Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

The air buzzed with idle conversation, the low hum of magic weaving through the crowd. Flecks of mana sparked from passersby, leaving trails of ethereal light that vanished as quickly as they appeared. Sunlight bounced off the shimmering white walls of the Velithar, casting rippling patterns across their skin—like the kiss of moving water. Birds flitted overhead, their chirps mingling with the breeze that carried the scent of fresh pine from the nearby forest. The city exuded peace, a serenity so deep it felt dangerous. Everyone knew: disturbing the harmony of Velithar meant swift, unforgiving judgment from the Holy Church, whose reach was as long as it was lethal.

"Look at how that magical layer ripples as people pass by! It's just like the surface of water!" Liraeth's voice was full of wonder, her excitement contagious. Her earlier shyness seemed to vanish, replaced by a pure childlike fascination. She tugged at Sylvaris's arm, pulling it into the softness of her chest, her body pressing against his in a way that felt almost reckless. The sensation was like sinking into clouds, warm and inviting, and he couldn't help but feel his pulse quicken as his face flushed.

"I'd have thought an elf wouldn't be so easily impressed," Faylira teased, her voice laced with playful mockery. She quickly grabbed Sylvaris's arm herself, pressing her chest firmly against it, the heat of her body unmistakable. Now Sylvaris found himself trapped between them, each towering over him with a different intensity. Liraeth's breasts, though slightly smaller, felt like soft pillows against him, while Faylira's were like heated stones, firm and demanding. He couldn't help but notice the contrast, a thought that only added to the heat building in his body.

The subtle tension in the air was thick, charged with the eyes of onlookers who couldn't help but stare. It was as if every glance screamed, How dare he? How dare he have two beauties vying for his attention when they had none of their own? It wasn't just envy—it was a spark, a brewing conflict.

Sylvaris, however, pushed it all aside. He focused ahead, where the massive barrier was growing larger with every step. Only five people stood between them and the entrance now, and the city's imposing gates loomed ever closer.

"Hmph. What would a beast know about magic?" Liraeth sneered, her haughty voice filled with disdain as she turned her nose up at Faylira. "This magic is nothing compared to our elven magic."

The words were barely out of her mouth before she realized her mistake. Her disdain had caught the attention of the nearby guards, who were stationed by the gate. They stood tall in soft blue armor, gleaming white shoulder guards that resembled wings, and mana crystals embedded in the center of their chests. Their expressions were calm, but their eyes held an unmistakable edge.

"Hey! You three—out of the line!" One of the guards barked, his voice stern and unforgiving. His tone was like a lash across the air, instantly shifting Sylvaris's expression from calm to one of cold, seething anger.

"I-I didn't mean to—" Liraeth began, her words cutting off as she saw the guard's approach. But it was too late—he was already extending his hand toward her, as if to forcibly drag her out of line.

"Watch your hand, trash…" Sylvaris's voice was low and deadly as his grip shot out, seizing the guard's wrist with the force of a vice. The crack of metal echoed as his hand bent the guard's arm guard, the pressure enough to make the man kneel in pain, a sharp gasp escaping his lips.

The other guards reacted immediately, their hands darting toward their weapons, eyes flashing with tension. The crowd, sensing the impending conflict, scattered in every direction like ants fleeing from danger.

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife, and the once serene city now found itself on the precipice of chaos. The distant hum of the bustling streets seemed to fall away as a ring of elite guards formed around Sylvaris, Liraeth, and Faylira. Their spears pointed inward, a silent threat of death, the sharp tips gleaming in the sun. The guards were seasoned fighters—each one above level 50, their training and experience far beyond the typical soldier. It would not be a simple task to escape, even with Sylvaris's immense power and his overpowered system.

"Release the noble guard, and you will be spared the death penalty!" The leader of the guards, a tall and burly man, roared, his voice thundering through the air. His tone was filled with such authority and dominance that it left no room for negotiation—his words were a command, and Sylvaris would either comply or die.

Sylvaris's lips curled into a smirk, his gaze icy and unwavering as he met the guard's challenge. "How about no?" he replied, his words dripping with contempt.

Liraeth and Faylira's eyes widened in shock, both of them taking an instinctive step back. They'd been ready to fight if it came to that, but the audacity of Sylvaris's refusal left them stunned. After all, they hadn't expected this level of recklessness—not when there was the possibility of simply getting a slap on the wrist and being let go.

"What did you say?" The guards stood frozen, momentarily dumbfounded by the sheer boldness of Sylvaris's defiance. They'd never encountered someone so brazen before, someone who acted as if he were untouchable.

"I said, no." Sylvaris's voice was steady, each word like a hammer striking against their pride. In one smooth motion, he pulled his iconic shining white sword from its sheath. The blade caught the light, its ethereal glow making a soft hum as it sliced through the air, drawing gasps from the surrounding crowd. Sylvaris plunged the sword into the ground with a force that made the earth beneath their feet tremble.

He locked eyes with the guards, his expression a mask of arrogance and quiet menace. "I want to ask, do you dare stop me if I want to enter this town?"

The question hung in the air, sharp and unyielding. Sylvaris knew full well that his reputation alone would keep them from raising their weapons against him. In Solandis, everyone knew who he was, what he had done, and the power he wielded. He was a hero, a figure revered and feared in equal measure. He could kill this guard without consequence, and the city's rulers would fall over themselves to apologize, to explain it away. Hell, he could destroy the city and claim it was infested with demons, and the king would likely believe him and beg for his forgiveness.

The leader of the guards recoiled, his face paling as recognition dawned. "The great hero Sylvaris Elyndor…" he muttered, his voice tinged with fear and regret. The other guards followed suit, their faces turning ashen as the weight of their mistake hit them.

"We're terribly sorry for our mistake!" The leader's voice quivered as he scrambled to salvage what little dignity remained. The entire line of guards stood frozen, aware that they had just made an enormous error, one that would no doubt cost them dearly.

In an instant, the air shifted, the very atmosphere around them seeming to bend under the oppressive aura that radiated from Sylvaris. The guards, who moments ago had been poised to strike, now found themselves retreating—without even a word to say. Their eyes darted nervously, calculating how to shift the blame onto the unfortunate guard who had instigated the situation. They had no choice but to throw him under the bus to avoid the wrath that would soon follow.

The world seemed to stop for a moment, the energy in the air thick with anticipation. Sylvaris's gaze swept over the guards, his expression never faltering. He was a man of power, and this was his world. It was a dangerous game to play with him, and those who didn't understand it would soon learn just how high the stakes truly were.