Lucia - Chapter 102 - < — The founding party — > (2)

Kenichi Yamada was a 35-year-old salaryman. As a hardcore game enthusiast, he was saddened by the modern trend towards casual games.

So, when a site claimed to be “for people who like to do things the hard way,” he just couldn’t resist. Thus, he was reincarnated into another world as Allen, playing on Hell Mode.

This is fantasy light novel about Allen’s journey as a summoner.

Reincarnated as a serf, he starts from nothing.

His journey begins with absolutely no knowledge of the world around him, just like those games he played 10, 20 years ago.

Okay, so let me get this straight. I wake up and BAM, I'm inside the body of Valerian Thorne—a third-rate villain. I mean, come on? Out of all the characters I might have been reincarnated as, it had to be him? This man was literally a stepping stone for the actual hero. So why him? Why not someone with a little more. potential?Now that I have a system that can unleash Valerian's hidden potential, who knows? Perhaps this third-rate villain will get a second chance, alter his destiny, and prove the world what he is truly capable of. And if I happen to get to keep the gorgeous fiancée in the process. well, I'm not complaining.

The world was once at war with 10 alternate worlds. This was known as the Concept War and our world won 60 years ago. All of this was concealed so no normal people are aware of this fact in the current time.

After the death of his grandfather, the high-school student Sayama Mikoto is suddenly summoned by the giant corporation IAI. He learns this world is headed for destruction due to the acceleration of the Minus Concepts. To prevent this, negotiations must be undertaken with the survivors of the other parallel worlds so their 10 concepts can be released.

And so Sayama is caught up in the final battle to clean up after the Concept War which left behind so much enmity.

“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.