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... he farm Watson was at, six people wearing armor and holding longswords walked along the road. The leader had thick eyebrows, big eyes, and a strong build. His looks were 70% similar to Watson’s, and the huge sword on his back was as thick as a door.


“Vincent, if you want to marry our daughter, you must prepare a betrothal gift! Lord Liszt said that it has to be a hundred gold coins. Any less and he would not allow you to enter.”


A sarcastic voice came from behind. The man who ...

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Leaving a normal life is boring, but I was happy with what I had.

Even when I spent most of my life in regret and misery, I lived because I had someone that I loved dearly.

And that said someone took my life...

But fate had different plans for me...

As if death wasn't enough for me.

As if the gods were mocking me.

I got reincarnated into a hardcore romance game that I used to play.

That too when the prequel game that I played the most ended twenty-five years ago.

A game where death is everyone's mistress.

A game that people either liked or hated too much.

Now reincarnated into the body of the Villainess's son.

I became someone that I hated the most...

“Hahaha...”

I laughed at my own misery.

As if that too wasn't enough, I also became the slave of someone else's desires.

Now, one might say a mother is a mother even if the world sees her as a Villainess.

But what if your mother is the very incarnation of evil?

That your mother is the hurdle that you have to overcome?

What if your mother is the very reason you might die?

Gentleness and love are the last things one could expect from her.

“Hahaha...”

Again, a hollow laugh escaped my lips as the realization dawned on me.

That I have been...

Reincarnated As The Villainess's Son...

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The archaeologist “red-haired witch” made too big of a disturbance while excavating tombs, gloriously becoming a martyr in the midst of the grave chamber’s collapse. Seventeen years later, she had transmigrated into the Five Regions Continent. The delinquent Meng Fuyao who struggled to survive in the lowest rungs of society, cast aside her boyfriend who was about to marry another person with a slice of his five fingers.

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And so, will this road of chanced affection go through the peak of heavenly mountains and the warmth of bonfires; the glint of sword shadows and the coldness of the glance backwards; the autumn sun’s golden wind and the flying sweep of the robe sleeve; or that chilly moonlit forest and that sprint like an arrow’s? Once love and that chosen, narrow path cross each other, which will prevail?

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Three chi of torn silk, one zhang of spilt blood. A thousand li of expanded territory, ten thousand fallen corpses. One day the Luan and Phoenix will soar up with the winds, and Fuyao will rise straight up, ninety thousand li.

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