Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

Why? How? I've only been gone for about an hour — how the hell did they already get themselves into a situation serious enough for even the System to panic?

Shit!

Sylvaris rushed out of the tomb-like chamber, his boots slamming against the polished stone with thunderous force. The nuns who had flirted and teased him earlier flinched back as he passed, fear flashing in their wide, innocent eyes. They could feel it now — the raw killing intent rolling off of him like a storm about to tear the world apart.

He wasn't a man anymore. He was a beast, a force of nature, and they were nothing but rabbits in the forest, trembling in the shadow of a predator they should never have dared to provoke. The bold nun who had once lifted her skirt shamelessly now clutched it tightly down, her face pale, her body shaking. One wrong move, and she knew she would not walk away untouched.

But Sylvaris didn't even glance at them. They didn't matter.

Before long, he crashed into the crowded streets. People blurred around him — merchants, nobles, beggars — all blending into meaningless background noise. He scanned the chaos sharply, looking left and right. The System hadn't provided directions, but it didn't matter. Through the Harem God System, he could feel it — the faint, desperate tug of their presence calling out to him.

West. He knew it like a primal instinct. Like blood scenting blood.

"West..." Sylvaris growled low in his throat.

And then he moved.

His body blurred through the crowd with terrifying speed, a streak of darkness cutting through the city's heart. Those who stood in his way barely even had time to scream before being shoved aside by the crushing weight of his presence. He didn't care. Not about his image. Not about the Church. Not about anything else.

Only about them. Only about his women. And God help anyone foolish enough to stand between Sylvaris Elyndor and what was his.

He rushed through the city as fast as his legs could carry him, the world a blur of color and noise around him. His heart hammered against his ribs like it wanted to break free, a savage, unfamiliar rhythm pounding in his ears.

He didn't know what this feeling was.He had never cared about anyone before.Not in his past life. Not here. So there had never been a reason to feel panic. Never a reason to feel fear.

But now — now he understood.Sometimes, it only took finding the right person — or the right people — to awaken emotions you didn't even know you were capable of.And he hated it.

It was a bitter pill. A drug that no man could ever shake off once it entered his veins. And he was feeling it firsthand.

They're nearby. I must hurry.

He spotted a large, narrow alley in the distance. The crowd thickened around it, bustling and noisy — but nobody paid it any attention.It was hidden behind crates and broken carts, swallowed by shadow. A place no sane person would dare wander into alone. Only those with a death wish would even think about it.

Sylvaris didn't slow down.

He crashed through the crowd without mercy, sending people flying, raising panic and screams all around him. The peaceful city had never seen such chaos, and the guards immediately scrambled, forming squads and rushing toward the disturbance. In their eyes, someone was causing public unrest — something that could not be allowed to continue.

But Sylvaris didn't care.

He didn't see them. He didn't hear them. There was only the alley. Only the feeling in his blood.

When he finally reached the entrance, his body snapped to a halt so suddenly it kicked up dust from the ground.

He froze. His golden eyes widened in disbelief.

"Ah?! Sylvaris! Over here!" Faylira waved happily from the far end of the alley, standing triumphantly with one foot planted on the head of an unconscious thug sprawled beneath her.

Beside her, Liraeth calmly held several more thugs suspended in midair — trapped in shimmering fields of warped time.

What... the fuck?

Sylvaris's mind stuttered violently.

No... wait... what the fuck... shit...

If they could handle the situation by themselves...If they weren't truly in danger... Then why the hell did the System sound the alarm?! Why had it slammed warnings into his brain, terrifying him, making him believe they were dying?!

His jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ground together.

Shit...! I can't even think straight...!

Sylvaris stood there for a moment, frozen in place. His fists clenched so tightly that the leather of his gloves creaked under the pressure.

The rage inside him boiled over.

You fucking piece of shit system, he thought dangerously. You scared the living hell out of me — and for what? A few street rats? If you ever pull that shit again... I swear I'll tear you apart, even if I have to break every rule of this world to do it.

The system didn't answer — only flashed a quiet [Error] in the corner of his vision like a coward hiding from the battle.

Sylvaris exhaled sharply through his nose, trying to steady himself, trying to choke down the fire still raging inside his chest.

But the second his golden eyes landed on Faylira — her cheek scratched — and on Liraeth — her arms trembling slightly from holding her magic for so long — the anger didn't fade.

It shifted.

It turned toward the thugs sprawled across the alleyway like trash.

Wait a second. I'll make all of you suffer for this. It's your fault they were put in danger. Nobody touches my women.

Without thinking, he crossed the distance between them in a blink.

But first...

He grabbed both of them — one arm wrapping fiercely around Faylira's waist, the other around Liraeth's shoulders — and pulled them into him with a rough, crushing embrace.

Neither girl protested.

Faylira gasped softly against his chest, her fox tails instinctively wrapping around his legs, anchoring herself to him.

Liraeth pressed her forehead into his chest, her purple eyes fluttering shut, trusting him completely.

"Are the two of you okay?" he asked, his voice low and tight.

"Ah? Yeah… I'm sorry..." Faylira whispered shakily against him, her voice barely a breath. "We didn't mean to make you worry..."

"Shh," Sylvaris muttered roughly. He didn't want apologies. He didn't need words.

He needed to feel them — feel their warmth, their breathing, their hearts still beating against his.

"As long as the two of you are safe, I will be able to live well," he said darkly. "But those who hurt or threaten you... will feel my wrath."

For a long, heavy moment, he just held them, letting the storm inside him bleed out into their soft, trembling bodies.

Only when his breathing calmed — only when he was sure they were safe — did he finally release them, slowly, reluctantly.

He turned.

Golden eyes scanned the city streets with lethal calm.

People watched from a distance — merchants, nobles, guards — whispering behind their hands, some gawking openly, others edging away in fear.

They didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the two women standing behind him.

And the simple, brutal truth burned itself into Sylvaris's soul:

If anyone touched what was his again — if anyone even dared look at them the wrong way — he wouldn't just punish them.

He would tear down the walls of this city. He would raze kingdoms to the ground. He would paint the fucking world red with their blood.

His hand drifted lazily to the hilt of his sword, his smirk cold and unkind.

Let them come. Let them test the monster they were so eager to provoke.

Sylvaris Elyndor had already made up his mind.

And this world — this world had no idea what kind of god they were creating.

Slowly, his gaze fell onto the thugs still frozen in the time prison. The instant his golden eyes locked onto them, their souls nearly left their bodies.

That day, they didn't see a hero. They didn't see a man. They saw a death god staring into their very souls — and his blade was ready to reap their heads.