Heretical Fishing - Chapter 7: The Cult of Carcinization

In the nation of Avrael, power is both a blessing and a curse. Sixteen-year-old Ayato Daath, a poor orphan, had always hoped to live unnoticed in the shadows of the city. But when he is forced to undergo The Rite of Manifestation, the ritual that determines one’s magical potential, his worst fear comes true—he is an Elite.Now torn from the only life he’s ever known, Ayato is thrust into a brutal world of magic, bloodshed, and treacherous politics. In a society where the strong prey on the weak, where rival factions scheme in the dark, and where a single misstep could mean death, Ayato must quickly learn one thing—adapt, or perish. And one thing Ayato already knows is that in Avrael, only the ruthless survive.

“I betrayed the only man who stayed faithful to me, and died by the hand of the father I worshipped.”​Olivia Luceron was the perfect tool. For years, she acted as a spy within her own marriage, feeding her father secrets to dismantle her husband’s power. Her reward? A cold dungeon, a mutilated body, and a walk of shame through the empire’s streets.​Her husband, Duke Matthias, whom she treated with nothing but icy indifference, died protecting her. Her father, whom she gave her soul to, was the one who ordered her torture.​Now, Olivia has returned a year before her death.​The platinum hair she lost is back. The scars on her chest have vanished. And Matthias—the man who kissed her forehead in a dark cell before facing the executioner—is still alive.​She doesn't seek his forgiveness. She doesn't even seek his love. In this life, Olivia has only one goal: to use her position as the Duchess to systematically destroy the Locron family from within.​She will be the “Perfect Wife” this time—a mask of ice to hide a heart of fire.“Dear Father, you taught me how to be a monster. It’s only fair that I show you what I’ve learned.”

“Since I was born, I’ve had the same dream every day, where the same day repeats over and over.”“What do you do in the dream?”“Rob banks, blow up buildings, flirt with girls, play Grand Theft Auto… since it’s a dream, I naturally do a lot of lawless things.”“Tell me what you did last night.”“Last night was more interesting. I’ve been dreaming for so long, but it’s the first time I’ve dreamt of someone I know in real life. She was a very beautiful girl…”“Mhm.” The police officer nodded while taking notes. “Go on, I’m listening.”

“They Call Guys Like Me a Simp.”(Meanwhile, I’m out here living what their favorite MC only dreams about.)You ever notice how stories glorify the ones who feel nothing?The MC who never laughs.Never feels.Who plays women like chess pieces and calls it intelligence.He manipulates a girl? “He’s strategic.”He never opens up? “He’s mysterious.”He never flinches, never laughs, never lives —And you call that strength?Funny.Because to me?That’s just a prison in disguise.You see an “alpha.”I see a boy too scared to feel anything real.While they spend ten chapters monologuing about logic and sacrifice,I’m already making the Saintess scream,drenched in sin,halo cracked,legs trembling from truths her prayers never taught her.And I didn’t get there with cold eyes or control.I got there with laughter and chill. With warmth. With a grin and a hand on her thigh.I didn’t need to dominate her mind —I freed her heart.But that scares people, doesn’t it?Because readers trust the ones who suffer.Who stay quiet.Who kill without blinking and love without showing it.But me?I flirt.I laugh.I take hits and smile back, bloody and defiant, as if too weak to get angry.I don’t need to pretend emotions are weakness.I weaponize mine.Pleasure. Connection. Laughter.That’s my arsenal.And while your favorite MC is still calculating his next five moves,Trying to outwit death and romance like both are math problems,I’m already balls deep in the jade fairy — her sacred yin furnace clenching like it’s worshipping my shaft, her Dao Echo shattered into breathless moans, and her so-called cultivation path leaking down her thighs while she begs me to break her meridians again.You call that luck?Nah.That’s mastery of the three worlds.Because in a world that respects coldness,I came in hot.Where others manipulate, I connect.Where they posture, I play.Where they sacrifice, I seduce.So go ahead.Call me a simp.But while your genius MC is busy monologuing about destiny,I’m the one making goddesses question theirs —with a smirk, a touch, and no regrets.I’m not the hero.Not the villain.I’m just a simp… the kind who leaves your cold, emotionless MC’s woman dripping, ruined, and too stretched to go back to him.