Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

The beast's body crashed to the ground with a thunderous thump, the impact shaking the forest floor like a war drum struck by the hands of an angry god, the tremor rippling outward in waves that rocked the trees, cracked the earth, and rattled the hearts of every single spectator who had dared to watch this battle unfold. Dust exploded into the air, the silence that followed hanging like the breath before a storm, and in the center of it all stood Sylvaris, his body like a sculpture of a battle god.

And then something hit him from within.

A wave of energy surged through his body, power blooming in his veins, flooding every cell with warmth and strength, the rush of experience slamming into him like a drug, violent and euphoric. His muscles tightened, sharpened, his senses expanded, and he could feel his level climbing in real time, numbers burning past his vision like fire in the dark, pushing him past twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, until he hit twenty-eight, the final pulse ringing through him like the aftershock of thunder, leaving him standing in the wake of death and glory, stronger than ever.

A buzzing sensation began to stir at the back of his mind. It was subtle at first, like static brushing across his thoughts, until it surged forward, and then, without warning, a system window burst open before his eyes, shining brighter than usual, almost blinding. Today it glowed in radiant white, elegant gold filigree curling around the edges like sacred scripture, while shadows of black and soft purple crept up from below, swirling like smoke as if something darker was slowly merging with the light.

[Congratulations!]

[You have slain a legendary monster!]

[Your level has been greatly increased!]

[Your stats have been greatly increased!]

[You have gained multiple achievements...]

And then the numbers rolled into place, crisp and glorious, etched into the golden light like divine markings:

[Level: 28]

[HP: 892 / 904]

[MP: 309 / 451]

[Strength: 154]

[Magic: 168]

[Agility: 150]

[Intellect: 115]

[Defense: 146]

[New Achievement!: Clearing the first hero trial!]

[Reward: Ten Golden Mana Elyxirs!]

[New Achievement!: Performer!]

[Reward: 2% increased intimidation!]

[New Achievement!: Sword Prodigy!]

[Reward: +5% weapon sharpness]

Sylvaris watched the changes unfold before his eyes, the numbers rising, the stats shifting, his level surging upward with such force it made his blood hum with something dangerously close to ecstasy. The rush was addicting, flooding his limbs, inflating his pride, making his every breath feel heavier with power, more meaningful. He felt untouchable, arrogant in the way only the strong were allowed to be, and if beasts like that kept throwing themselves at him in the coming trials, then he wouldn't just prove himself as one of the best, he would surpass them all, rise beyond the chains of balance, and carve his path toward domination itself.

One step closer to ruling this world.

A grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. I'll have to thank that goddess one day… he thought, not with sincerity, but with the cruel fondness of a man who finally found a battlefield worthy of his hunger. It's been a long time since I felt this kind of thrill from battle, from leveling… and maybe I didn't even feel it properly before, back then, when I was wandering this world without my memories...

His expression faltered, just for a moment.

Am I Sylvaris... or Ryan?

The name slipped through his thoughts like a ghost, a bitter thread from another life that refused to stay buried. He tried to shake it, tried to pretend it was just a leftover fragment, something that would fade in time. But it didn't. It lingered, as if to remind him that he had lived twice now, and no matter how far he rose, how much he gained, part of him would always carry the weight of both names.

But he refused to let that slow him down. Not now. Not when power was in his hands, and the world had begun to kneel.

"Congratulations… you have truly impressed me with your first performance, young hero…"

Suddenly, a foreign voice consumed him, bleeding from every direction at once, not just heard but felt, pressing into the bones of the world like a divine breath exhaled through the fabric of the realm itself. It wrapped around Sylvaris with no origin and no end, as if the air had spoken, as if the silence had simply decided to sing for a moment before vanishing into the nothingness it came from. It didn't last long, just for a few seconds, maybe even less, but it lingered in the back of the mind like something ancient, like a forgotten prayer whispered before death.

Sylvaris stood still, sword dripping, his breath calm, the divine praise sliding off him like blood off polished steel. He didn't bow. He didn't smile. He didn't even blink.

He simply existed in that moment, as if being addressed by a goddess was nothing more than another wind brushing past his shoulder.

But outside the trial, the world shattered.

The king froze mid-step, eyes wide, jaw slack, as though someone had just stabbed him through the heart with silence. Around him, nobles, knights, magi, priests—all of them paralyzed, expressions twisted into something between awe and horror, their mouths open and useless, their thoughts scrambled, hanging on the edge of what they'd just witnessed. No one breathed. No one dared speak.

Until, finally, someone whispered what everyone else was thinking.

"...The goddess of heroes... it has to be her, right?"

The words cracked the silence but didn't break it, because no one moved, no one responded, no one even turned their head. It was as if time had paused, and only that one voice had slipped through.

Only the children remained unaffected, blinking up at the adults who now stood frozen in place, their bodies stiff, faces pale, as if turned to stone by something too great, too impossible to process. They couldn't understand the weight in the air, couldn't grasp why the nobles and knights and commoners alike looked as though they'd just been struck by the hand of a god.

But the truth was simple—her voice had never been heard before. Not in trials. Not in prophecy. Not in any age since the dawn of written history. She had watched in silence, judged without words, ruled without presence. She never interfered. She never called a name. She never spoke. And yet, now, she had. And not to royalty, not to history's chosen, not to the sons of kings or daughters of heroes—but to him.

To Sylvaris.

And in that moment, whatever they had thought he was—prodigy, threat, pawn of House Elyndor—was shattered and left behind like dust in the wake of something far greater. He was no longer just a rising name or a promising fighter. He had become something marked, something claimed by forces none of them could touch, and that truth settled over the crowd like a storm cloud carved from prophecy.

No one could say whether the goddess had blessed him… or warned them. Whether she saw in him a savior to shape the future, or a monster too dangerous to let walk free. But what was undeniable, what echoed silently in every shaken breath and locked gaze, was that the gods had noticed him. And now the world would never see him the same again.

"The goddess, am I right?" Sylvaris spoke at last, his voice calm, almost casual, but the knowing smile on his face shimmered with something deeper—recognition, hunger, ambition. He didn't need confirmation.

There was no one else who could speak through the fabric of the world like that, no one else who could reach across realms and whisper directly into his soul. And as he stood there, bathed in blood and silence, he found himself craving it—not just her voice, but the power behind it, the kind of power that could bend space and soul with a whisper, speak to mortals from the other side of the universe, shape lives like a playwright shaping a stage. How cool would that be? To become the one on the other end of the voice—to be the one who didn't just play the game, but wrote the damn rules.

"Smart..." The voice answered, smooth and feminine, but edged with something sharp—curiosity, amusement, maybe even approval, though it was laced with a darkness that made it hard to tell if it was divine or demonic. He didn't care. Whether it was a goddess or a devil didn't matter to him; if anything, he enjoyed the uncertainty, the gamble, the possibility that his fate was being played with by something that couldn't be trusted.

"You've caught my eye… I only reached out to tell you this—if you manage to clear all of the trials, if you survive what's coming and prove yourself truly exceptional… I will allow you to meet me, and I will offer you a gift. Not just a reward. Not just recognition. I will give you power beyond what mortals can grasp, power enough to kill the demon lord, to save this world, or destroy it if you so choose… but tell me, Sylvaris… are you sure you can handle it?"