48 Hours a Day - Chapter 1352: The Auction Of The Fortune Building

1. Yan Wei entered a black tower that disappeared into the clouds and accidentally entered a world inside the tower that was filled with all sorts of instances.

In the instances, there were puppets leaning over to kiss a statue, paintings of people without eyes, a pale and dishevelled female ghost with a mouth filled with blood….

Each floor was a level; if you don’t enter, you die. Only those who reach the top can live.

After Yan Wei thoroughly understood the rules, he found that he had a skill called “Half Immortal” —- As long as he was in an instance, he would acquire an immortal body every second day.

Yan Wei: Going wild.jpg

2. Yan Mingguang who was ascending the tower took off his glasses and held a cigarette as he leaned against the wall watching the young man not far away slowly approach the boss.
The young man was calm and composed. With one hand in his pocket, he used his other hand to grab the boss’s hand and carefully examined it. His clear voice carried nonchalance: “Don’t move. Let me see what clues you have on you……Hey, stop struggling. You can’t kill me anyway……..”

The clock ticked past midnight——–

The young man’s calm expression changed immediately. He looked at the boss with eyes filled with fear and turned and ran towards him.
Seeing that the boss was now charging over, Yan Mingguang tossed his cigarette aside, frowned and said coldly: “Let go.”
The young man clung tightly onto him: “No! Save me!!!”
“Not saving.”
The young man’s eyes brightened: “Thank you!!”
Yan Mingguang who found that he had already crushed the boss’s head, “……..”

3. One day, while the instance was being broadcasted.
The players who were watching the broadcast found that the thigh-hugging, weak and useless player Yan Wei had suddenly appeared before the boss all the other players were trying to avoid.
The audience: “??? Is he in a hurry to die??”
The next moment, the young man chased after the boss, shouting, “Stop running, I won’t be too mean!!”
The boss’s face was filled with panic, the audience’s faces were filled with confusion.
This was different from what they had in mind?

*Cold and aloof gong with explosive fighting power who says one thing but does another x sometimes seeking death, sometimes faking cowardice, quick-witted shou

- Description from Novelupdates

Sherlock is a new generation Dungeon Lord whose ambition is to become the greatest Devil King and building up the greatest Dungeon in the Underworld.

“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.