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Villain : Conquest

Author: Lone Raut Synopsis: When I was alive, I was just another name on a serial killer's twisted list—who targeted mens of culture. Death should have been the end. But instead, I woke up in the dark, chaotic world of Saint's Odyssey, a fantasy novel I'd once read with disdain. This isn't just any story. It's a world where the so-called "hero," a two-faced hypocrite, uses his charm and manipulation to set off a chain of events that will destroy half the world. As fate would have it, I’ve been reborn into this world—not as some mighty warrior or divine savior, but as a nobody. No golden destiny. No god-given blessings. Just my wits, my will, and a grudge big enough to tear this narrative apart. The gods, the villains, the heroes—they think they hold the pen to fate. They think they control this story. Well, they’re wrong. This is my story now. And I won’t stop until I’ve rewritten every line. Watch as I shatter the hero’s image, unravel the gods' schemes, and conquer this world they thought was untouchable. Let them call me a villain—I’ll wear it like a crown. In a tale where every battle is a step toward conquest, and every betrayal is just another play in the game, one thing is clear: I didn’t choose this war, but I’m going to win it. Where the rules don’t matter, and the script is mine to flip.

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98 Chs

Chapter 63. Sickly Mother...[2]

Third Person's POV...

Riya sat in the study, her long fingers delicately tracing the edges of a book. The room was still, filled with the soft sounds of her turning pages, the light from the chandelier casting a golden hue over her as she read. She had always enjoyed the solitude of this space, the heavy silence broken only by the whisper of old pages or the distant ticking of the grandfather clock.

The book she held, "How to become Best Mother Possible", but her mind was elsewhere, as it often was, drifting to the only things that ever truly mattered—her children. Especially Riyan.

"These words mean nothing,", she mused as her eyes skimmed the worn pages, barely processing the text in front of her. "Nothing compared to him." The very thought of him, of her son, made her pulse quicken, her grip on the book tightening for just a moment.