The Feast - Chapter 63

Lin Yuan traveled through time.What? The life-saving pill was replaced with a piece of candy by someone?I only want a peaceful life, so why are you forcing me!No martial arts technique? I'll let Jiu Zhang deduce it!No old master by my side? I'll catch one myself!Finally, after swallowing the opponent's ancestor in one go, Lin Yuan sighed: “No one can force me anymore.”

[You have become the master of the Warden Mansion.][Your first quest is to refine mana from one of your maids by having intercourse with her.]When nineteen-year-old Jett Talon suddenly wakes on an emperor-sized bed, he finds himself lord of a mysterious mansion where countless gorgeous maids stand ready to serve. His first companion is Mia, a blonde elven maid who checks his every box. After making love to her, Jett gains mana, unlocks legendary powers, learns his duties as Master of the Warden Mansion, and uncovers its hidden secrets.

Kota Sakamoto—virgin weeb, social reject, and hentai game addict—gets sucked into a perverted dungeon world straight out of Carnal Labyrinth EX, the 18+ erotic strategy game he secretly 100%-cleared.The catch?All eight of his hot classmates and their strict MILF teacher got dragged in with him.The other catch?They hate his guts.Worse still, this dungeon world is exactly like the game—every level a twisted, orgasm-fueled survival puzzle where failure means death by overstimulation, lust-monsters, or trap-triggered climaxes that literally drain your soul.He’s the only one who knows how to survive.They either listen to the virgin... or moan themselves to death.Bondage plants, lewd slime traps, fetish trials, and orgasm boss fights await—and the only way forward is obedience.What starts as reluctant cooperation turns into obsession, as each girl slowly falls for the boy they once mocked...…the virgin who’s now their dungeon master.

“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.