Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

Sylvaris's eyes sharpened, his gaze locked onto the retreating figure of the nun. Her ass was wrapped tightly in her holy robes, the fabric clinging to the roundness of her cheeks. The shape of her thick, squishy thighs bulged slightly where her socks were too tight, accentuating her every step. As she walked, her hips swayed in a rhythm that set his desire on fire. The raw, unspoken invitation was clear—he could almost taste it.

"Yeah... see you later, Lilith..." His words were barely a whisper, but the venom in his tone was unmistakable. Cold. Laced with the edge of something darker. And yet, beneath it all, there was an unmistakable hunger, a craving that had been gnawing at him for days—a need to conquer her, claim her. Both Faylira and Liraeth felt it, the air thick with the tension between them, and his lust for Lilith. They could feel it stirring, the unspoken competition that was growing within him. Would he bring her to heel? Or would she be the one to snuff out his flame? The thought left both women uneasy.

"Umm... sorry, sir, would you mind letting this fool go now? We'll discipline him properly for you!" The head guard stepped closer to Sylvaris, his eyes flicking nervously to the man kneeling before their hero. The guard was nearly passed out, his fist ghostly white from the pressure, blood drained from his features, his eyes bloodshot with pain. Yet, Sylvaris didn't release him.

"Yeah, whatever. Let him go. But if he ever lays a hand on any of my women again, I'll make him taste my blade. It'll be the last thing he ever tastes, and trust me, it'll be fucking delicious," Sylvaris drawled, his voice low and cold. His gaze turned to the guard, fixing him with a smile so sinister it could freeze blood. "Right, buddy?"

"Y-yes! I'll never cross paths with you, sir! Never! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" The man wailed, his voice high-pitched with terror—until Sylvaris's grip tightened. The guard screamed as Sylvaris's fingers snapped his wrist with a sickening crack.

"You're wrong," Sylvaris snarled, his voice sharp as a blade. "The one you need to apologize to isn't me—it's her." He pointed down at Liraeth, who stood there awkwardly, feeling the heat of the crowd's stares. But deep inside, something stirred. The way Sylvaris had so fiercely protected her—called her his woman—made her feel invincible, like a mountain was shielding her from the world.

"Kiss her feet and apologize. Now," Sylvaris's voice thundered, completely ignoring the strange looks the crowd shot him.

"Y-yes!" The guard screamed through his agony, squirming beneath Sylvaris's unrelenting grip. "I'm so sorry, miss! This will never happen again." His lips quivered with fear at every word, his eyes darting between the three of them—silently begging for mercy. But before the man could touch Liraeth's half-naked feet, Sylvaris's boot landed squarely on his chest, sending him flying into the city wall with a sickening thud.

"Who said you could touch my property?" Sylvaris growled, his voice ice cold. "Now get lost. If I ever see your face again, I'll treat you like a demon. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-yes!" The guard scrambled to his feet, his face twisted in fear, but Sylvaris's patience had run out. Before the man could make another move, Sylvaris's boot shot out, slamming into his chest with such force that the air was knocked out of him. A sickening crack echoed through the air as the guard's ribs shattered, his body propelled backward like a ragdoll.

The crowd gasped in collective shock, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. No one dared move. The guard crashed into the stone wall with a sickening thud, his body crumpling to the ground, gasping for breath, blood trickling from his mouth. He lay there, trembling, unable to even groan.

Sylvaris turned, utterly unfazed, his eyes cold and predatory. He grabbed both women by their waists, pulling them along with him as the stunned onlookers stood frozen in place, too terrified to do anything but watch.

They didn't know whether to call him a hero or a villain. He moved with the arrogance of a master, yet his actions seemed to bind them to him. What if he turned his power to the darkness? What if he allied with the demon king? That had happened once in history—a dark, forgotten time. But that fear was ancient, buried in rumors. No one could say if it was true or not.

"Let's go. I'll treat you both to a good meal," Sylvaris said, his voice still carrying the authority of someone who held the future in his grasp.

"Mhm," Faylira murmured, not bothered in the slightest by his behavior. In her tribe, if a man didn't have the courage to stand up for himself and his people, he was weak, unworthy of respect. Now she understood why the queen wanted him. Even in her eyes, he was becoming more and more desirable, leaving her confused. Was it love? Or mating instincts? Or had she truly fallen for this man?

"Thank you, my love," Liraeth said, her cheeks flushing with a deep blush. She didn't care that Sylvaris acted like a beast—if anything, it only made her heart race, thundering in her chest with a heady mix of love and desire. Her words shot through Sylvaris like a bolt of lightning, a surge of heat coursing through his body, making his cock twitch in his pants. He could barely wait for her to repeat those words tonight—alone, in bed.

"No problem. Just repay me later with that skilled mouth of yours," Sylvaris whispered cheekily into Liraeth's ear, sending a wave of embarrassment crashing through her body. Her thighs quivered, her lips parted in anticipation. Even Faylira heard it—and she ached to hear those same words directed at her. She wanted to taste that forbidden pleasure too… to feel the full force of his beast.

Each step they took resonated loudly in the silence of the crowd, Sylvaris's hands squeezing the soft, pillowy waist of the women in his grip. Every squeeze of his fingers sent ripples through the crowd, like a silent threat pulsing beneath their skin. No one dared stop them. One step. Two steps. Ten. With every movement, the weight of his dominance seemed to grow.

As they moved, the cool, refreshing sensation of water began to wash over them. It wrapped around their bodies like a lover's caress, the barrier parting with a subtle whisper, leaving them with a sense of rebirth. The moment they stepped through, their eyes opened to a breathtaking new world.

The bustling city sprawled before them, its towering presence impossible to ignore. In the distance, the massive castle loomed—a symbol of power, where the royals held court, reigning over the land. To their right, the gothic church rose like a monolith, its spires sharp and imposing, casting shadows that seemed to stretch across the city. The Bavarian-style houses lined the streets, quaint but vibrant, their charm a stark contrast to the heavy mana that lingered in the air.

Mana so thick, it felt as if you could reach out and touch it, like a visible mist swirling around them. The city of magic. The city of the Great lake. The city of opportunity and beautiful women. They had finally reached it.