Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

RUMBLE—A thunderous tremor, like the awakening of a buried god, tore through the silence with earth-breaking force, shaking the world so violently even Sylvaris's footing wavered for a moment. It wasn't just sound—it was a heartbeat, a pulse echoing through the roots of the forest like the soul of something vast and ancient had stirred. The trees stiffened. The birds vanished. Even the mist froze, clinging to the air like it was afraid to move.

"HHHRRRAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGHHHHHH!!!"

The howl came next—soul-rending, world-splitting—and for the first time, Sylvaris's expression shifted. His eyes contracted sharply, a flicker of genuine tension crossing his face as his body instinctively braced. That sound didn't scream warning, didn't cry pain. No—what tore through the air was a promise. A declaration. Someone was going to die today.

And it had already chosen him.

Sylvaris's golden irises sliced through the fog, sharp and steady, the predator in him stirring awake, hunger curling at the edges of his grin as it began to tug at his lips.

To his right, the trees began to tremble—first in scattered bursts, then by the dozens, and then all at once, groaning under an unseen pressure that swelled toward pure destruction.

And then the forest exploded.

Trunks snapped like brittle twigs, entire groves hurled into the sky like discarded toys, as something massive tore through the woodland with the fury of a beast born pissed off and raised in wrath. The ground convulsed with every step, roots screamed as they were ripped from the soil, and the air itself cracked with mana so thick it pulsed against the skin like a storm trying to break free.

And from that chaos emerged the beast.

Ten meters tall. Coated in copper-red fur that shimmered like flame kissed with blood. Its body, like a lion sculpted from pure war, muscle rippling across its chest and shoulders with every step, claws as thick as blades tearing trenches into the ground as it walked. Power didn't just roll off it—it crashed into the air around it, demanding submission.

But its head... was unmistakably wolf.

Elongated snout. Fangs the length of swords, each one glinting like it had tasted too many souls to count. Eyes that burned—not just with rage, but memory. Ancient, cruel memory. And it watched Sylvaris like it knew him.

Its mane was wild silver-black, flowing down its spine like smoke wrapped in darkness. The claws were obsidian, jagged and rune-carved, radiating demonic intent. Created for one purpose... to kill something that refused to die.

And above its head, like a crown of death, glowed a system text:

[Level 40 – Ravager Beast: Wyraloth]

Sylvaris licked his lips, golden eyes gleaming with anticipation. This one's stronger than your average level 40... hahaha... good. I'll love this. I can already tell. The hunger for battle coiled inside him, rising fast, like fire catching on dry blood.

The beast reared back and roared—and in that instant, the world trembled. The mist was torn apart, scattered like smoke in the wind. Birds dropped from the sky mid-flight, their bodies unable to withstand the pressure. The shockwave split branches, ripped leaves from trees, and sent them shrieking into the air like fleeing spirits.

But the main character of this chaos didn't move.

Not an inch.

Sylvaris stood tall, unwavering, his long black hair whipping in the wind, his body still and poised, radiating calm fury. His stance was loose but lethal, the kind that said he wasn't just ready—he wanted it. Every breath he, took tasted like war.

A single leaf drifted down from the shattered canopy above, spinning gently through the charged air before landing on Sylvaris's shoulder. He didn't blink. Didn't flinch. He let it rest there like a crown.

The beast stepped fully into the clearing now, towering like a walking calamity—ten meters of wrath and muscle, its copper-red fur rippling with each breath, each step a quake. Its glowing red eyes narrowed with murderous focus, nostrils flaring as it tasted the man in front of it. Its claws curled into the earth, carving deep, trembling trenches into the ground beneath it, the soil cracking under the weight of its intent.

It was ready.

It had brought the challenge, thrown it down like a gauntlet soaked in blood, and now Sylvaris had no choice but to answer. There would be no walking away. Not for both of them.

Only one would leave this forest alive.

But what the beast didn't understand… was that Sylvaris was already ready. Had always been. The moment he stepped into this trial, he'd already chosen blood.

His hand slid to the hilt of his sword, fingers tightening around it with slow, deliberate pressure, a grin crawling up his face like a storm rolling over the horizon.

He tilted his head, golden eyes alight with something far worse than fear—excitement.

"Now that's more like it," he whispered, voice thick with bloodlust and glee.

The ground beneath his boots cracked, thin veins of stone splitting outward as he slid into a stance, fingers twitching with anticipation, mana already pulsing through his veins like liquid lightning, alive and surging. His heartbeat slowed, focus sharpening into something primal and cold, and in that instant—everything else ceased to exist. Not physically. But mentally, entirely. The forest, the noise, the people watching from above—none of it mattered now.

Only the fight remained.

This isn't a trial, he thought, eyes narrowing, smirk curling deeper across his face. This is a gift... a little too big, maybe, but damn, I've been dying for something to bleed, and now my blade can finally taste what it's been craving.

"Come on, beast..." he muttered, voice low and hungry, nearly reverent in tone. "Let's see what the fuck you're made of."

The Ravager snarled in response.

Its claws slammed into the earth with an impact that cracked the clearing.

Its breath hissed between fangs like steam rising from a demon's forge, thick and scorching.

And then—without another sound—it charged.

It moved with murderous intent, each step pounding into the earth with enough force to leave claw marks as thick as logs, deep and permanent—scars in the ground that promised nothing but death. The sheer weight behind its charge sent tremors through the forest floor, a rumble of intimidation that traveled up Sylvaris's legs and into his chest, not as fear, but as excitement. The air itself shifted, thick with heat and pressure, laced with the scent of mana and blood—the unmistakable smell of an epic battle about to ignite.

Every single tree in its path exploded, shattered into splinters by the force of its momentum. The earth split beneath its weight like a sacrifice laid bare to the underworld. The sky above seemed to flinch, darkening just slightly, as if even the heavens didn't want to witness what was coming.

And Sylvaris... Well... He laughed.