Spare Me, Great Lord! - Chapter 1328: Daylight Starlight

The mentally disabled 13 year old daughter of the Ye family, one day re-births! She rules over the Omnipotent God’s Cauldron, she possesses a spirit cultivation space. She’s no longer the good-for-nothing, abandoned girl who everyone bullies whenever they see her! With her incomparable poisons, even miracle doctors have to move to the side.

“Can you be useful to me?”

“I… I can be…”

The first time they met, she knelt trembling before him, begging for shelter. The slave caught his interest, and he brought her back to his palace.

She could’ve never imagined that in one night she’d go from a spoiled little slave princess of a defeated kingdom, to becoming a powerful prince’s pet.

He kept her by his side… spoiled her, cared for her, loved her, and gave her meticulous care and high status. Whatever she wished… she could do so under his name.

But, she angered him and chose to run away. He captured her within a day.

“Don’t forget, my little dearest, everything I have given you can be taken back…”

In a spur of anger, she hit him, her feeble hands striking against the flesh of his cheek. Gnashing her teeth in anger, she said, “Do you have the ability to take my child back?!”

- Description from Novelupdates

In my former life, I dedicated most of my adult life to achieving my goal of exploring the stars. Unfortunately, due to circumstances outside my control, my life abruptly ended leaving my dream unfulfilled. Thanks to the intervention of the Big Guy Upstairs, I was given a chance to achieve my dream though the one who reincarnated me screwed me over. Unlike the futuristic type of world I wanted to start in, I ended up being born in a medieval, magical world as the third son of a regional baron. All I can do now is Dungeon Crawl for ancient technology in the hopes that I find a ship or technology to get me off this damn world!

“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.