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The Profane Dungeon Is A Trap!

"As a little lesson, try believing in things that are impossible. After all, how else can they become?" Yroa is a petitely hung, sadistic, mischievous, yet charismatic male prostitute who was born with a face befitting that of a youthful goddess, something that should be bestowed to a woman—not a man. However, instead of loathing it, he used this gift to its fullest, leading to a rather successful and lecherous life until his unfortunate end welcomed him in front of the inferno’s gate. Unexpectedly, a sequence of salvations arrives, resulting in his second chance in life within the new world of Yassimhre as a Living Dungeon Core! In a world where values are numbered, the sky of cultivation is limitless—while the Gods and Goddesses are gambling on how things will go in the grand scheme of emanation, how will he survive? ___________ Reader discretion is advised: Explicit and mature content ahead! If it isn’t obvious enough, the MC is a Trap, albeit an aggressive and dominant one instead of meek and submissive. There’s no Yuri, Yaoi, nor NTR content, but a significant potential for Netori can be found. At the same time, a lot of straight Trapdom and Josou Seme. Occasionally, Femdom. Average word count per chapter is 2000-4000 outside of the short prologue. With it, the author wishes you a good day. May there be light, and the tale that follows it along the way.

YokoyokoRPG · Kỳ huyễn
Không đủ số lượng người đọc
84 Chs

Your Newborn Cyanide

"This… this isn't in the 'vision'...!"

A phrase that something would go by:

Lower your gaze at the abyss low enough, and it'll show you a mermaid.

"Ah, yes, I remember you~" Yroa's deep yet feminine soothing voice rang like an ominous bell. He wore nothing for all of his possession had corroded and ultimately dispersed into particles inside the prison realm. There, his pitch-black eyes pierced forward like a knife, crowned by his thick silver eyelashes. "Rowan~"

As he stepped outside the gaping rift of space, his extremely long silver hair was dragged like a light drape over a windy summer, painted by an immeasurable amount of stress and turmoil that resulted from trying to scrape the dimensional wall inch by inch, everyday, every second.