Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

Liraeth's hands fell to the ground, her fingers brushing the air as she felt every ounce of anger slip away, washed clean by the taste of his kiss. It was like she'd been reborn, her body thrumming with something far more powerful than rage—an almost primal sense of victory. The way he gripped her, with unrelenting strength, made her feel... wanted. Needed. Desired.

She couldn't remember what she'd been so angry about. The anger evaporated in the heat of his kiss, swallowed whole by the deep, possessive hunger in his lips. Around them, the passersby watched—some stunned, some amused, maybe even smug—but she didn't care. None of them mattered. What mattered was the taste of victory. He kissed her, not that fucking fox.

"Mmm~" she moaned softly, drunk on his lips, his taste. My Sylvaris… my master... mine alone.

Their mouths slowly pulled apart, a string of saliva hanging for a moment before snapping. "M-my Sylvaris…" Her voice cracked around the name, her breath hitching, overwhelmed and utterly undone.

The soft burn of the kiss lingered as she pulled away slightly, her breath uneven. She shot a look over her shoulder at the fox, silently daring her to speak, to try anything. The thought of sending her to the afterlife crossed her mind again, but it was more of a fleeting thought now, replaced by something sharper, more calculating.

She could think clearer now.

Faylira, however, only rolled her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. She could feel the venom lacing from Liraeth's eyes, but she brushed it off. With a lazy flick of her tails, she swayed her hips, deliberately presenting her rear to Sylvaris. She wasn't as bold as the elf, not kissing him in the middle of the street, but she had her own ways of making him notice.

"How about we get going already? You two can continue later, in private," she teased, her voice light but carrying an edge. Her tails flicked higher, revealing a brief flash of her round backside, knowing exactly what she was doing.

Liraeth's jaw tightened, her body stiffening. The audacity of that fox, she thought, burning with jealousy. Her fists clenched, but her anger was cut short when Sylvaris grabbed her hand, pulling her along. The sudden touch calmed her just enough to stop her from snapping, though she could feel the heat of her possessiveness simmering beneath the surface.

"Wait up," Sylvaris said quickly, his voice rough. He pulled them further away, trying to ease the tension before it boiled over. His thoughts churned. He couldn't let this escalate. Not like this.

Liraeth's eyes softened as they walked together, her anger fading but still lingering in the corners of her mind. He kissed me first, she reminded herself. That was enough for now.

Behind them, Faylira's smirk never wavered. She knew this wasn't over. Sylvaris would be mine—sooner or later.

The three of them soon neared the towering defensive wall, forged from some strange white material. It shimmered beneath the sun like crystallized salt, yet every time Sylvaris looked at it, it felt alive—like it was breathing, the surface rippling subtly like a calm wave. He'd noticed it the first time he came here, and the feeling hadn't faded. In the distance, a massive lake stretched endlessly, filling the air with the scent of pure mana. The gate ahead glowed with a thin layer of translucent blue, like stained glass turned solid. Yet when people approached, it rippled gently, parting to let them pass through—as if judging who could enter and who would be rejected.

"Gates of Velithar.. we meet again," Sylvaris murmured softly, his voice laced with a quiet nostalgia that stirred something deep inside him. The gleaming wall before him seemed to pulse with the memories of the past—those carefree days when he first wandered through this city with his grandfather, before the weight of his previous life's memories had burdened his soul. Back then, his days had been full of wonder, exploration, and an unspoken promise to never turn against the world. He hadn't yet been consumed by the notion of destroying it all to fulfill his ambitions.

But now, as he stood there, a bitter thought surfaced: Should he conquer this world instead of dismantling it? The question gnawed at him, but he quickly shook it off, refocusing on the present. He needed to mask his inner conflict, to hide his true thoughts beneath a mask of calm. After all, he was standing in nothing but his pants, his body exposed to the air—his muscles rippling beneath the sunlight that glistened off his skin. It was a common sight here, in a land where men often walked bare-chested, displaying their strength and power. Whether to intimidate, commune with nature, or simply draw the attention of beautiful women, the sight had become second nature.

Faylira's voice sliced through his reverie, light and teasing. "Not your first time here, Mr. Sylvaris?"

Her words, feigned curiosity, floated in the air around him like the gentle sway of a breeze. Sylvaris could hear the soft, practiced note of interest in her voice, but he knew better. She was no stranger to the city; she had been here with her queen before. Yet now, she wore the guise of an innocent woman, one who required his protection. She knew exactly what she was doing. It was a game, and she was playing it with precision—knowing that Sylvaris, in his current state, would never resist her temptation.

"Ah? Yeah… I suppose so…" His voice came out quietly, weighed down by the strange collision of two lives. The words hung between them, uncertain—caught between nostalgia and unfamiliarity. Because in a way, this was his first time. At least with his full self. With the memories of a past life newly returned and tangled in the present, everything felt both familiar and foreign.

He exhaled slowly, eyes still drifting across the white, living wall of the Velithar.

"Let's pass through quickly. The line's not as bad as usual today. If we're lucky, we might be done in an hour or two," he said, shifting into practicality. His fingers curled slightly at his side, the leader in him surfacing again. "Just have your identification cards ready. The guards here aren't known for flexibility. They take entrance and exit protocols seriously."

He opened his system inventory, the familiar interface flickering into existence before his eyes. Inside, neatly arranged in floating slots, were the bare essentials he had packed… which, of course, somehow didn't include clothes or food.

Talk about being an 'experienced adventurer.' More like an arrogant brat riding on the author's plot armor...

He swiftly pulled out a sleek, futuristic system tablet—the surface glowed faintly with his basic information etched in shimmering runes. The girls followed suit, each producing their own identification, and together, the three of them stepped into line near the back of a queue stretching nearly fifty meters.