The Cunning Treasure Hunter - Chapter 113: The Phantom of Betrayal

Michael was suddenly reborn into a another world by a God because of an accidental death. To make up for this fact, the God gave him another life in a fantasy world of swords, magic, and monsters.Unfortunately, it turned out that the world he was reborn into was still stuck in the medieval times. It didn't have electricity, it didn't have proper plumbing, and it didn't have any technology that he was so used to back in his old world.But thanks to the God's blessing and an AI assistant called ChatJK1, he was given the power to MAKE his life comfortable. Slowly, Michael transforms this new world into a place even better than his previous one by taking ideas from the modern world and putting it in this world, with the added bonus of magic.

The next morning, Eleanor woke up in an unfamiliar room, sun streaming through the window. Beside her, the man from last night was fully dressed, sipping coffee. His expression was cold.The vague memories of last night returned in snippets. “I didn't mean… I was drunk,” Eleanor stammered.Liam raised an eyebrow with a small sad smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Save it. You're not the first to try to seduce me.”Eleanor's anger flared. “I wasn't trying to seduce you! And I'm not some prostitute.”Liam's gaze hardened. “Well, I'm not here to judge you, but don't expect any more than that.”With that, he turned and left, leaving Eleanor stunned.*******Eleanor's life instantly changed when she lost her job and got into a contract marriage with Liam Chase, a ruthless and possessive billionaire who agreed to pay off her debts. Life with Liam was a difficult one as he was cold to her. She found solace in the hands of his cousin and became pregnant for him.But what happens when she finds out that her billionaire husband is linked to her past?Will she easily let go or will her past hunt her forever?Will Liam's cousin come to her rescue or is she doomed forever?Dive into the book and find out more.

Alan, a ruthless Archmage who slaughtered an entire Magistracy for revenge, finally meets his end… only to awaken in the body of a broken fifteen-year-old boy dangling from a noose.Now inhabiting the skin of Severus Snape, Alan brings with him memories of blood-soaked battlefields, forbidden runes, and magic so terrifying it makes Avada Kedavra look like a child’s prank.He has no interest in Dumbledore’s war, Voldemort’s ideology, or teenage drama.

“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.