Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist

Days bled into nights within the secluded valley, establishing a rhythm that was as deceptive as it was depraved. To the untrained eye, or indeed to the innocent eyes of Yue Lingshan, the cave dwelling had become a bustling hub of cultivation and mutual support—a sanctuary for refugees of a fallen sect. But beneath that veneer of righteous camaraderie lay a web of shadows, lust, and absolute domination spun by one man.

The dynamic in the cave dwelling had stabilized, settling into a pattern that Wang Jian found immensely satisfying. He had his public face, the doting husband and wise leader, and his private reality, the master of a harem that spanned cultivation realms and social statuses.

One afternoon, seeking a break from his own cultivation, Wang Jian wandered into the armory section of the dwelling. It was a cold, quiet room lined with stone racks, filled with weapons looted from their various conquests. The air smelled of cold steel and oil.

He found Chen Ying there. She was sitting on a low stool, a whetstone in hand, rhythmically sharpening her sword, ’Winter’s Sorrow’. The scraping sound was hypnotic. She didn’t look up immediately, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her awareness of his presence. She was usually cold, distant, an assassin who blended into the background. But here, alone with him, the mask slipped.

She stopped sharpening the blade and set it down with trembling hands. She didn’t stand to greet him with the formal bow of a Senior Sister. Instead, she slid off the stool, dropping to her knees on the cold stone floor, her head bowed low, exposing the vulnerable nape of her neck.

”Master...” her voice was a whisper, lacking its usual icy composure. It was thick with a needy, desperate quality that she would never show the world. ”You... you have been spending all your time with the new arrival. With... her.”

She didn’t dare say Mu Lianhua’s name, the difference in their status too vast, but the jealousy was palpable. She looked up, her eyes usually so sharp and deadly, now swimming with a pathetic, begging longing.

”Has... has this slave been forgotten?” she whimpered, her voice trembling. ”Have I... have I become useless to you? Is my blade no longer sharp enough? Is my body no longer... pleasing?”

Wang Jian looked down at her, a cruel, satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He loved this contrast. Outside, she was the terrifying granddaughter of a Core Formation Ancestor, a cold-blooded killer. In here, she was just a desperate thing begging for scraps of his attention.

He stepped closer, his boots clicking on the stone. He didn’t offer words of comfort. He didn’t need to be polite or coax her. She was broken in the best way possible.

”A warrior never forgets his weapon, Ying’er,” he said, his voice low and vibrating with dominance. ”And a master never forgets his property. I’ve just been... breaking in a new mount. But you...”

He reached down, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her head back, forcing her to look into his eyes. ”You are my dagger. My shadow.”

He pulled her up roughly. There was no romance in his touch, no gentleness. It was the handling of an object. He spun her around and slammed her chest-first against the weapon rack. The impact rattled the swords and spears, the metal singing in the quiet room.

”And shadows need to be reminded of who casts them,” he growled.

He hiked up her skirts without ceremony, bunching the fabric around her waist. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath—she rarely did these days, always waiting, always ready for him.

He took her right there, amidst the cold steel and the smell of weapon oil. It was rough, biting, fueled by adrenaline and total dominance. He didn’t prepare her; he didn’t need to. She was already wet, her body betraying her desperation the moment he walked in.

”Master! Yes!” she gasped, her fingers gripping the wooden rack until her knuckles turned white.

He pounded into her, his hips slamming against her buttocks with a bruising rhythm. It wasn’t the luxurious, sensual experience he had with Mu Lianhua. Mu Lianhua was like fine, aged wine—complex, mature, intoxicating. Chen Ying was like a shot of strong, cheap liquor—it burned, it hit hard, and it got the job done. He loved the mature, soft curves of Lianhua more, the way her body yielded and enveloped him, but there was a specific, primal satisfaction in this kind of rough, degrading usage of the ’Ice Queen’.

They didn’t speak of love. They spoke in gasps, in the slap of skin against skin, in the clatter of weapons rattling in their stands.

”Beg for it,” he commanded, biting her neck hard enough to leave a mark.

”Please... please use me... break me...” she sobbed, her head thrown back, her pleasure indistinguishable from pain.

This secret tryst reaffirmed her loyalty more than any kind word ever could. She was his slave. She needed this—this physical, undeniable proof of his possession—to remain centered. Without his domination, she felt adrift. With it, she was anchored.

When he finished, he didn’t cuddle her. He adjusted his robes and stepped back, leaving her slumping against the weapon rack, breathless and disheveled, a pool of his seed leaking down her thighs.

”Clean yourself up, Ying’er,” he said casually, as if he had just finished a light workout. ”And get back to your patrol. I need my shadow sharp.”

”Yes, Master,” she breathed, her eyes filled with a slavish devotion. She was content.

Later that evening, while Yue Lingshan was busy meditating in her own chamber, blissfully unaware of the dark undercurrents of her home, Wang Jian made his way to the guest quarters.

This was where the five married women—Li Mei’s group—were staying. They were technically Yue Lingshan’s maids now, but in reality, they were Wang Jian’s private reserve.

He entered their shared room without knocking. They were chatting quietly, mending clothes, but the moment he entered, they scrambled to their feet, lining up like soldiers for inspection.

”Master,” they chorused, bowing low. They wore the simple robes of servants, but beneath the fabric, their bodies were ripe, mature, and marked by him.

He didn’t bother with pretense here. He locked the door and turned to them with a hungry grin.

”Inspection time,” he announced.

They served him eagerly. They were grateful, truly. The pills Mu Lianhua had provided at his command were working wonders. Their complexions were glowing, their energy stabilizing.

He walked down the line, checking their cultivation progress. He placed his hand on the lower abdomen of the first woman, Li Mei.

”Good,” he nodded, sensing the swirling Qi. ”Your foundation is solidifying. That Foundation Establishment pill Sect Mistress Mu gave you is dissolving well. I expect you all to reach the peak of Qi Condensation within the week.”

”Thank you, Master! It is all thanks to your grace!” Li Mei gasped, leaning into his touch as his hand slid from her belly to grope her breast.

He moved among them, enjoying the feast of mature bodies. These women were different from the cultivators. They had a worldly, motherly softness to them, a different kind of submission born of their status as wives and mothers. He indulged himself, his hands roaming freely, ensuring they were satisfied and loyal. He took one on the table, another against the door, binding them tighter to him through pleasure and the promise of power.

”Remember,” he said afterwards, as they helped him adjust his robes, their faces flushed and happy. ”Not a word to Lingshan. Or to the Sect Mistress.”

He knew Mu Lianhua wouldn’t care—she was his slave too—but he liked maintaining the compartments of his harem. ”You are my secret garden. My private relief. Keep your mouths shut, and the pills will keep coming. Open them, and you go back to the refugees.”

”We would never speak, Master!” they promised, terrified of losing their new, comfortable life.

Wang Jian left the room, feeling refreshed. He walked back into the main hall, the picture of a calm, composed cultivator.

Yue Lingshan was there, arranging some flowers in a vase. She looked up and smiled at him, her face full of love and trust.

”Jian! You look refreshed. Did your cultivation go well?” she asked innocently.

”Very well, my love,” he lied smoothly, kissing her forehead. ”My mind is clear.”

She beamed, happily managing the household, believing she had gained powerful allies in Mu Lianhua and helpful sisters in the maids, completely unaware that she was living in a den of depravity ruled by the man she adored.

A week later, the atmosphere in the cave dwelling shifted from domestic management to strategic planning.

Chen Ying approached the group in the main hall. Wang Jian sat at the head of the stone table, with Yue Lingshan on his right and Mu Lianhua—who was maintaining her ’Elder’ persona in front of Lingshan—on his left. Liu Ruyan stood nearby, serving tea.

Chen Ying held a jade slip in her hand, her expression grave.

”Senior Brother Wang, Senior Sister Yue, Elder Lianhua,” she greeted them formally. ”I have received a transmission.”

”From whom?” Wang Jian asked, leaning forward.

”My grandfather, Ancestor Chen,” she replied. ”He sent it via his personal disciples to the drop point. The situation at the border... it is deteriorating rapidly.”

She placed the jade slip on the table, activating a projection array that displayed a rough map of the buffer zone between the Mystic Peak Sect and the Azure Sword Clan. Red and Blue lights flickered across the terrain.

”The war has escalated,” Chen Ying explained, pointing to several glowing hotspots. ”The Mystic Peak Sect is on the defensive across almost the entire front.”

”How is that possible?” Yue Lingshan asked, frowning. ”Our defensive arrays are renowned.”

”It is not the defense that is the issue, but the offense,” Chen Ying clarified. ”Our offensive formations are consuming spirit stones at an unsustainable rate. The Azure Sword Clan has deployed a new variation of their ’Turtle-Dragon Defensive Array’. It is proving nearly impenetrable to our standard bombardment. We are wasting resources trying to crack shells that won’t break.”

”The sect is bleeding resources,” she continued grimly. ”Spirit stones, pills, talismans... the consumption is astronomical. Morale among the outer disciples is dropping. They are being sent into meat grinders and gaining no ground.”

She pointed to a cluster of lights near a mountain range. ”And the expert gap is widening. Their Core Formation elders appear to be slightly stronger on average, perhaps due to some pill or technique they’ve acquired. We are being pushed back, losing control of key resource points like the Spirit Stone mines in the buffer zone. If we lose those mines, the war of attrition is lost.”

Mu Lianhua, sitting elegantly with a cup of tea, chipped in. Her voice was calm, carrying the authority of a former Sect Mistress.

”The Azure Sword Clan has always focused on combat prowess over sustainability,” she analyzed, her eyes scanning the map. ”Their sword arts are explosive, designed to overwhelm quickly. Their weakness has always been endurance. If you can outlast their initial burst, they crumble. But... surviving that burst is the problem. Their ’Turtle-Dragon’ array covers that weakness, allowing them to rest and rotate while your forces exhaust themselves attacking.”

Wang Jian listened, his fingers tapping a rhythm on the stone table. He wasn’t looking at the tragedy of the war; he was looking at the numbers.

”Chaos is a ladder,” he murmured, almost to himself. ”If the sect is desperate, they will pay anything for advantages. They need pills to sustain their Qi. They need arrays to counter the Turtle-Dragon. This... this is our market.”

He saw the war not as a disaster to be mourned, but as a massive business opportunity. A chance to loot the Azure Sword Clan of their techniques and drain the Mystic Peak Sect of its wealth in exchange for aid.

”We will not intervene yet,” Wang Jian decided firmly.

”But Jian,” Lingshan started, ”if the sect falls...”

”The sect won’t fall in a week, Lingshan,” he interrupted gently but firmly. ”Let them bleed a little more. The more desperate they are, the higher the price we can command for our assistance. If we go now, we are just fodder. If we go when they are begging for help, we are saviors.”

He stood up, issuing commands like a general.

”Elder Lianhua,” he said, looking at his slave. ”Accelerate the pill production. Focus on ’Blood-Bursting Pills’ for temporary strength boosts and ’Qi-Restoration Pellets’. We will need a massive stockpile. The sect will buy them at a premium.”

”Understood,” Mu Lianhua nodded gracefully.

”Junior Sister Ruyan,” he turned to her. ”Assist her. Learn the high-grade mass-production techniques. We need quantity as well as quality.”

”Senior Sister Yue,” he turned to his wife. ”Analyze the Azure Sword Clan’s defensive array patterns from these reports. Find me a weakness. If we can crack that Turtle-Dragon shell, we hold the key to the battlefield.”

”I will try,” Lingshan said, her eyes lighting up with the challenge.

The harem was mobilized. Not for justice, not for patriotism, but for profit and power.

”We wait,” Wang Jian declared. ”One month. Then we make our move.”

”There is... one more thing,” Chen Ying said, her voice hesitant. The map projection flickered.

”Speak,” Wang Jian said.

”The report contains a specific, alarming detail regarding the enemy forces,” Chen Ying said. ”There is... an anomaly on the battlefield. A single disciple.”

”An anomaly?”

”Yes. A disciple of the Azure Sword Clan. His name is Ye Fan.”

Wang Jian’s eyes narrowed instantly. He remembered the name. The protagonist. The Son of Luck he had encountered before.

”What about him?”

”He was a nobody a year ago,” Chen Ying reported, her voice filled with a warrior’s disbelief. ”A trash disciple. But now... intelligence confirms he has advanced to the Early Stage of the Foundation Establishment Realm.”

”That’s fast,” Lingshan noted. ”But not impossible.”

”It is not his cultivation speed that is terrifying, but his combat power,” Chen Ying corrected. ”He is a terror. He doesn’t just fight; he slaughters. He has single-handedly wiped out three entire squads of our Qi Condensation disciples. He charges into formations alone and breaks them.”

She took a breath. ”Even Foundation Establishment Deacons are falling to him. He fights with a frenzy, wielding a massive, black heavy sword that should be too heavy for anyone at his level to lift. And he uses a strange, golden flame that burns through spiritual shields like paper.”

Wang Jian’s internal alarm bells began to ring. Heavy Sword. Golden Flame. Jumping realms to kill enemies. Classic protagonist bullshit.

”Reports say he gets stronger after every battle,” Chen Ying continued. ”He loots his victims and seems to use their resources instantly, healing injuries that should be fatal in hours. He is like a demon. The Azure Sword Clan has begun to revere him. They call him the ’Undefeatable Monster’. His prestige is skyrocketing. They say as long as Ye Fan stands, the line holds.”

”Undefeatable Monster...” Wang Jian murmured, testing the name. ”He has a title now. That’s trouble.”

”He sounds dangerous,” Mu Lianhua mused, a thoughtful look on her face. ”A Golden Flame... could it be a mutated beast fire? Or perhaps a legacy?”

”He is a corpse in waiting,” Wang Jian snapped, glaring at her sharply. He didn’t get jealous, but he didn’t want his women admiring another man, especially a protagonist. ”Do not admire him, Elder Lianhua. He is merely a pig being fattened for the slaughter.”

Mu Lianhua quickly lowered her head, sensing his displeasure. ”Yes, of course. Forgive me.” She knew she would be punished for that slip later—Wang Jian would likely torment those massive breasts of hers until she begged for forgiveness.

Wang Jian paced the room. ’Ye Fan. He’s growing too fast. If I confront him now, the plot armor might kick in. I don’t know his trump cards. Does he have a grandpa in a ring? A divine artifact? Engaging him directly without preparation is risky.’

”Strategic avoidance,” Wang Jian decided aloud. ”When we join the war, we will find out where this ’Undefeatable Monster’ is stationed, and we will go to the opposite end of the front. Let the other cannon fodder wear him down. We are here to loot, not to duel heroes.”

”But,” he added, looking at his group, ”his existence proves one thing. We are not strong enough. If a freak like that is out there, we need to be stronger.”

He slammed his hand on the table.

”One month,” he declared, his voice echoing in the cave. ”In one month, we enter the fray. By then, I want everyone here—Lingshan, Ruyan, Ying’er, even the Shadow Flowers—to have broken through to the Middle Stage of Foundation Establishment. No excuses. We will use every pill, every resource we stole from the Crimson Pill Sect. We will gorge ourselves on power until we are ready to crush anything that stands in our way.”

The women nodded, their expressions resolute. The goal was set. The training montage was about to begin.