Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

Sylvaris's body twitched in disbelief, and then the fury exploded from his throat.

"She's stealing my core—hey, hey, wait a second, what the fuck is going on here? This is actually insane. Not only did that bastard wish for my death, but now she—she even stole my fucking power? Fuck… this woman…"

His voice cracked through the memory like a trumpet, but he knew the truth—it didn't matter how loud he screamed. No one could hear him here. No one could turn back time.

"Fine. I'll deal with her later. I'll make her spill where the hell she hid my core, and if she plays dumb—she'll be eating shit for breakfast. No one steals from me and walks away smiling. No one."

The rage tightened in his chest like a collar, but it wasn't blind anymore—it was focused, burning with the clarity of betrayal.

"First I blamed my father for this, and now it turns out it was her? Aureve? The same woman who cried in my arms like she was broken, like she regretted it all... "He clenched his jaw as the truth settled cold and sharp into his bones. "Now it makes sense. That sorrow. That guilt. The way she looked at me when she thought I wasn't watching. The Harem God System must've wanted me to see this, to know what kind of bitch I let into my bed. And for that—I'm thankful."

He smiled, slow and vicious.

"Because now… She's either going to lead me straight to my power-up... or she's going to suffer under my wrath. Either way, I'll be putting a collar around her neck soon enough."

He was forced to follow her, bound to the memory's current as it flowed through Aureve's footsteps, and though the place she led him through was unfamiliar, old stone and shadow pressing around them like a coffin sealed long ago, he noticed that she didn't falter even once.

The narrow passage led them forward, or perhaps upward, he couldn't be sure, not in this pitch-dark void that swallowed even the shape of the ground beneath his feet, but Aureve didn't reach for a torch, didn't pause to gauge direction, didn't hesitate like someone uncertain.

She walked with the grace of someone who knew the path not by sight, but by memory etched deep into her bones, and that in itself made Sylvaris raise an eyebrow. It was surprising, admittedly impressive—at the very least, she had skill. And skill, especially when hidden beneath silk and sorrow, always made him curious.

Could it be… that Arathor married a fucking thief and didn't even realize he was getting robbed all these years? What a joke. The thought came unbidden, curling like smoke in the back of his mind. Now that I think about it... there were always coin vaults being drained, chests mysteriously light, and no matter how hard Father tried to find the culprit, he never could. That bastard even blamed me—more than once—as if I didn't have my own goddamn money. What an asshole…

He cursed under his breath as he followed her through the oppressive dark, his footsteps silent but heavy with growing irritation. The corridor stretched endlessly, winding like the ribcage of a buried beast, and time felt diluted inside its walls, but he estimated they walked for nearly half an hour. The path had to be at least two kilometers long—dug beneath the estate and sealed from light—and yet she never once broke pace.

Finally, she came to a stop.

Aureve extended her hand toward the black wall before her, tapping her fingers against the stone in a specific rhythm—soft, deliberate, almost like knocking on a coffin from the inside—and then, with a deep, ancient creak, the wall began to split open, not like a door, but like the world itself was peeling back. Light spilled through the widening gap, not sunlight, not firelight, but silver—the kind that only came from the full moon riding high in the sky, pure and blinding after so much shadow.

And when the way cleared, he realized exactly where they stood.

Right outside the northern edge of his manor.

The graveyard of heroes stretched before him, tombstones arranged in reverent silence beneath the moonlight, rows of marble markers etched with the names of Elyndor's greatest dead, and the cold night air smelled of still earth and stone, untouched by time.

So this is what our ancestors hid beneath our feet all along, he mused, golden eyes narrowing as he stepped forward and scanned the quiet, sacred ground now stained by the truth of betrayal. How mysterious. I wonder if this place holds more secrets yet to be unearthed. When this is over, Aureve will tell me everything—every name, every key, every stolen treasure buried beneath this soil.

A dark glint flashed through his eyes, something cold and hungry, and had this been reality rather than memory, the air itself might have frozen around him, pulled tight beneath the weight of his will.

He followed right after Aureve, his steps echoing behind hers as she darted ahead with a speed that surprised even him—there was no hesitation in her stride now, no stealth or caution, only urgency, and it wasn't the pace of a woman escaping guilt, but the speed of someone delivering something precious to someone far more dangerous than she let on. What shocked him more was that she moved faster than he could, and the only reason he was able to keep up was the same reason he was able to witness this memory at all—because he was bound to her, tied to her essence by the tether of whatever power had dragged him into this revelation.

They didn't travel far, and that realization sank into his gut like cold iron. No more than a kilometer from the hidden exit beneath the hero's graveyard, through a path shrouded in darkness and wrapped in the hush of old trees, she came to a halt—and standing there, as if expecting her, was a hooded figure cloaked in layers of black fabric that absorbed the moonlight like a void. He stood motionless, tall and silent, his face obscured completely beneath the hood, and yet there was something in the stillness of his form, something in the weight of his presence, that made Sylvaris instinctively tense, as if his very memory recognized the danger even when logic hadn't caught up yet.

Aureve reached him, her breath steady despite the run, and without a word, without a single glance around, she dropped to one knee before the figure, her head bowed low, her posture not one of desperation—but of allegiance.

Sylvaris blinked, uncertain if what he was seeing was some false fragment twisted by time, some illusion warped by guilt, or if this was truly how it had happened.

No way... she didn't... is this real? Is this what she was hiding all this time? She knelt... to someone else?

And then her voice rose, quiet but firm, brimming with loyalty and the weight of a betrayal far deeper than he had expected.

"My lord," she said, reaching within her cloak to reveal the bracelet now pulsing faintly with sealed light, "I've secured the core of the destined one. With this, no hero will ever be able to defeat you."