NTR: Minor Villain Wants to Be the Main Villain - Chapter 77

Chapter 77: Scheming and Breakthrough!

After what could only be described as the most awkward, awkwardly moist, and oddly satisfying dinner of all time, the household settled back into its usual chaotic rhythm—though the mood swings in each room could probably fuel a soap opera.

Nadia, having suffered the dual embarrassment of explosive self-discovery and her own sprint of shame, had barricaded herself in her room, where muffled cries of “Why me?!” could occasionally be heard.

Juliana, ever the dutiful multitasker, took it upon herself to clean everything. And by “everything,” it included the floors, the plates, and probably a portion of her dignity before retreating to her room.

Her husband, true to his role as a living piece of furniture, didn’t even glance up from his corner, likely too busy pretending to exist.

Artis, however, had other plans. Far from the typical post-dinner retreat, he engaged in some extracurricular activities.

With a smirk that could curdle holy water, he casually kidnapped the very chair that had been baptized by Nadia’s “special sauce.”

This wasn’t just any chair. No, this was the chair. The seat of scandal. The throne of unspeakable lust and yin-rich energy.

Dragging the chair into his room like a victorious caveman bringing home a kill, Artis plopped down on it, the faint scent of hormones and shame wafting upward.

He cracked his knuckles and took a deep breath, ready to absorb the potent yin energy still lingering in its fabric.

But why stop at just the chair? He glanced at his fingers—the ones that had been deep in Juliana’s “hidden treasures” not too long ago. With a wicked chuckle, he spread them wide and wiggled them like a pianist about to perform a masterpiece.

“While my body absorbs this ridiculously excessive yin energy, let’s get educated.”

Artis muttered, standing up and grabbing the well-worn dual cultivation scripture from the bed.

The cover alone had seen more action than half the kingdom—creases, smudges, and a suspicious stain that might’ve been soup or something much less innocent.

He plopped onto the chair again like a king on his throne, crossing one leg over the other with exaggerated elegance.

The chair creaked under the pressure—not from his weight, but likely from the lingering shame still embedded in its fibers.

With a smirk, he began his dual operation: absorbing yin energy through his backside like a spiritual vacuum cleaner while flipping through the scripture with the kind of intent usually reserved for forbidden love letters.

He wasn’t reading for leisure, oh no. Artis had a mission—a specific verse, an elusive golden nugget of wisdom. A technique that promised to supercharge his energy recycling like a cultivation turbocharger.

“Double the efficiency, double the results.”

He murmured, his fingers brushing over the text.

If he could master this, there’d be no need for his current slow-burn tactics. No more teasing, edging, or milking yin energy drop by agonizing drop.

Oh no, with this method, he could dive straight into the main event. His fantasies began to race: willing participants lining up for him to plow through like a farmer at harvest time.

Or, if they weren’t exactly willing… well, he had ways of persuading them that left everyone satisfied—eventually.

“Matriarch, Young Lady, and all you so-called heroes—here I come.”

Artis declared with a fist clenched so tight it could probably shatter walnuts. His mind raced through a gallery of stunning women he’d met so far:

Juliana, dripping devotion; Nadia, sweet yet chaotic; the matriarch, a milf with enough charisma to make a monastery tremble; and her haughty daughter, all fire and curves.

Oh, and let’s not forget the mysterious hero party he was dying to meet. Surely, they had a few untapped treasures of their own.

As he flipped through the scripture, poetic verses leaped off the pages, dripping with profundity and innuendo.

“Two bodies with one soul, erecting peaks and plunging valleys, like a wolf and a sheep, where yin and yang meet to form the perfect harmony…”

Artis snorted.

“Erecting peaks? Nice touch, ancient sages. Subtle as a drunk bard.”

He read on, his eyebrows arching with every word. The verses were like riddles wrapped in metaphors, dipped in spiritual smut. Interpreting them felt like trying to solve a puzzle while someone kept tossing innuendos in his ear.

“One, the man must know that the woman is his, the two bodies united as one.”

His lips twitched into a grin.

But then he stumbled upon a verse that gave him pause.

“A man can never truly achieve the peak of pleasure until he is the absolute master of the woman.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then rubbed his chin like a scholar pondering the secrets of the universe—or, in this case, the ethics of bedroom domination.

“Problematic much?” he muttered. “How exactly am I supposed to be the ‘absolute master’ of women who could probably kick my ass…?”

He leaned back in the shame-stained chair, his smirk dimming as reality caught up to his overinflated fantasies.

Even for a guy as confident as Artis, the logistics were daunting.

Juliana was already bending over backward—literally—for him, but Nadia had been a hormonal hurricane, and the matriarch? She probably had ancient techniques that would leave him begging for mercy.

And her daughter? Hah. Good luck trying to tame that firecracker.

“A man can never truly achieve the peak of pleasure until he is the absolute master of the woman.”

Artis read the verse again, squinting at the text like it had just insulted his lineage.

“The absolute master? What is this, a bedroom dictatorship? Am I supposed to hold a whip or something?”

He scratched his chin, pondering whether the ancient authors of this scripture were into some seriously kinky power dynamics.

“No, no, this has to mean something else.”

He muttered, stroking his imaginary philosopher’s beard.

“This is a dual cultivation scripture, not a manual for BDSM roleplay. It’s about balance and spiritual growth—or at least that’s what they sell it as. Sure, some women like being submissive, but others? They’d probably laugh me out of the room if I tried pulling that ‘master’ nonsense.”

He nodded sagely, as if the gods themselves had just delivered this revelation.

“Yeah, it’s not about domination. The scripture’s gotta be saying something deeper.”

With renewed determination, Artis flipped the page, his eyes scanning for the next profound gem.

“A man can never truly achieve the peak of pleasure unless the woman gives him the pleasure willingly.”

Artis paused, then let out a low, self-satisfied chuckle.

“Aah, there it is…”

He leaned back in his chair, smirking like he’d just unlocked the secret to the universe—or at least to not getting slapped mid-cultivation session.

“So, it’s not about bending her to my will. It’s about her bending willingly. Much better. Besides, I like my ladies feisty. Keeps things… interesting.”

Artis chuckled, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all.

“So, this whole thing is just a glorified sex manual, huh? Written by either a monk who got a taste and went rogue, or some ancient Casanova with way too much time on his hands.”

He flipped through the pages one last time, marveling at the sheer amount of sexual metaphors.

“Phrases like ‘accepting her sacred lotus’ and ‘offering your divine essence’? Who writes this stuff? Horny poets?”

Still, the instructions were clear—if bizarre.

“The man must be willing to accept the woman’s energy, and the woman should be willing to accept his seed.”

He repeated it aloud, as if it were some sacred mantra.

As he pondered the wisdom—or ridiculousness—of it all, golden lights began emanating from his body, specifically his ass cheeks and hands.

The chair beneath him glowed like it was hosting a cosmic disco, and the room hummed with power.

The yin energy he’d been absorbing surged through his meridians, filling him with raw, primal energy.

His veins felt like rivers of molten gold, his heart pounded like a war drum, and his hair practically stood on end as if it had become a lightning rod for all this newfound power.

“Oh yeah,” he muttered, grinning like a man who’d just found out he won the lottery. “It’s happening.”

Closing the book with a final thud, he tossed it onto his bed, assuming a meditative pose. His eyes shut as he focused inward, the energy coursing through him like an unstoppable tide.

“This is it,” he thought, his body trembling with anticipation. “The breakthrough I’ve been waiting for. Time to level up and plow my way to greatness—literally and figuratively.”

…

Meanwhile, in a palace that could only be described as “ridiculously over the top,” in a room so luxurious it made royalty seem frugal, a sultry yet commanding voice echoed off the gold-inlaid walls.

“Are you sure about this?”

The woman asked, her tone both curious and calculating.

“I mean, it’s not exactly unheard of, but mom and son? And the sister? All of this conveniently happening right after he snagged that scripture from the inventory?”

She stretched languidly on a bed so enormous it could host a diplomatic summit—or a very wild party.

The silk sheets shimmered under the light, barely containing her assets, which seemed one sudden movement away from staging a full-on rebellion against her nightie.

“And this scripture,” she continued, a devilish grin creeping onto her face, “not only gives him a playbook for debauchery but also boosts his cultivation? If that’s the case…”

Her voice dropped into a husky whisper as her fingers trailed idly along the edge of the bed.

“Don’t you think I should be the one holding it? After all, who better to wield such power… than me?”