MTL - Stealing The Heavens - Chapter 869 At the beginning of the war (first)

Business through the world, let everyone work for me.

Zhou Yang accidentally obtained the Wanjie shop system and traded thousands of planes.

“I once held a small auction and the emperor came to more than 100 people. I heard that there are two other emperors named Li Shimin.”

“I had all the people of the Condor Heroes in the world to help me breed Bos The song snake, to launch all people in the world of pirates, went to the sea to help me find the fruit of the devil.

“I had hired a clerk, hey, the beauty of the West can only be an intern employee, self-confidence, barely qualified. “

This is the story of Zhou Yang’s acquisition of a million-floor shop system that has become the strongest shopkeeper in history.

- Description from ~

Transmigrating to the perilous High Martial World, Su Mu has dedicated half his life to diligent efforts, but due to mediocre talent, he has not progressed an inch in ten years, remaining a Second Level Martial Artist.On his birthday, feeling troubled, he plans to drown his sorrows in alcohol until an unusual sound echoes in his mind.“Ding!”[Superpower Refresh System successfully loaded!][Every month, a Spirit Stone can be consumed to randomly refresh a superpower!]

“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.

A replica of Marquis Kieran Vale, the son of the Marchioness of Vale, who she deemed a failure. That was all she was. No, she was now referred to as “he.” At least until she met Claude Del Ihar.