Cherreads

Dual Cultivation: Gathering SSS-Rank Wives in the Cultivation World

Idiocrat
« MATURE CONTENT » I was supposed to check my stats. Instead, I checked my sins. One scroll through the system notifications and I realized I’d made the dumbest, hottest, most catastrophic mistake in cultivation history: [Heir Conception Confirmed: All three blessed wives have been Impregnanted.] [Gestation: 3 months. Offspring inherit 50% divine bloodline + maternal elemental affinities.] [Legacy Skill Unlocked: Imperial Seed – Children born at Core Formation minimum. Twins/Triplets chance +70%.] Translation? I bred the maid who poisoned me, the archer who swore she’d never kneel, and the ice queen who hadn’t even been kissed… in one night. Now they’re all carrying little demigods—and Heaven just flagged me as Calamity Incarnate. I wanted a quiet moment to breathe. Heaven handed me a countdown. 3… 2… 1… The sky split like a bad promise. Tribulation clouds boiled over the horizon, rings within rings, and every ring had my name carved into it. Lightning didn’t just flash—it wrote scripture across the firmament, every stroke a sentence: Zhao Tianlong, Calamity Incarnate. And behind me, three heartbeats answered in perfect sync. "Husband, stand back; you should save your energy to fight us in bed..." I glanced at the notifications again, just to suffer. [Heaven’s Will: Surveillance Active. Concealment: Impossible.] [Designation: Catastrophe-Grade Variable. Tribulation: Immediate.] [Bonus Condition Detected: Three Heroines Pregnant. Difficulty Multiplier: x10.] [Note: Heaven disapproves of speedrunning destiny via breeding.] "H-husband, why is the sky thundering..." "The clouds seem to be darkening with concentrated Qi." "It's like it is spreading across the land to take you on, Tianlong." I almost laughed. Almost. My naive wives, they can’t see how the clouds look beautiful, like a beautiful woman. "Hah… I make fountains out of heavenly beauties with my thing," I spat, a chuckle forming while getting disgusted, cute, lovely glares from my heavenly wives. "So if even Heaven itself dares to spread her legs at me, all she’ll do is scream louder," I said, lifting my middle finger towards the sky with a grin that almost ruined my hot husband image in front of my wives. "Tch, perverted bastard... I will just fight." "Ahem, yes, standing beside him might corrupt me." "H-husband... I-I will go fight too... you are embarrassing me..." They stepped beside me—left, right, and one half a pace ahead. Unaware that their sway of hips and jiggles of melons were too distracting. "...." I could only look at three of my beauties, thinking how they are different than last night, but again it appears I might have to corrupt them more. "So, shall we begin the journey of Dual Cultivation?" No NTR, No Yuri
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I Leash Emperors: The Dead Shout. I Smile

The dead scream for justice. They have been screaming for centuries. In my office on the 88th floor, the sound is indistinguishable from the hum of the paper shredder. I have twelve of history's most dangerous minds in my vault—Caesar, Cleopatra, Napoleon, Wu Zetian, and eight others whose names are synonymous with the word empire. I stripped them of their crowns and their divinity and left them with the only two things that survive death intact: greed, and memory. Then I put them to work. The boardroom is their new battlefield. Stocks are their arrows. Hostile takeovers are their sieges. The First Emperor runs my supply chains with the same draconian efficiency that built the Great Wall. The Queen of the Nile runs my PR division and calls it beneath her. Caesar rewrites the legal architecture of an entire financial district before breakfast and considers it a light morning. The rules are simple. The Emperor with the highest ROI earns twenty-four hours of full sensory restoration—taste, warmth, the burn of real alcohol, everything the synthetic body cannot feel. The Emperor at the bottom earns something else: a Hell Start. Reincarnation as a beggar, a eunuch, a sacrificial lamb in the next cycle. They know this. It keeps them focused. Every full moon, the tavern opens. The millions they killed in their lifetimes gather as my Jury—compressed into a medium that runs on pure hatred, sustained by a spite so concentrated it has proven, against all known physics, to be a measurable energy source. They vote. They decide which of their tormentors leads the next charge, and which of the most venomous among them earns a temporary body to return to the waking world. Wu Zetian shed her imperial robes to kneel at my feet and beg for a private review of her HR directorship. Arsinoe—murdered by her own sister two thousand years ago—spent six weeks haunting Cleopatra's servers and built a perfect weapon before she ever asked me for the body to deliver it. Cleopatra herself believes her beauty is a currency I will eventually accept. She has not yet understood that in this building, the only currency is performance. I do not need loyalty. I need sharp blades. I do not trade in mercy. I trade in ROI. They believe this is my game. They do not ask why I need to win it. Rules? I am the rule. Harem? The highest-tier spoils of a game they don't know the stakes of. Every arc is a different world. Every world is a wound that needs closing. The Emperors do not know this. They never do. Perhaps the last thing standing between their world and oblivion is a man who stopped caring about it long ago. Let the dead shout. I smile. I have to. Tags: #InfiniteFlow #DarkFantasy #HighStakesPolitics #DivineAutocracy #GrimDark #RuthlessMC #HistoricalFigures #DarkHarem Content Advisory: Heavy power dynamics, sensory manipulation, historical figures in morally compromised positions. MC is an unapologetic autocrat. No redemption arcs.
Aetherion_Vael · 2.2k Views