I Help A NPC Become The Legendary Witch - Chapter 828: The End of the Thousand Islands, The Final Battle (1)

Kenichi Yamada was a 35-year-old salaryman. As a hardcore game enthusiast, he was saddened by the modern trend towards casual games.

So, when a site claimed to be “for people who like to do things the hard way,” he just couldn’t resist. Thus, he was reincarnated into another world as Allen, playing on Hell Mode.

This is fantasy light novel about Allen’s journey as a summoner.

Reincarnated as a serf, he starts from nothing.

His journey begins with absolutely no knowledge of the world around him, just like those games he played 10, 20 years ago.

He Xie, a private detective, specializes in investigating extramarital affairs, and once made mistresses and scumbags fearful, he is a good young man with lofty ideals. In the event of an accidental death, you have to start a new life system and complete tasks in exchange for the chance to be reborn.

In “Infernal Affairs”, he worked hard to be a “good person” instead of XXX; in “Youth Bao Qingtian”, he tattooed a sun on his forehead; in “Charlotte Trouble”, Yuan Hua and Qiu Ya sang a plum blossom together, “Lu Xiaofeng” “, “Dragon Babu”, “Kung Fu”, “Bourne Bourne”, “Lord of the Rings”, “Pirates of the Caribbean”…

- Description from novelbuddy

After three years of hidden marriage, he handed her the divorce papers because his first love had returned and he wanted to give that woman legitimacy to their relationship.She endured the sadness in her heart and signed.On the day he registered his marriage with his white moonlight, she had a car accident, and lost the twins in her womb.From then on, she changed all her contact information and completely left his world.Later it was heard that he left his newlywed wife and searched for her all over the world.On the day they reunited, he blocked her path and begged, “Sweetie, give me a chance, please.”

“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.