Forced to Be a Good Guy, I Brainwashed Every Woman in the Court Into a Mad Dog for Me

In his past life, he razed cities and slaughtered nations in pursuit of immortality. In this life, the System has him shackled to a "benevolent saint" persona — the Crown Prince mocks him as a fool, the Imperial Consort smiles at him like a lamb led to slaughter. But they have no idea: the orphan girl he took in draws secret dossiers of every court official by candlelight; the assassin he spared now kneels at his feet, serving as his mount; the genius boy he mentored whispers only one word in the shadows — "Master." By the time the Twelve Shadow Guards take their places, by the time every Buddha and demon in the court dance to his tune, the System finally realizes — beneath this flawless mask of "goodness," every inch of his flesh is soaked with a madness and desire far darker than any demon's. He isn't doing good deeds — he's weaving a web with kindness as his silk. Saving a maid? That's an ear planted beside the consort's bed. Adopting a forsaken girl? That's an eye raised beyond the cold palace walls. Sparing a defeated general? That's a wildcard buried deep in enemy ranks. Granting a healing elixir? That's honey glazed over a fatal poison. Every act the System logs as "+1 Virtue" becomes, in the shadows, a key that unlocks the locks of the inner court, the imperial council, and the jianghu beyond. The Crown Prince's faction crumbles from a single whisper of "mercy"; the Consort's web unravels from one act of "gentle submission." The other princes' blades haven't even left their sheaths before he gently pushes them back in with an innocent smile. But the greatest variable is the very people he pulled from the mud — His Shadow Guard, taking an arrow for him, murmurs: "My life is yours. My soul too." His spy, passing him a secret report with trembling fingers, asks: "Master… whose throat shall I slit this time?" His "mount," shifting back to human form, licks the blood from his cuff and purrs: "You're even more intoxicating than in your past life." They were supposed to be his chess pieces — yet one by one, they try to pry open that heart the System marked as "pure." Until one night, the System's alarms blare in frantic red: [WARNING: Host's Corruption Value Dropped to ZERO — ERROR! ERROR!] He wipes the smile from his lips, gazing into the bronze mirror. Behind his reflection, twelve dark silhouettes kneel in perfect unison.