MTL - Peerless White Emperor - Chapter 1277 Military area explosion

The next day.“I’ve stressed this time and again—I’m responsible for making the ethos of the cultivation world off-kilter! History is written by the victors, and I’ve triumphed!” Sword Immortal Lu Yang expressed his ire during a press interview.—Brought to you by The Cultivation Times.(Translated by Rakumon)It is the first day of the twelfth month of the year—a suitable day for the launch of this novel (I hope… :3) I am Rakumon, the translator of Who Let Him Cultivate?! This novel is known for its refreshing humor and imaginative ideas in the Chinese community. If you like a witty protagonist, interesting side characters, a mystery plot in the background, and plenty of comedy, do read on and be a part of Lu Yang’s journey! I have previously worked on Consort of a Thousand Faces and Transmigration: Of Mysteries And Songs on Volare. It will be my first time translating a novel from this genre, and it definitely doesn’t help that this novel is heavy with jokes, puns, wordplay, memes, poems, cultural references—you name it. Nonetheless, I will try my best to bring them across to all of you, and please also feel free to share your comments!

Sheng Jiaoyang, a scumbag full-level disaster, turned on the fast-passing mode after overturning the car, and happily worked in various worlds.

As a result, accidentally, they all turned into snake spirits.

The playful son on campus, the eldest young master of the wealthy group, the cold and paranoid hero, the playboy of the game world, the noble and cold monarch of a country… These are supposed to be the proud sons of heaven who should have a smooth life, but they all met Misfortune floods Sheng Jiaoyang.

Jiao Yang spread his hands helplessly: “Everything, what if your host is too charming?”

System: “…Just be happy if you’re happy.”

- Description from novelbuddy

“When the old gods are forgotten, they do not die—they wait.”In the year 1025, the Viking Age wanes.Iceland bows to Christ. The Althing governs by law. And the gods of old fade to whispers.But in the far Westfjords, something stirs.Vetrulfr, a former Varangian captain and exile, returns from the East with foreign gold, forgotten warcraft, and a hunger no man can name.He comes not in peace, but to raise Ullrsfjörðr from ash and ice; building walls, carving runes, and waging war on behalf of a dying faith.From Reykjavík to Aachen, rumors spread: a ghost walks the North once more. Some call him the son of Ullr. Others, a wolf-cloaked demon.But all will know his name.and when the Valkyries call, he will answer.

“They Call Guys Like Me a Simp.”(Meanwhile, I’m out here living what their favorite MC only dreams about.)You ever notice how stories glorify the ones who feel nothing?The MC who never laughs.Never feels.Who plays women like chess pieces and calls it intelligence.He manipulates a girl? “He’s strategic.”He never opens up? “He’s mysterious.”He never flinches, never laughs, never lives —And you call that strength?Funny.Because to me?That’s just a prison in disguise.You see an “alpha.”I see a boy too scared to feel anything real.While they spend ten chapters monologuing about logic and sacrifice,I’m already making the Saintess scream,drenched in sin,halo cracked,legs trembling from truths her prayers never taught her.And I didn’t get there with cold eyes or control.I got there with laughter and chill. With warmth. With a grin and a hand on her thigh.I didn’t need to dominate her mind —I freed her heart.But that scares people, doesn’t it?Because readers trust the ones who suffer.Who stay quiet.Who kill without blinking and love without showing it.But me?I flirt.I laugh.I take hits and smile back, bloody and defiant, as if too weak to get angry.I don’t need to pretend emotions are weakness.I weaponize mine.Pleasure. Connection. Laughter.That’s my arsenal.And while your favorite MC is still calculating his next five moves,Trying to outwit death and romance like both are math problems,I’m already balls deep in the jade fairy — her sacred yin furnace clenching like it’s worshipping my shaft, her Dao Echo shattered into breathless moans, and her so-called cultivation path leaking down her thighs while she begs me to break her meridians again.You call that luck?Nah.That’s mastery of the three worlds.Because in a world that respects coldness,I came in hot.Where others manipulate, I connect.Where they posture, I play.Where they sacrifice, I seduce.So go ahead.Call me a simp.But while your genius MC is busy monologuing about destiny,I’m the one making goddesses question theirs —with a smirk, a touch, and no regrets.I’m not the hero.Not the villain.I’m just a simp… the kind who leaves your cold, emotionless MC’s woman dripping, ruined, and too stretched to go back to him.