MTL - Knight Century: I’m Just Acting As a Proxy, Not Cheating - Chapter 31

Chen Yu got the heavenly book by accident, and helping others can even gain cultivation and become a fairy.

To this end, Chen Yu started a live broadcast of psychological counseling.

In the live broadcast room, the water friends were all dumbfounded.

“Doctor Chen, are you sure this is psychological counseling?”

“There is no one on the mic who does not break the defense!”

“This crackdown on counterfeiting has actually beaten myself into it.”

Shuiyou: I’m fine, it’s impossible for me to have depression.

Chen Yu: Don’t worry, you will be depressed after I finish speaking.

All the water friends: This is not a psychiatrist, this is a master!

Chen Yu said lightly: Don’t talk nonsense, I just graduated with a bachelor’s degree in psychology.

- Description from novelbuddy

The price for saving the world is the right to rule it. After saving a faraway land, Lyn Rivers was cast back to Earth. Wanting the admiration, prestige, and glory of saving that realm, she forced her way back. But she was forgotten, and someone else claimed credit for her deeds. Now, with the power of a deity of destruction, she desires nothing more than to claim her place in history. To do that she will conquer dungeons, make alliances, destroy kingdoms, and build an empire. After all, why ruin the world when you can bend it to your will?

The eternal struggle between good and evil, Qin Shuang steps onto the path of cultivating, meeting various heroic individuals on her way to immortality, experiencing various events on her journey.

- Description from Novelupdates

“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.