Devouring Monarch: Rebirth of the Profane Phoenix - Chapter 432 The Troubled Princess

Wang Xuan entered Longmao Square and was trapped in it. When he finally left, it turned out…

This is the last building on earth.

- Description from novelbuddy

Western VRMMO【DEMONDAL】was known for its extremely harsh game system. To begin with, there were no levels. There were no skills. There were no guilds. There was no inventory. There were no convenient system messages or maps of any kind either. It was so needlessly realistic that it was already basically a VR life simulator.

As for anything game-like, it was basically limited to weapon masteries; a proficiency level that you got from using your weapon, as well as physical strength that increased as well. That was it.

It was a fantasy game so there was magic, but forming a contract with a spirit was extremely difficult, and only 1% of the playerbase were magicians.

In this VR game【DEMONDAL】that was ridiculously close to reality, the protagonist Kei who was a well known mounted archery expert, was one day sent to another world with his Russian【DEMONDAL】friend.

The game that was severe to begin with had turned into a reality, and the harshness increased again――

“The sky was as clear as a wash, the sun radiated over the mountains and forests, and the entire world appeared tranquil, carrying a unique sense of stillness.Watching a person wearing a sexy tiger-print miniskirt, holding a stick, leading a group of more than ten people shouting as they chased after the leader of a fur-covered rhinoceros, Han Cheng couldn’t help but bring his slightly curled right hand to his slightly open mouth and once again exclaimed, ‘Oh my goodness!’(No system, no space, no cheating through crossing over, purely original primitive farming, without elements like cultivating immortality, for readers who enjoy a relaxed farming story, please read at ease.)”

“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.