MTL - Weapon Master - Chapter 2250 Celestial sphere

My name is Lin Fan. I have crossed the border. I want to cultivate immortality, and my mana is boundless.

When a soul from twenty years later is reborn in a Chinese-American teenager, the world is different. In the face of this turbulent era, Guo Shouyun’s ambitions burst out like never before. Internet, war, subprime mortgage crisis, European debt crisis, he seized all the opportunities to create wealth for himself, and after 20 years of painstaking efforts, he created the largest capital empire in the 21st century!

Conspiracy theorists: The five consortiums of Guo, Rockefeller, Morgan, DuPont, and Mellon controlled the United States.

Time Magazine: Son of God, the greatest capitalist of the 21st century!

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Following “Empire of the Far East”, “Treasure Eye” and “Taoyuan Villa”, this is the fourth novel by Dongren. Welcome to pay attention!

- Description from novelbuddy

Enzo ventured into the primitive era, chosen as a priest by the Crimson Star tribe and emerging as the leader, awakening numerous extraordinary abilities in the process.In order to enhance their way of life, extensive reforms became necessary.Mystical sorcery and modern technology advanced hand in hand.While other tribes still dwelled in caves, the Crimson Star tribe had already gained prominence, constructing sturdy brick houses.While other tribes were still using primitive wooden spears and stones, the Crimson Star tribe had forged ahead with iron tools.In the midst of other tribes worrying about food scarcity, the Crimson Star tribe was reaping bountiful harvests of various grains.Furthermore, they possessed an unparalleled army of totem warriors.In response, Enzo, embraced by the luscious temptress and leading the enigmatic cat maiden, earnestly expressed, “I truly only sought to improve our way of life. How did I inadvertently elevate the tribe into a divine realm?”

“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.