MTL - After the Rebirth, I Counterattacked and Became An All-around Boss - Chapter 412 she is a cultivator

As a game streamer in the non-human romance game community, Lin Qianxuan always thought that playing this type of game was just a work requirement, and his sexual orientation had always been quite normal.Until he received a mysterious recommendation from an online friend to play a game called “String of Destiny,” an AI dialogue game.Not long after connecting with various beautiful non-human women, Lin Qianxuan stated, “I have long said I am not interested in normal human women.”Netizens: we know humans have various sexual orientations, but we still suggest that the streamer should go to the doctor.

Chen Ye transmigrates to the Great Wu Dynasty and binds himself to an orphan cultivation system. As long as he nurtures orphans, he earns points, which can be used to draw skills to bestow upon the orphans.But…Chen Ye always feels that these traits are a bit strange.[Strong Physique: Increases strength growth rate; but can only use heavy weapons] [Dexterous Hands: Enhances talents in cooking, sewing, and other life skills; greatly enhances talent in mechanisms and manual techniques] [Perseverance: As long as there is determination, nothing is impossible; but thoughts must be clear and unobstructed] [Draw Lots: The things drawn will accompany for a lifetime; but…]

The world is destroyed, the era is restarted, and the survival qualification called the lord is issued to everyone.

Territories, heroes, arms, treasures, resources, all the servers achieved by thousands of continents are open.

Qin Muye looked at his own panel like a cannon fodder, with a broken suffix, and he was rather weeping without tears.

There is no god-level talent, no hidden hints, and no anti-sky career.

“If that’s the case, then there is only one way to live.”

- Description from novelbuddy

“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.