MTL - Unlimited Cycles of Death - Chapter 213 The hopeless immortal 18┃ resurrects a new life on this planet.

Great Cultivator Chen Fan had failed his Tribulation period, but after a dream, he had returned to Earth, when he was young, five hundred years ago.

Ye Hao travels to the world of horror recovery.

It is full of demons, ghosts walking at night, and aliens with awakened abilities.

Ye Hao, who has always been more salty, did not expect that the golden finger would be so powerful that it would automatically level up.

“A good meal, Liuku Immortal Thief is in a beautiful mood, and the speed of cultivation is doubled.”

“Gu Lingqian will sense the presence of a Specter nearby, and he will be excited, and the training effect will increase by 70%.”

“The speed at which you made the talisman is too slow, the sky is the ****, and you have realized the mystery.”

“You haven’t touched a beautiful woman today, you are in a low mood with both hands, and you have no progress in your practice.”

“You watched a small movie, and Daluodongguan was very excited and fell into a state of epiphany.”

…

Ye Hao really didn’t think about working hard, but his eight strange skills were too good.

- Description from novelbuddy

A military enthusiast with dreams of serving, shaped by his father’s influence and a bookshelf full of war theories, finds himself unexpectedly reborn into a fantasy world he’d recently read about.Now an orphan, he faces impending destitution in a land governed by strict caste systems. But with the Reich Empire Academy Entrance Exam as his potential salvation, he’s armed not with magic, but with a vast knowledge of military tactics from his past life. As the date of his expulsion from the orphanage looms, he’s determined to leverage his unique skills to change his fate.

“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.