcerer Kingdom.But as hopelessness threatens to consume him, a unique panel materializes before his eyes: Innate Ability: “Player”.Armed with the same advantage as the feared entities of Nazarick, Lyle resolves to carve his destiny. If they're all players in this grand game, why should he cower before them? The race against time begins as he seeks to grow stronger, navigate the treacherous world, and defy the fate that looms ever closer.

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“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.

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*

Some people can learn in a day what takes others ten years of hard work. Xie Lingya is like this – other people have to cleanse themselves and meditate to draw talismans, he can do it as easy as drinking a glass of water. Unfortunately, in this era, graduating from a renowned university is much more valuable than the talent for cultivation. He who has the Immortal Roots finally chose to study finance.

However, the world is unpredictable. His uncle, a Taoist priest, died unexpectedly, leaving his temple to Xie Lingya. His last wish was for his nephew to find the right person to inherit his sect’s teachings.

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Song Xingcheng found out that he was the cannon fodder for a novel…
The horror is, this is actually a post-apocalyptic novel?!
He relied on the rent of the two buildings to live a happy and free life, and his favorite grilled chicken…

But all of them will be gone!
Fortunately, the golden finger fell from the sky, and he became the lord of the city.

Since then, anywhere he had waved his hand had many houses, vast farmland, roaring factories, and rising technology…
Song Xingcheng not only once again lived a beautiful life of collecting rent and receiving soft hands but he also grabbed a man who can cook chicken!

***

He Qianshan: My skill of making grilled chicken is inherited from my ancestors, come to my bowl soon ~

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