The Leviathan System - Chapter 22: The Price of Friendship

wake up.

Luo Qingzhou became a little bastard of the Luo family in the Chengguo Mansion of the Great Yan Empire.

In order to help the second son of the Luo family regret his marriage, Luo Qingzhou was forced to marry into a married woman and married a foolish bride who was said to be unable to speak or laugh.

It wasn’t until after worshiping heaven and earth and after the wedding night in the bridal chamber that he suddenly realized:

“My wife, something is wrong!”

Not only is there something wrong with the lady, even the two little maids beside the lady and the rest of the Qin family are all wrong!

The big maid is sweet, charming and seductive, with a voice like a lark;

The little maid was as cold as ice and snow with a murderous aura, her throat was sealed as soon as she drew her sword.

My sister-in-law is talented, and she is as delicate and beautiful as Lin Daiyu.

The little cousin is arrogant and domineering, and the whip is fatal.

The father-in-law has a serious face, but secretly speaks dirty words.

The mother-in-law is as beautiful as a flower, and she loves to roll her eyes at the top of her head.

The second elder brother devoted himself to practicing martial arts and said that he wanted to honor his ancestors.

As for Luo Qingzhou, he just wanted to be a son-in-law honestly, and then sneak around and be invincible…

- Description from novelbuddy

Xu Ping'an was overjoyed to marry, but what welcomed him was a deception.Eight years of devotion, eight years of infatuation, only to be repaid by the one he loved plucking his spine and devouring his bloodline.“You take my spine, I'll turn my Thunder Sword into bone, defy the heavens to change my fate, and awaken the memories of the Immortal Emperor from a past life.”In this life, I will make all those who betrayed me descend into Hell!

“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.