Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

"What the hell do you mean he's missing? Do you even understand what the sacred ceremony means to our kingdom?!"The King of Solandis roared furiously, his voice booming through the golden walls of his palace, each word a thunderous echo of wrath. "Without him undergoing it, he will never receive the final blessing of the Goddess of Heroism, and all the countries around us will know he is not tied to us by fate! They will pounce on him like starving wolves! They will try to snatch Sylvaris from us!"

The king was on his massive royal bed, taking a woman from behind. His cock slammed deep into the trembling body of one of his many concubines as he raged. The moment the news hit his ears, his thrusts had grown savage, erratic—a brutal punishment delivered through flesh. His hand yanked back her silky brown hair, hard, forcing her to arch so far her spine bent like a bow. Her face contorted not in pleasure, but in sheer pain, tears already streaking her cheeks. Her cries were muffled against the embroidered pillow beneath her, but the agony in her eyes was unmistakable. She was nothing more than a vessel for his frustration—his outlet, his plaything.

The king's thrusts turned violent, flesh slapping against flesh in wet, punishing rhythm—SMACK. SMACK. SMACK—Her hips quivered from the force, her body already bruising under his grip.

His advisor stood nearby, watching it all in stone silence. Not even a flinch. Not even a blink. This was a normal sight to him. It always was. Whenever the king felt frustrated, his rage was taken out on the women in his harem. He would force them to have sex with him whether they wanted it or not, abusing them with no hesitation, no remorse, no care for who was watching. The king was a monster, and everyone knew it. Loved by no one. Feared by all. But he wore the crown—and no one dared to raise a voice against him.

"Your Majesty," the advisor finally said, voice steady despite the depravity before him, "we are investigating his disappearance. And... all clues… lead to the eldest princess."

The king froze. His entire body went rigid. The concubine let out a soft sob of relief as the punishing thrusts stopped for just a moment—until she realized the air in the room had changed.

The temperature dropped. It plummeted. Like winter death had seeped in.

The king's furious, predatory gaze slowly turned to his advisor. Eyes gleaming with a promise of death. He raised his hand.

The air itself obeyed him.

A chilling pressure coiled around the advisor's throat like an invisible serpent. The man gasped, choked—his knees slammed against the marble floor as the grip tightened, crushing his windpipe. His eyes bulged, veins popping across his forehead as he struggled for breath.

"The hell did you just say?" the king hissed, his voice cold, low, murderous. "I dare you to repeat yourself."

He didn't give the man time to respond. Instead, he resumed pounding the concubine beneath him, each thrust now laced with venom—SMACK. SMACK. SMACK—The concubine's muffled cries turned hoarse, her body trembling violently, but the king only groaned in pleasure.

He watched his trusted advisor die as he fucked his fear into someone else, consumed by the ecstasy of power, his cock twitching in pleasure as the man's final, gasping breath left his body. The moment the corpse collapsed, the king emptied himself inside the concubine, roaring as his release surged through him—not out of lust, but domination.

"Somebody clean this shit up," he snarled, pushing the now half-conscious woman off him like garbage, her body crumpling into the stained sheets. "And bring me my other five concubines. This very fucking instance! And someone—anyone—bring Sylvaris back to me! You have five days. If I don't see him in my throne room by then, every single one of your heads will fly!"

His voice roared through the palace like a storm breaking through walls. Panic exploded across the servants. It wasn't the first time he'd made such a threat—and it wasn't an empty one. Once, when a noble failed to bring him the woman he desired within five days, the entire man's bloodline was executed. All who had heard the order, and failed to fulfill it, had died. This time would be no different.

Everyone in the palace moved with feverish desperation. Nobody wanted to be next.

The king remained seated on the edge of the silken bed, his cock still half-hard, still slick with his own filth. He gripped the concubine's hair again, jerking her back with a cold snarl.

"Selphira… you bitch," he whispered under his breath, eyes smoldering with hatred. "Just wait until Sylvaris is found. I will use you—your own fucking body—as the sacrifice to break him. To make him kneel to me. You have no right to meddle in my affairs, daughter or not. If you defy me again… I'll bury you. With my own hands."

The woman beside him trembled violently, her body shaking with the last of her strength. "My love, my powerful king, let me pleasure you more," she whispered, her voice thick with desperation. With a trembling hand, she positioned herself over him, sinking onto his half-hard cock, her breath hitching as she did. Her body moved again—not from desire, but from pure, animalistic survival instinct. She began grinding against him with frantic urgency, each motion desperate, terrified that if she stopped, if she failed to satisfy him, she would meet the same fate as the man still lying dead in the corner.

Meanwhile, the man at the center of all this chaos stood tall and unbothered before the gates of Velithar, arrogance dripping from every inch of his posture. His arm wrapped tightly around his women—his prizes, his trophies—pressing them close as he waited for the guards to speak, to dare make a move, to test the edge of his patience.

He wasn't here to simply be apologized to. No, Sylvaris wanted more. He wanted to see just how deep these fools would crawl to save their skin. He wanted humiliation, submission, and if possible—an opportunity. One that might spiral into wealth, power, or perhaps just a bit of bloody fun.

He could already see it playing out in his mind. This little "mistake" was going to pay off beautifully. All he had to do was stand there, radiating untouchable divinity, and wait for them to grovel.