My Mage System (BL) - Chapter 409 The battle of the Royal Palace part 9

Vincent van Gogh, the painter who refused to be an accessory Of power and painted with his soul at the tip of a brush, was not understood by anyone and had to die like a madman, and he woke up in 21st century Korea.

Like a wheat field melted with gold, like a sunflower that swallowed the sun, a dazzling painter once again takes the brush.

In the original story, the male lead accused his ex-wife of abusing him when he was younger. But unlike the original story, I raised my young husband as if he was my brother.

When my husband went to war, I started preparing for a divorce. Because if the original story is true, the male lead will fall in love with the princess of the ruined country and bring her back!

That’s why instead of following the road that leads to defeat, I intended to get a decent divorce.

While preparing for that, I took some money and earned quite a fortune. I’ve also developed a cure because I didn’t want to die of incurable diseases like the original villainess. All that’s left is getting divorced!

***

My cute little husband came home and grew up to be such a fine man! But don’t worry, I’m all set to divorce you! Oddly enough, the reaction of my husband is a little strange.

“While I was fighting on the battlefield, you were prepared to run away.”

He smiled dangerously, whilst wrapping my waist with his big hands.

“Are you having an affair?”

Unlike the pretty corners of his mouth, his eyes were burning hot.

No….. you know, I’m ready to get divorced…..

David traveled to America and became an inspector for the most powerful law enforcement agency, the IRS.On December 3, 2021, America Congress passed a piece of legislation.It stipulated that from now on, any criminal activity, whether smuggling, robbery, fraud, etc., had to pay full taxes to the IRS.Since then, David had become the nightmare of all criminals in America.Until one day, his blade reached towards the heads of Freemasonry and the Federal Reserve!

“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.