True Solution of the Sword Dao - Chapter 64 - 60 Cooperation

The Old Gods are gone. Lost and Forgotten, their honor shattered and their kingdoms broken by treachery.The Peace of the Myriad Heavens has been severed. And from the ashes of war and chaos, the Twin Towers of Babel have been created as a beacon of hope.Can Altair, a child born of the Old Gods whose name has long since been forgotten, survive, or will he be cast into the Nine Hells?***“So...” Arsene continued, enjoying his child's flush expression. “I've got a few things to teach you. What I'm about to give you is some peak wisdom. Think of it as my Ten Commandments: One, never trust a bitch with red hair. Trust me on this. Two, the pull-out game is not a real thing. She will get pregnant. Three—”“F-Father…”“ —Never get yourself more than one wife. It sounds fun. It is fun. But it's truly a nightmare. You better be writing this stuff down. This is some grade-A wisdom right here. Four.“...Please stop talking…” The Prince pleaded.“Shhhhh. Just let this happen. Four…Bro's before hoes isn't a thing. The hoes come first. Remember, Booty is more important than Wa— ”“STOP!!!!!”

In a galaxy ruled by warlords, guilds, and ancient tech cults, Kai Zareth is just another debt-ridden scavenger—until a legendary system descends upon him.“One Trader per 10,000 light years. One chance to rise.”Selected by the Cosmic Trade Nexus, Kai becomes the sole wielder of the Galactic Exchange System, a multidimensional platform that allows him to buy and sell across parallel worlds, forgotten realms, and alien civilizations.With only 12 hours to complete his first trade—or lose everything—Kai scrambles to make deals in a universe where information is power and one wrong barter could cost your life.From selling enchanted goblin toothbrushes in toxic slums to outwitting rival system users and forging alliances with forgotten races, Kai must build his empire item by item, realm by realm.But in a galaxy where traders kill for profit and system users are hunted like prey, being the Merchant Sovereign might be a bigger curse than a blessing.

What is my 1000-year-old monster self to do when I’ve failed my immortal ascension? Time travel — accidentally — and wind up back in my 9-year-old body, needing to re-cultivate, of course. But after that? Get REVENGE! Muahahahaha! But the idiot who killed me — also accidentally — was the main character of the dumb harem Xianxia I transmigrated into. But wait. Wasn’t he only 7 or 8 at this point in time? Well, since I can’t harm a child or the main character without suffering in some way, then I’ll just have to raise him better, faster, stronger, and loyal! Muahahahaha!

“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.