Wild Princess: Marrying an Ugly Prince - Chapter 300 - Jun Yeyan Wanted to Pick Concubines?

Michael, formerly a military veteran turned mercenary, was living quite a peaceful and slightly eventful life. That was until an accident happened that caused him great misfortune, rendering him unable to continue being a mercenary. After that point, his life spiraled into that of an alcoholic, eventually leading to his demise. Before he died, he saw something odd; it was a blue hologram with the words ’Do you wish to start anew?’ Michael readily accepted and was thrust into a fantasy world with a mysterious system companion that seemed to be hell bent on making him the best healer in the world. However, as he began unraveling mysteries, he found out his identity was not as simple as it seemed.

Of all the characters in this story, it had to be the son of a bitch!?Thanks to the courtesy of Truck-kun, I was transmigrated into the famous yet garbage novel, [Hero's Apocalypse].The character I possessed was a third-rate extra who had the [Talent] to 'plunder' other talents. Yet, as overpowered as it might sound, the conditions to fulfill a successful plundering were extreme, making this character truly befitting a third-rate trash.But that's not what's important right now—it's the fact that this man's role in the original story was his very death, and I opened my eyes after the original body just finished killing himself.“Fuck! Why did you attempt to sexually assault the Imperial Princess?!”Feeling livid, I strongly punched the mirror in front of me, knowing that as soon as I gained a new life through mysterious means, others would inevitably come to take it because of this bastard's unforgivable sin.But I wanted to survive...Motherfucker, can I do it?!

Nine harmonic zither chords shook the universe, who dared to not acknowledge the lord?

“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.