Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives

Chapter 1740: Goldborne Logic

Villain Ch 1740. Goldborne Logic

Allen stood in front of the massive bathroom mirror, steam curling up around his bare shoulders, water still dripping from his hair. The marble tiles were warm underfoot, the gold trim along the edge of the vanity catching the morning light in a way that felt almost too clean, too sterile for how wrecked he looked right now.

Hickeys on his collarbone. A few on his ribs. Bite marks on his shoulder, his thigh. A lipstick smear that somehow still hadn’t faded even after the walk through the front hall. Each mark a different tone, a different shade of pink or red or near-bruise violet. Some precise. Some messy. Some deliberately shaped like little hearts or initials.

It looked like a map.

Like he’d been charted.

He dragged a hand through his wet hair and stared at his reflection—really stared.

There was a moment, a quiet one, where he almost laughed. Not because it was funny. But because this—this absurd, smug-looking bastard in the mirror with swollen lips and a crooked grin—this was what peace looked like, apparently.

A man who survived chaos by letting the storm love him back.

His lips twitched upward. And yeah, he smiled.

He looked stupid.

He looked… kind of happy.

Which was weird.

Really weird.

He chuckled under his breath, the sound bouncing off the marble.

Then, without a word, he stepped into the shower.

The water was hot, almost too hot at first, scalding in that way that felt like punishment and healing at the same time. It rushed down his skin, over the lipstick marks, over the fingerprints of memory. The steam filled his lungs and cleared out the last fog of sleep and indulgence.

Allen closed his eyes.

He didn’t think about Azura this time.

He didn’t think about Shea, or Vivian, or how Jane had moaned into his mouth like he was her last meal.

No.

This time he thought about Jordan.

His father.

The man who ruled the boardroom with the same intensity Allen ruled Hell’s Gate.

The man who saw people as pieces. Threats. Assets. Liabilities. And when they stopped being useful?

They got handled.

Sophia would’ve been handled weeks ago if it were up to Jordan. Quietly. Cleanly. With a full NDA package and possibly a new passport to some remote island with no internet.

Or, if Jordan had been in the wrong mood?

She’d be a ghost by now.

Allen scrubbed shampoo into his hair and kept his face tilted into the stream, letting the water sting his skin.

He was only just starting to understand.

This wasn’t softness versus cruelty.

This was… scale.

Allen was raised by a grandparents who knew how to survive, not dominate. Who taught him to keep his voice low when things got hard. Who apologized to strangers for taking up space. Who showed him how to bottle emotion, not weaponize it.

Jordan?

Jordan made space bend to him.

That kind of power didn’t see jail time as punishment. It saw it as an inconvenience. A tool. A warning.

Allen had thought letting Sophia get arrested was already harsh. Jail was the end, right?

But to his father, jail was just the first step. If she didn’t stop?

Well.

Disappearances happened every day.

Allen opened his eyes.

Steam curled through the air like breath from something too old to name.

“I guess I need to learn more,” he muttered.

Not with fear.

With clarity.

He didn’t see Jordan’s way as evil. He saw it as… different. The method of a man who didn’t waste time explaining himself to people who weren’t on his level. It wasn’t personal. It was protocol. Efficiency. Goldborne logic.

He reached for the soap. Washed down his arms. His stomach.

“This was the last one,” he said softly, voice nearly lost under the water.

Sophia had been allowed to play her little game. She thought she had power. She thought obsession was leverage. But Allen had let her spiral. Let her think she still had some hold.

And it worked.

She buried herself.

Now it was over.

Mostly.

’Let’s see how Darren and Liam handle her,’ he thought.

He dried himself off with the softest towel known to mankind and stepped out into the walk-in closet, selecting a fresh black tee and dark jeans. Something simple. Clean. Lowkey.

But in the back of his mind, something lingered.

’One more.’

And yeah.

He might stop playing the nice game.

He might go full Jordan.

Allen paused in front of his desk. A few new messages blinked on his tablet—updates, emails, a forwarded meme from Emma about some dumb cat on a yacht.

He sat down.

Stared at the screen.

Then—without warning—he opened a blank document.

And started typing.

He wrote for almost an hour, fingers flying across the keys with a flow he hadn’t felt in days. Just harem drama. Succubi in the battle academy. An overworked billionaire demon MC on vacation who could seduce every woman with his pheromones.

It was chaotic. And morally grey.

He loved it.

And he needed it.

Sometimes the best therapy was writing a world that didn’t pretend things were black and white. Where grey wasn’t just allowed—it ruled. Where even the monsters had reasons, and even the heroes had blood on their hands.

When he was done with the Chapter, he hit save, leaned back, and cracked his knuckles with a sigh.

His head felt clearer.

His body, looser.

He reached over to the side cabinet, pulled open the drawer, and grabbed his VR set.

Time to log in.

The moment the device clicked over his eyes, the world bled into darkness.

A hum.

A flicker.

Then—

[Logging into Hell’s Gate…]

[World Load: Complete.]

And just like that, Allen vanished from the mansion.

His body stayed seated, still dressed in casual darks, still smelling faintly of citrus and something a little too expensive.

But his mind?

Back in the other world.

Where he could be exactly what he wanted.

Where no one expected softness.

Where enemies burned.

Allen smiled again—this time sharper.

Let’s see who wanted to die today.