Kael Draven was, by all reasonable accounts, a failure. Not the brooding, tragic kind you read about in epics—those men at least looked good leaning against rain-slicked rooftops, cloaked in mystery. Kael's cloak smelled faintly of goat, and he couldn't stand on a roof for more than five seconds without slipping off the tiles.
He was the other kind of failure. The kind that left a trail of humiliation wherever he went, like a slug leaving slime. Neighbors still told the story of how he once lost a staring contest with a stray tabby, only to salute the cat as if conceding defeat. The landlord still kept the dented laundry basket Kael had tripped into—three times in one afternoon—as a kind of shrine to his incompetence. And the capital's bathhouse owners spoke his name only in mutters, the phrase "suspicious lingering" passed between them like a curse.
At twenty-one, Kael had nothing to show for his life except unpaid debts, a pair of patched trousers that looked more like fishnet, and an almost supernatural inability to keep a job longer than a week. His romantic prospects were worse. Girls gave him the same look you give a puddle you've just realized isn't water but something sticky.
Worst of all, he had interests. Interests that earned him the whispered title of "pervert" in half the city. Kael, of course, objected. "I'm an admirer of beauty," he would insist, voice full of wounded dignity, as though the world had simply misunderstood him. But his arguments tended to lose force when made while clutching a leather-bound sketchbook titled Thighs of Destiny: Volume III, with lovingly detailed illustrations that no court in the land would classify as "art."
And so Kael drifted through life like a leaf in a gutter, penniless, aimless, and, far too often, pantsless.
Today was no different—disaster had simply taken a new costume.
"Damn it, why is the laundry stream always so slippery?!" Kael's shriek echoed down the hillside as he pinwheeled out of control, bare skin skidding over slick moss. He clutched a towel the size of a dinner napkin like it was a holy relic, but the treacherous thing betrayed him three rocks ago, snapping free from his grip and fluttering off on the breeze like a smug little ghost.
Kael's descent was less of a fall and more of a long, miserable percussion piece: thud, roll, crack, yelp. Each bounce added a new bruise to his already impressive collection. Then fate, with cruel precision, chose to end the melody with a single sharp note: Kael slammed groin-first onto a protruding root. His voice went thin and airy, like a flute note played by a dying man.
The towel drifted away above him, a pale flag of surrender, catching the sunlight one last time before it vanished behind the hilltop.
"Uuuugh… gods, if you're listening," Kael groaned, curled in the fetal position, "at least kill me quick. Something merciful. Lightning bolt. Rampaging bear. Anything…"
The gods, however, had a notorious sense of humor.
Instead of death, the hillside abruptly gave way beneath him with a groan of breaking stone. Kael had just enough time to yelp before the earth swallowed him whole. His body cartwheeled through a curtain of dust and roots until the world ended with a splash! Cold water slapped every inch of him as he plunged headfirst into darkness, limbs flailing like a drowning frog.
When his thrashing stilled, he realized two things. First: he wasn't dead. Second: he wasn't even in water anymore. The spring had spat him out like a cork, depositing him onto smooth, dry stone. He coughed, blinking away grit, the echoes of his hacking bouncing off walls that hadn't seen daylight in centuries.
Kael staggered upright, shivering, dripping, and very, very naked. The air was heavy with incense that hadn't burned in years, stale but still sweet. Strange murals loomed on walls lit by their own faint glow, and before him stretched rows of pillars carved with faces that watched in silence.
He swallowed hard, towel long gone, dignity in shreds.
He was inside… a temple.
The chamber glowed faintly, its light not from torches or lamps but from runes etched deep into the stone, each stroke pulsing like the slow beat of a buried heart. Dust fell in lazy spirals from pillars that rose so high Kael couldn't see their ends, vanishing into shadow as though they held up the ceiling of the world. At the center stood an altar—obsidian, polished to a dark mirror, its edges sharp enough to catch the glow of the runes and throw it back in jagged shards of light.
Kael's jaw sagged. For a moment, he forgot he was dripping wet, bruised, and utterly naked.
"Whoa…" His voice echoed, swallowed quickly by the hollow vastness. Then his eyes gleamed like a starving dog at a butcher's stall. "Jackpot. Gold! Treasure! Or—" his imagination sprinted ahead, faster than his reason—"maybe cursed underwear that never tears!"
The grin he wore at that thought was the kind men got after a week without sleep or sense.
Naturally, Kael's first instinct upon finding an ancient altar—something that radiated divine solemnity and whispered of forgotten power—was to climb onto it. Butt-first. His bare skin squeaked against the cold stone as he wriggled into position, completely unbothered by the faint hum that prickled against his spine.
"Behold!" he declared, throwing himself into what he believed was a "sexy nobleman pose." In reality, it looked more like a drunk goose attempting ballet. He sprawled one leg over the altar, propped an elbow against the edge, and let his towelless glory bask under the runes' glow. "I, Kael Draven, humbly offer you… me."
The altar thrummed beneath him, a vibration that turned his triumphant grin into a twitch of unease.
Kael froze.
One by one, the runes ignited, light crawling across the stone like veins of molten fire. The glow pulsed in rhythm with his pounding heart, until it felt less like a chamber and more like a living thing breathing around him.
Then came the voice. Deep. Smooth. The kind of voice that slithered into the marrow and stayed there.
[Divine Libido System initializing…]
Kael blinked. "H-Huh?"
[Requirements met: Virgin. Pervert. Reckless nudity detected.]
"Wait, wait, don't just call me out like that—!"
[Congratulations, mortal! You have awakened the path of the Harem Overlord.]
Light erupted from the altar, so bright it painted the chamber in searing white. Kael screamed, flailing, half from awe, half from the realization that his nether regions—still numb from that traitorous root on the hillside—were being baptized in divine energy.
When the glow finally ebbed, Kael realized he was no longer sprawled on the altar. He was standing—upright, steady, almost regal—though he had absolutely no idea how he'd gotten there. The icy bite of the temple air no longer clung to his bare skin. Instead, warmth radiated from his chest, where something pulsed against his heart.
He glanced down.
Etched across his skin in luminous gold was a sigil, intricate as a tattoo, glowing like a brand fresh from the forge. Its centerpiece: a regal crown. Surrounding it, however, was… not laurels. Not wings. No, fate had chosen something far more on-brand for Kael Draven. The crown was encircled by—he swallowed—shapely, interlocking thighs.
Kael covered his face with both hands and groaned. "Of course. Of course it's thighs. Why not? Why not announce to the universe what I—" He stopped mid-sentence, because something else had appeared.
Floating in front of him, framed in faint light, hovered a translucent screen. Letters shimmered across it, crisp and orderly despite their utterly insane content:
---
[Divine Libido System]
Welcome, Kael Draven.
Title: Pervert in Progress
Level: 1
Charisma: 2 (pity-tier)
Stamina: 69 (infinite potential)
Current Objective: Build the greatest harem the realms have ever seen.
Reward: Immortality through Lust.
Failure Penalty: Death by virginity.
---
Kael's jaw flapped like a broken shutter. "WHAT THE HELL KIND OF PENALTY IS THAT?!" His voice cracked, echoing against the pillars like an outraged rooster.
The screen flickered in polite indifference, then continued scrolling.
---
[First Bonus Unlocked: Irresistible Charm (rank: Pitiful).]
Warning: may cause mild nosebleeds in targets.
---
"M-Mild nosebleeds?!" Kael sputtered. "That's it?! I don't want to be some walking allergy!" He jabbed a finger at the floating letters, forgetting the finger was attached to an utterly naked man glowing with thigh-runes. "Hey, system, upgrade me! Patch notes! Refund policy! Something—"
But before he could escalate his rant into a full-blown tantrum, a low groan split the silence.
The massive temple doors, untouched for centuries, creaked open with a grinding protest of ancient hinges. Cold air rushed in, and with it, light—soft, golden, spilling across the obsidian floor.
A silhouette appeared in the doorway. Long, slender legs, moving with measured grace. Flowing white robes, their edges embroidered with threads that caught the lantern glow. And above, unmistakable: elongated, tapered ears, elegant and proud.
Kael froze, breath trapped in his throat.