Outdoor Webcast - Chapter 50 - Little Tigers, Roaring Tigers?

Bai Chuan has a particularly powerful ability, he can take apart everything in the world as a model and choose the best ability structure to give to himself.

If he was born in a mythical world, given him a period of time, he would be able to overthrow the heavens and the world, become an immortal and become an ancestor.

If he was born in a world with extraordinary monsters and beasts, given him a period of time, he could also become the strongest beast, called invincible and immortal.

It’s a pity…he was born in an ordinary world of low martial arts.

“The water in this world is too shallow to raise real dragons…” He looked at the sky and muttered to himself.

Since real dragons cannot be raised in shallow water, wouldn’t it be better to make the pond deeper?

- Description from novelbuddy

CONTENT WARNING – JUICY LEMONS DETECTEDThis novel contains:System-triggered intimacySkill fusion via bondingSeduction-based class evolutionMILFs with buns, blades, and traumaEmotional tension that may result in citrus explosionsLemons served hot, spicy, and metaphorically satisfying.All content is Webnovel-safe, but your sanity might not be.Reader discretion (and hydration) advised.THE STORY:I got summoned to save a kingdom.But instead of the Holy Hero class, I got this:[SSS-Rank Class Assigned: MILF Hunter]Now every mature woman with curves and baggage looks at me like I’m the main quest.The Queen adopted me.A shrine spirit rode me.A widow pinned me until the system glitched.Every MILF I bond with unlocks a passive.Every one I please evolves my class.And now?[Threadweave Fusion Unlocked]I can fuse skills. Reforge reality.Break the system from the inside out.This isn’t just a harem.It’s a divine glitch with thighs, scars, and consequences.I’m not the hero they asked for.I’m the anomaly the gods want erased.If you’re into:Dominant queens and combat widowsBond-powered level-upsForbidden skill craftingCombat as foreplayCitrus-coded corruption arcsThen open this book.And bring a towel.[MILF Hunter System Online]Exposure: Rising…Watchers: Engaged…Lemon Protocol: Armed and dripping…Add to your Collection.Drop a Power Stone.Choose your MILF.Because the queens are thick.The class is cursed.And the system?It doesn’t believe in chill.

This Dark story contains raw and unfiltered mature contents. Strictly R18+. Read with caution.Ella had lost everything. After her mother’s accident, her father married someone else and pushed her aside, choosing his new family over her. Her friends slowly left, and she was left to deal with everything alone. She spent all her money to keep her mother on life support. Now, she was broke, exhausted, and barely holding on.Then Nicholas showed up.He was a stranger—handsome, confident, and calm. But what shocked her most was the marriage certificate he brought. According to him, they got married in Vegas. The problem? Ella doesn’t remember it at all.She already has too much to deal with—her sick mom, the hospital bills, and her fiancé, who has been her only support. She can’t afford to lose him now.But Nicholas won’t go away. He says he’s her husband, and he wants her to come with him. Ella feels drawn to him in a way she can’t explain. He sees through her like no one else does.She knows she should walk away. She knows she should stay with the safe life she’s trying to hold on to. But something about Nicholas pulls her in—and she’s scared he might break her in the end.TW: DOMESTIC ABUSE, MENTAL HEALTH SCENES, ROUGH SEXUAL ACTS.

“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.