MMORPG : Rebirth Of The Strongest Guild Master - Chapter 10 - Sending A Cheque Home

Have you ever wondered what lies beyond what you perceive as your reality?What lies beyond the “truth” that everyone around you tells you is “just the way it is”?Have you never pondered on what your limit is in this life of yours? “Can I go further? Can I do more?”And yet you end up settling when you think you have reached that “limit.” But why? Why should you settle? There is always going to be something further, something 'beyond'.This is a story about a boy named Azmond who was reincarnated from planet Earth into the Cultivation World of Asterion... A world where the strong rule and the weak are forced to kneel. If Azmond wishes to gain power in this new mysterious world then he must be willing to sacrifice more than anybody else, he who wants to know just how far he can go, a boy with the sole goal of attaining power above all else.Little does Azmond know, that there is a price to pay for everything and that price will be painful, so very excruciating that every fiber of his being will wish for death... but Azmond will continue. He will persevere until he can't anymore... For that is his will.

Jiang Nian used to be an actress. One day, she died and became a quester for the Lord God. Her task is to collect aura of a female lead and prevent each world from collapsing.

It’s just that every time there is a lot of twists and turns, however, the most troublesome thing for Jiang Nian is that once the female aura rises to 60, it won’t rise anymore! What will Jiang Nian have to do to get a breakthrough?

- Description from Novelupdates

Having lived a normal life all his life and died without being able to fulfill his desire and when he’s given a task by a god, watch how he takes the protagonists girls while making it hard for the hero.

“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.