Stormwind Wizard God - Chapter 755: Orgrimmar and Theramore

“I wasn’t born a lucky person, I’m just too strong.”

This is probably the story of a modern man who became the Seventh son of Kangxi in the Qing Dynasty. This is probably the story of how the Seventh brother Yinyou worked hard and fell in love by the way. So there is no doubt that this article is ambiguous, and it is easy to guess who the couple is.

- Description from Novelupdates

[Ancient Setting + Light-hearted Comedy + Strong Female Lead + Coming-of-Age Heroine + Ensemble Cast + Political Intrigue + Patriotic Themes]Chu Tianjiao is the eldest daughter of a prestigious military family. In her previous life, she devoted herself to fighting for her country, but after death her soul was trapped in the imperial ancestral temple, unable to be reincarnated.She spends her days chatting, joking around, and enjoying a sort of posthumous glory with a group of royal ancestors.Once a novice at palace intrigue, she learns many things from these imperial forebears. Some teach her poetry and rhythm, others force her to memorize medical texts daily, while the rest regale her with stories from which she gleans the arts of political maneuvering and maintaining balance of power.The heroine grows stronger with each passing day.One day, a fire breaks out in the ancestral temple. The heroine leads the group of ancestors back to the present era.These ancestors were all emperors and empresses in their past lives. Their change in status after being reborn leads to all sorts of comedic situations.But your ancestors are still your ancestors, after all.Each possessing unique skills, they help the heroine crush her enemies and slap faces, vowing to change the fate of national ruin and family destruction from their previous lives.The heroine gradually sheds her rash personality from her past life, embarking on an unstoppable path of dominating the world.

“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.