Let's Train Heroine - Chapter 342: Heroine’s Former Enemy, Nyx II

Warning: This novel contains explicit adult content, violence, and a ruthless anti-hero MC. Read at your own risk.I was the strongest player in the world—until they betrayed me.When I woke up, I wasn’t a player anymore. I was just an NPC. A nameless mob, doomed to be farmed for EXP and discarded like trash.But then, I heard it:(You have been killed.)(Unique Skill Activated: Infinite Resurrection.)(Each death makes you stronger.)Every time a player slaughters me, I steal their stats, their skills, and their power. I evolve beyond the system’s control, beyond the limits of this world.They thought I was nothing.They thought they could use me, farm me, erase me.Now, I am the final boss—and I will make them suffer.On the battlefield, and in my bed.They will submit. One way or another.

This is a tale that distorts the scenario of an otome game.An orphan girl named Alicia is attacked by a woman trying to steal her body to become the “heroine”. From the fragmentary knowledge she acquires, Alicia learns that this world is the stage of an “otome game” in a “world of sword and magic”.Having learned the truth from the knowledge she obtained, the immature Alicia dismisses the otome game as “nonsense” and runs away from the orphanage to escape the fate of the “heroine”.A villainess aims to take her life. A fake heroine appears. Alicia trains herself using the fragmentary knowledge she has gained in order to survive, growing into the “Strongest Assassin” that is feared by both the Thieves’ Guild and the Assassins’ Guild.

Raon’s entire life had been lived as a dog on a leash.

Through a twist of fate, he obtained a new life.

Wrath remained in the wreckage of his destroyed leash.

Finally capable of standing on his own feet, he decided to live life by his own will.

He would slay anyone standing in his way…

Even if they were a god.

“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.