Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai - Chapter 125 - 120

The world has ended. I’m the only survivor left in the shelter. But by my side is the world’s most advanced AI, Artemis.

Lu Lingxi died.

As a child born by his parents through precise genetic matching, for eighteen years of his life, he lived entirely for his brother, who had leukaemia. He was his brother’s shadow, a “medicine reserve bank” for his brother’s treatment needs.

Umbilical cord blood, stem cells, bone marrow… whenever his brother needed it, he would have no choice but to quietly lie on the operating table.

Until the last time, when his brother needed a kidney and he never came off the operating table.

When he opened his eyes again, Lu Lingxi became a teenager with the same name Lu Lingxi.

Freed from the shackles of his fate, he possesses the mysterious ability to communicate with plants.

Raising flowers, gardening and running a farm, Lu Lingxi begins a very different life!

Limited Discount!All privilege comes with a 90% off discount for the month of August!----When a failed quest turned Kaisen's gaming session into a one-way ticket inside the very JRPG world he was playing, his fate took a thrilling and unexpected twist.It's a cold and unforgiving JRPG realm, but there's a silver lining: the girls are drop-dead gorgeous!Yet, this isn't your typical hero's journey.His quest? To cleverly outmaneuver and NTR the people around him, testing his charm and strategy skills.With his eye on the prize and a host of beautiful companions by his side, Kaisen is ready to give it his all and complete the quest. Let the adventure begin![Main Quest: Save Alice, the Stargazer.]'Oh, wow! I'm a saviour--'[Quick Time Event: Grab Alice's bubble butt.]'Never mind.'

“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.