Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

"That depends on your prices, kind sir..." Sylvaris replied, his tone calm, measured—but carrying the unmistakable weight of a man who wasn't here to waste words.

"Hahaha! Young man, you've come to the right place. Come, come—tell me, which girl catches your eye?" the man said, gesturing grandly as he led Sylvaris through the wall of warriors. Mercenaries, most likely. The kind who'd rip a man's throat out the moment he gave them a reason.

"That one," Sylvaris said, pointing with lazy precision. "The one with the exotic hair and face."

He said it casually, like he was picking out fruit, though his gaze didn't shy away from the rest. He let his eyes roam freely over the rows of beauties trapped in their cages—bare, displayed like merchandise, all of them temptations in their own right. But he wasn't here to be a hero. He wasn't here to save them all. He didn't have the time, and he sure as hell didn't have the energy. He wanted one. Just one. And that was enough.

But the merchant's eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. A small blade slipped from beneath his cloak and pressed against Sylvaris's throat—quick, practiced, almost silent.

It caught Sylvaris slightly off guard, but he didn't flinch. There was no real danger behind it, no bloodlust. Just a warning. So he let it sit there, calm as ever.

"Who exactly are you?" the man asked, voice low and firm. "And why that one in particular? You get one answer. If I don't like it, your head rolls—and nature welcomes you on your long walk to the afterlife."

There was no malice in the words, no theatrics—just cold honesty. The kind of truth men who'd killed before didn't need to dress up.

"I'm not from around here," Sylvaris said, shrugging slightly, the blade still brushing his neck. "I saw your caravan passing, and she stood out. Top pick by a mile. Not much more to say."

Then, he smirked.

"And if you think you can kill me... try. Just know none of you will live long enough to regret it. So what's it gonna be? Business? Or do I walk out of here with the whole lot for free?"

His tone was pure arrogance, but it wasn't empty. He meant every word, and the glint in his eye made that clear. If he drew his sword, it would be over in seconds—and he'd be the only one left breathing.

The mercenaries bristled. In an instant, they surrounded the pair, weapons half-drawn, eyes sharp. They didn't fear death—that much was obvious. But the same couldn't be said for the fat man holding the blade. His hand trembled—just a little.

"You've got a sharp tongue—I like that! Hahaha!" the man barked, slapping Sylvaris's back with far too much enthusiasm. The blade vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and just like that, he wrapped an arm around Sylvaris's shoulders, dragging him toward the cages like they were old drinking buddies.

Sylvaris said nothing. He let the man lead, his fat arm resting over him like they'd known each other for years.

"There she is... isn't she a beauty, huh? Look at this masterpiece. It's like someone painted her straight onto a canvas... what a goddess..." the man murmured, his voice soaked with reverence.

His eyes drank her in—slow, worshipful, almost too sincere for a slaver. He looked at her like she was the only one of her kind in the entire universe.

And for the first time, Sylvaris found himself wondering—Was this just desire? Or was there really something deeper beneath it all, something he hadn't fully grasped yet?

Sylvaris opened his system storage and pulled out five heavy bags of gold—enough to buy a small town back in his kingdom. The clinking weight hit the ground with a satisfying thud, but the moment the merchant peeked inside, his expression twisted into something far less pleased.

"Gold, huh...?" he muttered, voice tight with reluctant interest. It was a considerable sum, no doubt. But that wasn't the issue.

"Is it too little?" Sylvaris asked, bored, before casually pulling out five more bags and dropping them on top of the first, forming a small golden mountain at his feet. Now it was enough to buy a moderate city. The guards stirred, tense, but the merchant quickly waved them off.

He studied Sylvaris again—more closely this time. Something in his eyes shifted, a flicker of understanding. This man wasn't a threat... or rather, he wasn't here to make a scene. And more importantly, he wasn't from around here.

"That's not the problem, young master," the merchant said, voice softening. "This is already far too much for a simple slut. The issue is... this currency of yours. It's not easily exchanged in our lands. If I may ask—where exactly are you from?"

"Vaelterra Continent," Sylvaris answered, casual as ever.

The merchant froze. His jaw dropped to the ground.

"Vaelterra?! That's on the other side of the globe! How in the hell did you end up here?!" His voice spiked in disbelief, his triple chin wobbling with every word. Around them, the guards exchanged glances, confused. None of them had ever heard of such a place before, which only made them lean in closer, ears sharp with curiosity.

"That's the question to an answer even I don't have," Sylvaris said with a faint shrug. "But does it really matter to you?"

"Not at all... not at all..." the merchant muttered, chuckling awkwardly. "It's just... we don't trade with gold here on the continent of Virelios."

"Then what do you use?" Sylvaris asked, already flipping through his inventory, scanning for anything of potential value.

"Precious gems," the man said. "That's our currency. The higher the quality, the more it's worth. Different colors hold different value too. If you've got something like that, maybe we can work something out. But gold... it's not worth the trouble. I'd need to find a collector willing to trade, and—"

He stopped talking. Mid-sentence. Eyes wide.

Sylvaris had pulled a gem from his storage. Massive. Blood-red. Polished like a jewel of royal blood, glinting in the light like a living flame. He'd found it years ago on some forgotten journey, tossed it aside back home since it held no real value in Vaelterra.

But here? Judging by the way the merchant's lips parted and a line of saliva slipped down his chin, it might as well have been a sacred relic.

Sylvaris caught the look instantly. That hunger. That twitch of pure greed in the man's eyes.

And he smiled.