Rise of the Horde - Chapter 464

A former sporting rifle shooter genius transforms into the ‘Juvenile Butcher’. While originally supposed to have received the death penalty, he was instead fortunate enough to have entered a secret and highly regarded armed force, throwing himself into the ‘Nirvana Project’.

After a period of 10 years, he now has time to freely recover. Having trained until he had excellent military and martial skill, he sweeps through various military districts and returns back to his hometown. Under the monitoring of a beautiful female cop, he re-establishes his family’s bodyguard service, protecting beauties and moving unhindered, his achievements causing the fame of his outstanding, god-level bodyguard service to resound across the world!

- Description from Novelupdates

The top student from the Agricultural University, Qiao Mu, was digging in the experimental field when her hoe struck through to the godforsaken Tupo Village.No money, no rice, no tall, rich, and handsome guy, the aunts and the older female cousins pecked at her every day, making her meals less than satisfying with constant bread rolls, leaving her so hungry she felt faint.Luckily, the Heavens took pity and rewarded her with a tall and handsome man, who was enthusiastic and bold. His debut move was to climb straight into bed, sparking rampant gossip in the village: that Qiao girl, the third daughter, is nothing but trouble at such a young age, shamelessly bringing some wild man into her boudoir to fool around – absolutely shameless!Muniang looked to the sky and bellowed, “Alpacas! You think I'm Hello Kitty when I don't show my claws?”Make a fortune, become rich, fight off the scum, raise a husband – life became increasingly lush.

“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.

The most vulnerable time in a tennis game is when you are leading; even if there is a match point, the game is still possible.

Football is round, tennis is also round.

- Description from novelbuddy