MTL - Ten God Emperor - Chapter 130 misunderstanding

Du Fei was reborn, and in this difficult era of extreme shortage of supplies, he started his wonderful life of opening and hanging…

- Description from novelbuddy

What happens when you survive seven hellish years on an alien planet in the ultimate battle of the strongest in the universe—as a human?What happens when you give everything you have and more to defeat the final boss in a battle to the death… only to wake up the next second, back at day one?Going through it all over again?But something is wrong.The game in his hands isn’t Nyxfall 6: Dark End, the world he spent over seven years surviving. It’s Nyxfall 7: The Veilbreakers—the next installment.He won? So now he’s been given another game to play?And he’s not alone. There are others like him in every alien civilization. This time, it’s not just survival—it’s about who can lead their people best.That is… if they even care about their people at all.Why bother leading at all? With everything they have learned, why not exploit the system, amass unimaginable wealth, and live like a king in a game that pays in real money?

A generation’s War God, once overlooking the world with disdain, had fallen into disgrace because of a conspiracy, becoming a mere son-in-law. However, what nobody had expected was that it was all part of his grand scheme, and when the winds of change blew, he, the king, returned, with the power to overturn seas and move mountains, as a dragon ascended to the heavens!

“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.