Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

The world around him began to distort.

Colors bled into one another, shapes bent at impossible angles, and the fabric of reality itself seemed to ripple like water disturbed by a stone. It was as if Sylvaris was being drawn into a realm untouched by time—a place carved out by ancient beings whose names had long been forgotten, whose power still echoed through the weave of existence.

The air here was different. It was fresh. Pure. So pure, in fact, that each breath wrapped around his lungs like a silk ribbon laced with divine energy. Breathing in this place was effortless. Too effortless. Sylvaris's eyes widened slightly as he realized what had just happened.

His strength had surged.

Every cell in his body thrummed with power, amplified by at least fifty percent. He could feel it. His aura shimmered just beneath his skin, eager to be unleashed, his body humming like a blade newly sharpened and yearning for its first strike.

His lips curled into a smirk, golden eyes flashing with amusement.

Now this... this was more like it.

And honestly? Who wouldn't be entertained by this? Even I—your humble narrator—am getting a little excited to see how this all plays out. The possibilities are stretching ahead like a feast of chaos and divine judgment, and Sylvaris? He's walking right into it with that damn smirk on his face.

The realm he entered was white at first—blindingly white. A seamless, infinite expanse where no horizon could be found, no walls, no ceiling, no floor. Just endless light, untouched and unmoving, a canvas of unknowns.

Sylvaris blinked against the brilliance, his senses sharpening, his body instinctively shifting into readiness. This place wasn't meant to be understood at a glance. It was a test. One layered in mystery and silence, and his instincts told him—stay calm.

Because in places like this, panic was death.

The realm was probing him now, watching him not with eyes but with presence. It was subtle, patient, like a god peering into a mortal soul just to see what would crack first.

His mind flicked to lessons past. Demons often used illusion magic to disarm their prey... twist the mind, warp perception, make you doubt your own name before they ever drew a blade.

A true hero had to see through the veil—or break it entirely.

Sylvaris stood tall, unmoving. The light pressed in from every side, but he didn't look away. His breathing was steady. His smirk had faded, replaced by something far more dangerous: focus.

He didn't know what was coming.But whatever it was, it would learn soon enough—

He wasn't the kind of hero who played by their rules.

Well, he wasn't much of a hero anyway.

The so-called "chosen one" was, in truth, a demon lord in training—an apex predator dressed in silk and smirks. A man whose harem could rival the best of his noble peers, not just in number but in power, beauty, and sinful devotion. He didn't come here for glory, justice, or divine destiny.

No.

He had only one ambition in life: to destroy everything he hated.

And that started with the people who dragged him into this damn trial in the first place.

Of course, not everyone on his list was marked for death. Some of them, namely a few princesses and more than one enticing little servant girl, were exceptions. They were the kind of people he wanted to ruin in much more pleasurable ways—before the real chaos began.

"Time to see what kind of monster I'll find here," he muttered, arms stretched above his head as he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, already sounding bored. "Hope I can just breeze through this and be done with it... there's a few things I still need to finish."

He said it out loud. Carelessly. Like no one was listening.

And to be fair, the barrier between realms was supposed to be soundproof.

But it wasn't perfect.

Outside the shimmering gate, the faint echo of his voice leaked through the portal—warped and muffled, the words distorted beyond clarity. Most of those gathered couldn't make out what he said, just the cadence and tone.

Naturally, they assumed he was speaking of noble things. That he was focused. Determined. That he meant to slay the demon lord and bring peace to the continent.

None of them suspected that what Sylvaris really meant... was that he was pissed about being cockblocked.

He had unfinished business—between thighs, not battlefields.

And the sooner he tore through this trial, the sooner he could get back to what truly mattered.

Fucking his way through vengeance.

---

The silence shattered.

Not like a whisper, not like a warning, but like a blade through stained glass. The blinding white realm around him didn't fade. It peeled, layer by layer, like the world itself had grown tired of pretending. Light fractured. Reality twisted like muscle snapping off bone. And just as Sylvaris took a single step forward, everything changed.

He blinked once, and the white was gone. Now, he stood at the heart of a forest so ancient it felt like the bones of the gods themselves were holding up the sky. The trees towered above, thick and gnarled, their bark blackened and cracked with glowing veins of green mana that pulsed like blood under flesh. The canopy overhead was a dense wall of shadows, letting in only thin spears of light that cut through the mist like judgment. And that mist slowly moved. It slithered around his boots like something alive, something watching.

Sylvaris exhaled slowly, lips curling as his nostrils flared, the scent hitting him all at once—moss, damp earth, and blood, thick in the air like a memory that refused to fade, a scent that spoke of something older than gods, buried deep beneath root and stone, waiting. So this is the first trial... The place was breathtaking in the most savage, merciless way, not one that begged for respect, but one that demanded it without words, without movement, just presence alone. And it was quiet—far too quiet—the kind of silence that didn't offer peace, but watched, circled, and waited to see if you'd flinch first.