The Reincarnated Assassin is a Genius Swordsman - Chapter 306

Lin Luoran is a 27-year-old girl from a rural family. She doesn’t have a college degree, let alone any money.

After cheated by her boyfriend, Lin Luoran accidently finds a mysterious space in her heirloom. At first, she only tries to use the magical spring water in that space to grow medicines like ginseng to help out her family. However, Lin Luoran never thought that she would become the last female cultivator in the world.

The family of cultivators have not been seen on earth for thousands of years. Lin Luoran strives to cultivate herself in the metropolis, to complete her first-ever journey to immortality.

As for love… What will happen to Lin Luoran, a girl that is so different? Let’s open the book and find out.

After being reborn in a sci-fi ABO world, Xi Wei became the newly born son of the Imperial King. He thought, as the emperor’s son he could live a carefree and imposing life, but unexpectedly the First Prince is actually an omega? What the hell is an Omega?

There was an alpha who was born on the same day as the First Prince Xi Wei, the two children grew up together. When Xi Wei looked at the blonde child next door, he always felt that the boy was not pleasing to the eye, so as a child Xi Wei bullied him.

Until many years later …

Looking at the man standing in front of him who was one head taller than him, Xi Wei was dumbfounded.

–He tried to get out of the way, but eventually still fell into his childhood sweetheart’s clutches.

- Description from Novelupdates

The figure of the Armada seems to be still riding the wind and waves in the Atlantic Ocean, and the gold of South America still seems to flow in continuously. As Alfonso from the Bourbon family returns to the Royal Palace of Madrid where he was born, the story begins here…

- Description from novelbuddy

“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.