Ryon stared up at them, his mouth dry, chest rising and falling with panic. The women surrounding him looked like they had stepped out of a war goddess's dream. Each one wore armor fitted to her curves, some with weapons drawn, others with hands already glowing with magical energy.
But all of them had one thing in common:
Not fear of him—fear for what he might be.
"Should we kill him now before he spreads it?"
The words sliced through the haze of his awakening.
"I—" His voice cracked. It didn't sound like his voice. It was higher, softer, not as sharp-edged as the battlefield tone he knew.
Smaller frame. Paler hands. His wrists were thin, and glowing lines of some strange curse-mark pulsed up his forearms. His once-burned robe was replaced by ceremonial silk, purple and white, laced with golden thread.
This isn't my body...
> "System Notice: You have been reborn into Host Body 'Ryon Zareth' — Southern lineage, cursed rank."
"Warning: Host is afflicted with latent curse. Body integrity compromised. Time remaining: 7 days."
> [Quest: Form a Harem]
– Objective: Bind three women as Soul Wives.
– Time Limit: 7 days.
– Failure: Permanent death.
> Current Wives: 0 / 3
Virgin Souls Freed: 0 / 30
Matriarch Affection: 0%
The words floated in his vision like glowing glyphs only he could see.
Ryon swallowed hard, dread pooling in his stomach. What the hell kind of reincarnation is this?
"Take him to the chamber," one of the women snapped. "Let the high sister decide if he should live."
Two of the armored warriors stepped forward. Their grips were anything but gentle as they hauled him off the silk mattress and to his feet.
His legs nearly gave out. Everything ached. But the worst wasn't the pain.
It was the weight of dozens of eyes watching him—like he was a bomb ready to explode.
They marched him through a great hall unlike anything in the North. This wasn't a place of war; it was a temple, a palace, and a fortress rolled into one. Stained glass filtered in hues of violet and gold. Massive statues of women warriors towered along the walls, swords raised in silent command.
Not one face he could recognize.
Ryon stumbled slightly. One of the guards hissed and jabbed him with a spear handle. "Keep moving, curseborn."
The word again. Curseborn. It echoed like a sentence.
> System Update: The host body was previously branded as a 'curseborn' — the only male born in three centuries within Southern borders. Feared. Hated. Watched.
He'd been dropped into a nightmare. A cursed body in a world where men were believed extinct.
They shoved open a tall, iron door at the hall's end and dragged him into a smaller, dimly-lit chamber. Inside was a circular platform, etched with ancient runes. Candles flickered at the edges, and one lone figure sat cross-legged in the center.
She was young—barely older than him. But there was power radiating from her like a storm waiting to break. Her long crimson hair trailed behind her like fire, and her eyes burned with the calm cruelty of someone used to deciding life and death.
She didn't even look at him when she spoke.
"So. You finally woke up, brother."
He knew those eyes. They weren't just powerful—they were familiar.
> System Notification: Potential Wife Candidate Detected: Lyria Zareth. Role: Twin Sister. Danger Level: High.