The Legend of Futian - Chapter 564: The Eye of Devastation

Justice, Eternity, Wisdom, and Purity—the deities of Order protect all that is on the earth.Khorne, Nurgle, Tzeentch, and Slaanesh—the chaotic deities lurk menacingly in the shadows.Welcome to the Infinite Paradise...“Shut up, this is my paradise.”Lecheng interrupts the main god's words with discontent.When Order retreats in his presence, when Chaos hides because of him, when he decapitates both Khorne and Justice, and when Purity and Slaanesh must face the dilemma of death or maternity leave because of him, Lecheng is pondering a very serious question.“Can the main god go on maternity leave?”...PS: This is the story of an unruly, wanton, and extremely frenzied man in an infinite world. Original infinite stream plots.

Yin BiYue has made the worst purchase ever. After transmigrating countless times into the bodies of canon fodder villains, he buys a ‘Fiend Halo’ from the Rebirth Company, supposedly the best aid for an up and coming final BOSS!

He’s ecstatic to finally get a villainous role where he won’t die after just a few lines, if any at all, and is raring to become the best opponent a protagonist will have… However, why was everyone looking at him with pitying eyes? Why was the protagonist rushing over to help him get out of his crimes? Most importantly, why was his ‘Fiend Halo’ just making things worse?!

Meanwhile, the intern salesperson at the Rebirth Company discovers that he might have accidentally sold a prototype White Lotus Halo to a certain villain…

- Description from Novelupdates

The blacksmith Anvil created weapons alone in a ruined world.

He came across a community, a hero universe, where there are heroes of every dimension.

All the heroes wanted his weapons,

All the monsters hated him,

All the world blessed his existence

however nobody prevented his death.

Decades later, a dimensional invasion started on earth.

Kang Shin-hyuk, a boy who can’t use mana inherited Anvil’s VIP ID and memories.

“They Call Guys Like Me a Simp.”(Meanwhile, I’m out here living what their favorite MC only dreams about.)You ever notice how stories glorify the ones who feel nothing?The MC who never laughs.Never feels.Who plays women like chess pieces and calls it intelligence.He manipulates a girl? “He’s strategic.”He never opens up? “He’s mysterious.”He never flinches, never laughs, never lives —And you call that strength?Funny.Because to me?That’s just a prison in disguise.You see an “alpha.”I see a boy too scared to feel anything real.While they spend ten chapters monologuing about logic and sacrifice,I’m already making the Saintess scream,drenched in sin,halo cracked,legs trembling from truths her prayers never taught her.And I didn’t get there with cold eyes or control.I got there with laughter and chill. With warmth. With a grin and a hand on her thigh.I didn’t need to dominate her mind —I freed her heart.But that scares people, doesn’t it?Because readers trust the ones who suffer.Who stay quiet.Who kill without blinking and love without showing it.But me?I flirt.I laugh.I take hits and smile back, bloody and defiant, as if too weak to get angry.I don’t need to pretend emotions are weakness.I weaponize mine.Pleasure. Connection. Laughter.That’s my arsenal.And while your favorite MC is still calculating his next five moves,Trying to outwit death and romance like both are math problems,I’m already balls deep in the jade fairy — her sacred yin furnace clenching like it’s worshipping my shaft, her Dao Echo shattered into breathless moans, and her so-called cultivation path leaking down her thighs while she begs me to break her meridians again.You call that luck?Nah.That’s mastery of the three worlds.Because in a world that respects coldness,I came in hot.Where others manipulate, I connect.Where they posture, I play.Where they sacrifice, I seduce.So go ahead.Call me a simp.But while your genius MC is busy monologuing about destiny,I’m the one making goddesses question theirs —with a smirk, a touch, and no regrets.I’m not the hero.Not the villain.I’m just a simp… the kind who leaves your cold, emotionless MC’s woman dripping, ruined, and too stretched to go back to him.