MTL - Stealing The Heavens - Chapter 870 Liangzhu war (second more)

He shattered the heavens… and got isekai’d into a crazy desert survival game!Xu Tao cultivated for ten thousand years, defying death and destiny to reach the Divine Heaven Immortal Stage.But just as he touched the heavens—The heavens kicked him into a world based on a full-dive VR game.Now he’s got no Qi. No weapons, no cultivation… and no pants.Just a desert full of monsters, a glitchy “Lost System” that won’t shut up, and knowledge forged from millennia of clawing his way to the top.Enemies? Weaklings.Mystic beasts? Drop garbage loot.Level caps? He’s Xu Tao.He didn’t spend ten millennia chasing immortality just to get wiped by a scorpion in a tutorial-zone!But he’s definitely not here to play. He’s here to ascend—again.Even if this time, he has to grind EXP and punch sand beetles to do it.But wait... That's not all...? He could also... What?!

Having been reborn, she takes one glance at her ridiculously handsome husband and wonders if she had suffered from brain damage back then—she had actually demanded for a divorce with him. Repeatedly!

“….Krische-sama, are you not afraid of killing people?”

“……? No. After all, it doesn’t hurt Krische.”

Although gifted with the talent to do anything with ease, the girl lacked empathy.

In her world, there is only loss and profit. No goodwill, no love.

Inhumanly recognizing cold, mathematical logic as everything, she looks at everything in the world through calculating lens.

Return given profit with profit, loss with loss.

The girl was undoubtedly pure, yet undeniably abnormal—

Her favorite things are cooking, food, and being pampered.

Her specialty is mu*der.

—- This is the story of a slightly unhinged girl being surrounded by kind and loving people, and her journey to find happiness.

“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.