Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

All of them were extremely pretty… actually, this entire region seemed to be filled with nothing but beautiful women. How odd. But also, he wasn't about to complain.

Sylvaris glanced around, his golden eyes scanning every curve, every sway of hips, every soft giggle carried on the breeze. His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, drinking in the sweet, intoxicating scent of so many females gathered in one place.

It was an odd thing to do. Honestly, a little disgusting in my opinion. But at this point in the story, I had already given up on trying to convince the author to make Sylvaris even slightly more normal. We're far beyond that now, aren't we? So let's move on with the story.

"Look, Sylvaris! That woman looks extremely strong! She might be a powerful ally to us!" Iselynne pointed eagerly across the street, her eyes shining with excitement.

Sylvaris turned his head to where she was pointing—and nearly choked on his own spit.

The woman was gigantic.

Easily over two meters tall, maybe closer to 220cm. A goddamn walking mountain. And not just tall—she was built. Beefy. Thick. Her muscles bulged under her tight armor like she was forged from pure iron. Shoulders broad, arms thick like stone pillars, thighs that could probably crush boulders between them.

But her face was actually quite pretty. Sharp eyes, soft lips, even her long black hair swayed beautifully behind her. But all of it was attached to a body that screamed one thing: bull.

Sylvaris shook his head. No. Absolutely not. If he even tried to mount that, he might be the one getting mounted instead.

No way in hell. That's not my style. Not even close. He wasn't about to get tossed around like some little toy while she bench-pressed him mid-fuck. Women who were larger and more muscular than him simply didn't fit the vision he had for his harem.

He quickly coughed, hiding his panic, and came up with an excuse.

"Ah, naaaah. We need someone more agile, you know? Fast reflexes, lighter body for maneuverability and quick strikes. She'd be too slow—big frame like that would just get in the way during tight battles." He nodded confidently, delivering the excuse like some expert tactician giving a serious strategic analysis.

And poor Iselynne, bless her innocent heart, nodded along in full agreement. "You're right! I didn't think about that. We definitely need someone more agile!"

Sylvaris smiled, barely keeping his composure.

Dodged that one.

"Then, what about her?" Iselynne pointed again, voice light with excitement.

Sylvaris followed her finger.

A tall spearwoman. Long legs, toned thighs, healthy curves beneath light armor. Her long brown hair bounced behind her with each step, and her confidence was palpable.

For a second, Sylvaris paused, weighing the possibility.

Not bad... definitely fuckable...

But then, as she spoke to her friends, her voice carried over—loud, obnoxious, and filled with forced bravado. The type who loved to dominate every conversation and likely wouldn't shut up during sex either.

He exhaled lightly, hiding his thought process.

"She's a little too... aggressive," he said diplomatically. "In battle, that kind of dominant energy can disrupt team coordination. We need someone more balanced. Someone who can follow strategy without constantly pushing her own agenda."

Iselynne nodded eagerly, completely buying the logic. "Ahh, you're right! Strategy first!"

Sylvaris smiled. Good girl.

A few more steps, another candidate.

"Sylvaris, how about her?"

This time it was a mage — petite, cute, clearly young, with big round glasses and a massive book floating beside her. Her robes hugged her petite frame, hinting at curves that were still blossoming, and her bright eyes were filled with naive wonder.

Sylvaris blinked.

Tempting. But way too innocent. Probably would cry the first time I grabbed her hair.

He shook his head.

"She lacks combat experience," he explained smoothly. "A powerful mage needs battlefield awareness. She looks like she's barely left her academy. We need someone hardened by real danger."

Once again, Iselynne nodded, fully convinced by his every word.

They walked deeper into the market square, the scenery growing even richer.

Banners flapped in the breeze. Swords gleamed. The streets were practically overflowing with what any man would call paradise: fit women in light armor, beastkin with swaying tails, sorceresses whose cleavage threatened to tear their robes apart.

Sylvaris's eyes danced from one beauty to the next, but his face remained composed.

Iselynne kept pointing out more.

"How about... that one? She looks strong!"

Sylvaris glanced at the woman—a beastkin archer, fox ears twitching, several tails swaying hypnotically behind her. Her outfit left almost nothing to the imagination. Skin-tight leggings, short skirt, tight leather top barely containing her generous chest.

Definitely qualifies. But... hmm... He hesitated. Faylira would skin me alive if I brought home another beastkin… and a fox on top of that? Yeah, I enjoy breathing too much.

"Beastkin are tricky in group formations," he explained, once again spinning pure bullshit with full confidence. "Their instincts sometimes conflict with coordinated tactics. It can make teamwork complicated if they act impulsively."

Iselynne clapped her hands softly. "Of course, Sylvaris. I never thought about that."

Sylvaris smiled.

If only you knew the real instincts I'm planning to exploit.

They continued further. His patience was starting to thin.

Girl after girl. Flaw after flaw. Or rather, excuse after excuse.

But even as the parade of beauties passed, something was gnawing at him. None of them triggered that instinct deep in his gut. That feeling the system always sent when the right one appeared.

Until... his system pulsed.

[Unique Aura Detected]

[High Compatibility: 98%]

[Potential Harem Member Found]

Sylvaris's breath subtly hitched, his instincts snapping like a coiled spring.

There.

At the far end of the main avenue, walking calmly through the thinning crowd, was her.

She wasn't drawing attention like the others. No showy armor. No loud laughter. No bouncing tits being shoved into every man's face.

No.

This one carried herself with absolute control.

A tall, elegant figure wrapped in a flowing black-and-violet cloak, her long hair dark as night, glistening like silk under the afternoon sun. The fabric swayed with every graceful step, revealing toned legs in skin-tight battle leggings, tall boots hugging her calves.

Her waist was narrow, her hips wide. A perfect balance of athletic strength and feminine curves beneath her fitted corset.

But her face... Her face was lethal.

Silver eyes cut through the crowd, sharp and calculating, like she saw through every lie and weakness. Her expression was calm, unreadable, with an underlying confidence that made her radiate danger.

Sylvaris felt his blood stir instantly.

Iselynne caught his sudden silence.

"Sylvaris?" she whispered, noticing the change in his breathing.

He licked his lips, his voice lowering into that deep tone only reserved for one thing.

"There."

His golden eyes locked on the woman.

"She's perfect... for our party."