Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

There was something brushing against him, something that didn't belong in the battlefield—like a touch that wasn't physical, yet slid over his skin with the precision of a lover's hand and the detachment of a surgeon, as if someone beyond this realm was peeling into him, threading their presence through his body with a curiosity too silent to ignore, and though he couldn't see them or name them, the sensation tightened his focus for a moment, just enough to annoy him, just enough to distract him when distraction could mean death, so he did what he always did when the world tried to pull his attention away; he pushed forward, faster, harder, with the full intent to finish the beast in front of him before that invisible pressure could get in the way again.

His blade, already slick with blood, felt different now, almost heavier, not in weight but in presence, like it had become something more, something alive, like the steel itself was drinking from the kill, and in doing so, pulsing with new strength that made his arm feel steadier, his steps faster, his aura darker; he didn't know why it was happening, didn't pretend to understand if it was tied to his bloodline or his powers or whatever shadowed curse lived deep inside him, but he felt it, not as a question, but as a surge, a truth etched into his bones—the more he bled others, the stronger he became.

And he liked it.

He liked the way it made him feel, the way his body responded to carnage like it was foreplay, the way each slash whispered promises of more, of deeper hunger, of growth not born from meditation or training but from pure, unfiltered slaughter, and if that meant he had to carve through monsters, through men, through beauties with deadly eyes and sweet poison on their tongues, then so be it; if they wished for his death, they'd get their own instead, because Sylvaris had no intention of stopping, and the thought of dicing through anyone foolish enough to stand in his way, even if their lips begged and their bodies tempted, only made the storm inside him burn hotter.

The monster moved, not with brute weight, but with sudden speed that tore through the air like lightning, its massive body vanishing in a streak of golden light, the pressure of its aura completely masked, hidden with terrifying precision, held back like a breath waiting to strike, until the very last moment when Sylvaris felt a sharp tingle run down his spine, and before his instincts could fully catch up, his blade was already lashing out behind him in reflex, clashing with something immense, something violent, and the impact was instant—weight, power, momentum—his footing was ripped from beneath him, the crash echoing like thunder across the trial grounds as his body was launched backwards, spinning through the air before smashing down far from where he had stood, and for a breathless moment, the crowd outside gasped, stunned to see him flung like that, even the goddess of heroes narrowing her eyes slightly, surprised not by his failure but by the beast's sudden ferocity.

This was no ordinary counterattack; something inside the Ravager had shifted, awakened, as if Sylvaris's presence alone had stirred the predator buried deep inside its monstrous heart, the ancient hunger that had never been fully unleashed, until now...

And that awakening… was mutual.

The battlefield began to thrum with killing intent, the air thick with power and purpose, the auras of man and beast clashing, folding over each other like fire and wind in a spiraling dance, not chaotic but intimate, as if the very act of trying to destroy one another had become a shared language, an understanding written in blood and fury.

Neither of them wanted to retreat.

Neither of them would let the other walk away alive.

Sylvaris stepped forward with his right foot, the ground cracking beneath him, not a massive fracture, but enough to send a message, a subtle display of the overwhelming strength coiled in his body, waiting to be unleashed. The moment his weight shifted, he exploded into motion, dashing through the air with speed born not from magic but from pure, honed muscle, his figure cutting across the battlefield like a living blade. But the monster wasn't passive; it met his charge with its own, slamming one colossal paw down into the earth, a thunderous stomp that carved a crater beneath it, the shockwave rippling outward in an attempt to destabilize Sylvaris, to throw off his footing and slow his advance.

At the same time, the lion-half of the beast began to blaze; its fur igniting in golden flame, shoulders and mane crackling with heat so intense the air around it distorted, shimmering like a furnace under pressure. Fire licked up its form, divine and wild, and it began to build toward something greater, something deadly, as if the entire body had become a conduit for the sun's fury.

The fire that surged across the beast's body burned with a golden brilliance, radiant and blinding, its heat searing the air with a force that felt as though the sun itself had been dragged down into flesh and fury. It blazed with such intensity that the air around it rippled and warped, turning the space into a shimmering storm of heatwaves, and as the flames raced along its spine, they gathered at the tail; every inch of it engulfed; until the tip ignited like a divine weapon, glowing white-hot, pulsing with barely contained destruction.

And then it moved.

The tail whipped forward with devastating force, cutting through the air so fast that the motion barely registered before it was already upon him, a blur of heat and death aimed to slice him clean in half, but Sylvaris wasn't some helpless fool. He didn't freeze, didn't falter. His eyes caught the motion, sharp and calculating, and in the heartbeat before impact, he had already prepared his counter, already shifting his weight, his instincts moving faster than thought.

His sword blazed in his grip, wrapped in a radiant white light that pulsed with concentrated fury, the result of him channeling his mana into a single strike, slowly, deliberately, ever since the moment he began his advance. It had drained him, nearly emptied his reserves, left his body burning from the inside out, but the power concentrated in that blade now was enough to cut through steel like warm butter, enough to turn even the thickest defense into paper. And then the moment came; the tail, wreathed in flame, came crashing toward him with the speed of death itself, but Sylvaris didn't hesitate.

He moved to the left, slipping past the incoming blow without care for the crater beneath his feet, without faltering for even a heartbeat. He dodged not like a man, but like a phantom, fluid and untouchable, so flawlessly that the crowd beyond the veil gasped in unison, even the goddess of heroes holding her breath as she watched him glide through fire and death with the elegance of something far more dangerous than mortal.

The flame barely missed him, brushing past his trailing cloak by a whisper, before slamming into the earth behind him with a sound like the world splitting open, erupting into a ten-meter-high pillar of fire that roared skyward and exploded outward in every direction, scattering molten shards and searing heat across the battlefield like a divine punishment unleashed too late. But regret wouldn't save the beast now, its underestimation had already sealed its fate. Sylvaris was faster than it had expected, far more agile than any warrior it had faced, and not only because of his skill or experience, but because of the harem power he now carried, the borrowed grace that surged through his limbs, a gift from his stepmother's body and soul: her agility was now his, and it increased his stats by 5%.

His white-blazing blade carved through the air from a near-impossible angle, slipping past the wall of flame with precision that defied sense, and then it struck—clean, sharp, final—slicing into the monster's thick neck and parting flesh, bone, and soul in one elegant arc. Blood exploded in every direction, dark and hot, painting the scorched ground beneath them like an altar. The beast staggered once. Then collapsed.

Its body fell to the earth with a thunderous crash, heavy limbs twitching in their last rebellion, while its severed head rolled away, eyes wide, fangs bared, already lifeless, separated from the body for all of eternity, never to rise again.