Harem System: Invincibility Starts with Marriage and lots of Children

"What? A religion?" I repeated, confused. The man stood before me, his expression calm but expectant, waiting for an answer I wasn't sure I could give.

For me, religion was always a vague concept. I wasn't an atheist; I believed in the possibility of a higher power, much like how people speculate about aliens.

If aliens could exist somewhere in the vastness of the universe even though humans don't have proof, then perhaps God did too—somewhere beyond human comprehension, watching over everything.

But I never truly followed a religion.

Life was a constant struggle, and I had little time to focus on faith.

The cultural values my parents had instilled in me were the closest thing I had to a belief system.

Religion, in my eyes, often felt like a set of organized cults—each offering promises of salvation or blessings, each vying for followers under the banner of their chosen God.

For someone like me, who preferred the open sky and the freedom to think without constraints, it was hard to embrace the idea of belonging to any one of them.

Logically, I knew that just because I hadn't seen God or had no proof of His existence didn't mean I could deny it.

But the idea of dedicating myself to a religion, of placing unwavering faith in a particular deity?

That was something I had never done.

"Why does my religion matter?" I asked, my voice hesitant yet curious. Despite my confusion, I was beginning to understand the weight of the situation.

The man gestured toward the enormous wall of gates behind him. "You see those gates, Ryan? Your religion will narrow down the options. It will eliminate the ones irrelevant to your beliefs and leave only the paths that align with your religion."

"What?" I blinked, my eyes drawn to the countless gates lining the wall.

They came in all shapes and sizes—some pristine and glowing, others cracked, corroded, or overrun with mold.

Each door seemed to tell its own story, carrying an air of mystery and significance.

Was my religion supposed to decide which one I would walk through?

"But… what if I don't have a religion? And why does choosing a path even matter?" I asked, my mind racing with questions I couldn't articulate clearly.

"Religion," the man said, his voice calm and deliberate, "has changed its form and purpose over time. Old religions have faded into history, replaced by new ones. But at its core, religion is a guide—a path that leads you to peace."

"Peace?" I echoed, unsure. "Isn't it supposed to lead us to God?"

The man raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "God? Which God? Each religion has its own."

His words made sense, but they also stirred more questions. 'Peace? But isn't God the source of peace?' I wanted to argue, but I stopped as my thoughts began to unravel his logic.

Peace… It's a concept that changes with time, doesn't it?

For a newborn, peace is found in their mother's embrace.

As they grow, peace becomes the stability of a good life—a luxurious, healthy lifestyle.

And in old age, peace transforms into the desire for eternal rest.

The definition of peace evolves with each stage of life.

Perhaps, then, religion exists to provide a stable path toward finding that peace, no matter how it is defined.

"So… religion makes the journey toward peace easier?" I asked, my voice quieter this time, more contemplative.

The man nodded. "It's upto you to decide, It's general for one to not understand other's though process, So decide yourself, what peace excatly is for you?"

"My peace?" I repeated, the question hanging in the air like an unsolvable riddle. Standing there, facing the unknown, I realized I had no clear answer. The definition of peace changes over time, doesn't it?

For me, peace had been a fleeting luxury—a rare moment of calm in a life constantly pulled in different directions.

I had never truly experienced peace in its purest form.

I lived paycheck to paycheck, struggling to meet ends, my life dominated by the grind of survival.

But there were things, small moments, that kept me grounded—reading fantasy stories, for example.

In those stories, I could escape the harsh reality of my own life, if only for a brief while.

So if I were to define peace now, it might be that book's story—a simple narrative that offered a glimpse of freedom.

But deep down, I knew I wasn't sure what true peace felt like.

I had only experienced a kind of peace of mind, a break from reality, but nothing more.

Before I could dwell on this any longer, the silence was shattered by a voice.

"Are you just going to chit-chat or take us to Yam?" The woman, the one who had been silent until now, shot a glance at the man standing beside me.

Her words stirred something in my mind. Yam. Gupta.

Weren't those names from Asian mythologies? Specifically, Gupta in Hinduism—who oversaw the karma of others—and Yam, the judge of those same souls?

The man's smile flickered as he nodded. "Let's move to the hell door, then."

With a snap of his fingers, everything changed. One of the many doors on the wall before us seemed to zoom in on us, growing larger as the other doors around it shrank into the background.

And before I could even process what was happening, we were sucked into it, as if it wasn't us passing through the door, but the door devouring us whole.

What I saw next was nothing like I expected.

Clouds stretched endlessly before us, their soft, billowy forms surrounding a palace that gleamed in the distance, its marble walls radiant.

Flowers bloomed everywhere, their colors vibrant, filling the air with their fragrance.

The place looked more heavenly than anything I had ever imagined—and it certainly didn't resemble the hell I had been expecting.

"KEKE! HOW WAS THE BEAUTY CREAM, REAPER?"

A mocking voice broke through my thoughts. Turning quickly, I spotted a desk in the corner of the room, with a chair behind it.

Seated at the desk was a figure—a man with red skin, ears that jutted out slightly, and large, intense eyes.

Despite his unusual appearance, there was something irresistibly attractive about him, almost captivating.

Even though my mind was detached, analyzing his appearance through the memories of the body I inhabited, I couldn't help but acknowledge that he was the most strikingly handsome person I had ever seen.

The woman accompanying me reacted violently.

"YOU SATAN! IT WAS YOU, DON'T YOU?!" Her voice was laced with fury as she slammed her hands down on the desk. She glared at the man with pure hatred, her face twisted in a mix of jealousy and rage.

'Satan?' I thought, trying to piece together what was happening. The name resonated with me, its association with various mythologies—Hinduism, Christianity, Judaism, Islam, and others.

And now that I saw the man in front of me, I understood the resemblance.

He looked like what many would describe as Satan, but what was puzzling was how attractive he was, how he exuded a charm that was anything but terrifying.

The roles seemed reversed—he should be the one to instill fear, but instead, he seemed to draw people in.

"Evil is alluring while death is terrifying, Ryan. It's natural, no need to feel confused," the man beside me said, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I glanced at him, and with a small nod, I acknowledged his words.

"KEKE! SHOO, GO GO, TAKE THE JUDGEMENT FROM YAM," Satan said in a mockingly cheerful tone, poking his teeth with his fingernail as he gestured toward the reaper.

His other hand made a dismissive motion, as if waving her away like an annoying fly.

The woman, her anger boiling over, clenched her teeth again before slamming her fist onto the desk once more.

With a furious huff, she stormed out toward the palace, which, despite everything, did not seem at all like the hell I had imagined.

'Is this really hell?' I thought, still in disbelief.

Despite the mention of Satan, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was in a place that felt more like heaven than hell.

The clouds, the people floating serenely, the peaceful atmosphere—it wasn't what I had expected from a place of eternal torment.

"What do you think hell is, Ryan?" The man asked me, breaking my reverie as he walked toward the palace, his tone casual yet probing.

"A place that tortures the evil souls?" I said, my answer coming from the stories I had heard and the mythology I had been exposed to. Hell was always portrayed as a place of suffering, a realm for those who had wronged others.

"Quite an intriguing definition you have there, but" The man mused, amusement in his voice. "Hell is a place where people are diverted from true peace, moving in the opposite direction of their heaven, trapped in an unending illusion of peace."

"…But isn't that still not torture?" I asked, my thoughts churning.

Even if it was an illusion, the people here were living peaceful lives.

No flames, no burning, no agony—just the comfort of an endless, peaceful existence.

"You want others to be fried and tortured for their sins?," the man explained, his voice thoughtful. "Isn't you also commiting a sin right now."

Once again, his words only deepened the confusion in my mind.

It seemed like no matter how much I spoke to this man or how much time I spent in this place, I would never truly understand.

Every answer seemed to lead to more questions.

The idea of heaven and hell, of justice and judgment, it all seemed so elusive here—so subjective.

In the end, it made me question everything I had believed.

It was clear that the words told to people about evil people burning in hell or suffering for their karma were all lies, lies fabricated so that people would start to believe in God.

A God who doesn't even care about the suffering of others...

'!!'

'Wait…' I stopped, my hand going to my forehead as a realization hit me.

Something was wrong with my thought process.

I quickly snapped my head around to look at the man with the red skin, who was now grinning at me.

His eyes glinted with amusement as he waved at me.

'S-satan…'