Release That Witch - Chapter 527: The Ultimate Goal of Alchemy

Isabella was supposed to be sipping champagne at a luxury spa, not waking up in the middle of a forest. Worse, a SYSTEM had attached itself to her like some clingy ex, spouting nonsense about survival, quests, and—oh, hell no—manual labor.“System, I was NOT built for the wilderness! My ideal ‘roughing it’ experience involves a five-star hotel with bad WiFi!”Now, instead of lounging in silk robes, she’s being ordered to farm? To hunt?“A farming quest? You want me—a city girl—to grow food? System, I once killed a cactus by overwatering it. This is NOT my calling!”And don’t even get her started on the hygiene situation.“You want me to bathe in a cold river? Darling, I require warm water, scented oils, and an ambience! What do I look like—some barbarian?!”Unfortunately, the locals—big, muscular beastmen—don’t seem to understand the concept of self-care. The women? Neglecting their skin like it’s a crime to be radiant. The men? Walking hygiene disasters.“Ladies, if your man can smell you before he sees you, we have a problem.”“You see this? This is lotion. It exists so you don’t look like a dried-up leaf. Use it.”“A beard should be majestic, not tragic. Let me fix it.”And the beastmen? They don’t just stare at her like she’s an oddity. No, they hover. They smirk. They lean in too close, fangs flashing with amusement.“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” she huffed, crossing her arms.The panther grinned, his tail flicking. “Because you’re fascinating when you’re annoyed.”No, absolutely not. She was not here for this nonsense.“If you have time to stare, you have time to moisturize.”She didn’t ask to be here. She didn’t ask to be their savior. But if she has to suffer through this world, she’s making everyone around her suffer less—through skincare, style, and some serious attitude.“If I hear one more ‘We don’t season our food here,’ I’m launching a war.”“If you have time to gossip, you have time to do squats.”“You want to impress a woman? Start with not smelling like the battlefield.”Survival isn’t just about fighting monsters; it’s about looking good while doing it. So what if the System keeps throwing impossible quests her way?“What do you mean ‘you can’t skip quests’?! Since when?! Where is the skip button?! I demand a skip button!”But somewhere between dodging ridiculous quests and fixing these people’s tragic grooming habits, Isabella found herself in situations. Uncomfortable, heart-racing situations.Like being trapped against a tree by the red python, his red eyes half-lidded as he murmured, “You talk too much, little star. Should I silence you?”Like waking up with the lion lord’s fur-lined cloak draped over her shoulders, his deep voice gruff, “You shiver in your sleep. I’ll fix that.”Like the phoenix watching her every move, his burning gaze searing into her skin as he mused,“You cause chaos wherever you go, but I find that I don’t mind.”Oh, hell. No. She was not about to fall for four beastmen. She was too pretty for this much stress.“If you insult me again, I’ll make sure your soul needs a beauty upgrade.”“I refuse to be disrespected by anyone who dresses like an unwashed tree branch.”And yet, when a rival tribe came to challenge her, when danger lurked too close, those same beastmen stood beside her—smirking, taunting, fighting for her.“A beastman growled at me today. I growled back. He ran. I am the alpha now.”Isabella isn’t just surviving. She’s thriving. And this world better keep up.

Zhang Qiu is an archaeology undergraduate. One month ago, he went to Qinling Mountains with a group of archaeologist doctorate students led by Prof. Fang, to study the newly discovered ancient tomb. While the people were excited to open the tomb, Zhang Qiu was pushed back, and accidentally fell into an opening. Before he fainted, he saw a pair of red eyes staring at him. When woke up, he discovered that he was deflowered! QAQ he remembered the deeds and often dreamed of it.

The whole world mutated. Mysterious resurrections happened in real life. The Tribulation descended.

“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.