Dungeon Overlord: Monster Girl Harem!

The chain around her neck tugged every few steps, reminding her to whom she belonged. Not like she could forget.

Each link rubbed against her collarbone, hot with the touch of his magic. Leonhardt hadn't looked at her once since they left the barricades. His presence lived under her skin now, like a second pulse. Every breath she took, every tremble in her thighs, answered to him.

Even now, she hated herself for the way her body moved behind him. Too willingly. Her legs should've been too weak. She should've collapsed again, but her every fibre yearned for his touch, his taste... his...

But no—her body chased him.

Her crotch throbbed with each echo of his boots on the stone.

This isn't me.

This is his magic…

It's still in me.

He made me like this.

That lie had become her anchor.

It was easier to think she was still a victim than admit she wanted to kneel again.

She barely noticed when they reached the plaza outside The Last Call. Flames reflected in shattered glass. The door opened with a groan, and Endo stepped into the light.

Her knees nearly gave out.

It had only been a few days, maybe a week. Time became a little strange after meeting Leonhardt, but why... why did he look like a stranger?

His jacket was stained, blade already drawn, and a flat expression, not angry. Just tired. When his eyes found Dia, she flinched.

He didn't say her name.

He said nothing.

She spoke first.

"Endo…"

He stared at her for a long time.

His lips parted—then closed again.

Then came the words:

"You let him chain you."

She wanted to shake her head. She wanted to fall to her knees and beg him to stop looking at her like that. Not because of what he said—because she didn't feel sorry.

Not really.

"I didn't…" Her voice cracked as she tried to explain herself. "I didn't mean to—"

Yet he just scowled at her, like seeing a pile of dirt. "I bet you loved it, you filthy bitch."

Dia's mouth went dry.

Leonhardt stood silent, unmoved by the situation. The chain in his hand went slack, as if he were letting her answer for herself.

"You screamed for me once," Endo said quietly. "Did it sound the same?"

"I don't…" She closed her eyes. "I don't remember."

Lie.

She remembered everything.

She remembered the stretch. The shape. The way Leonhardt made her beg without touching her. The way she came without permission.

And now Endo was looking at her like she was filth.

She deserved it.

So why did it hurt less than it should?

A voice whispered in her ears, but the voice wasn't anyone's but her own...

Because you've already decided, haven't you?

He broke you once, and you're scared of what happens if he doesn't break you again.

That sweet pleasure that no human man could give you.

Can you truly return to a life without it?

"Dia," Endo said, stepping forward.

Leonhardt raised one hand, palm open.

"Touch her," he said softly, "and I'll put your hands on the wall next."

The chain pulled tight again.

And her knees did give out.

But not from fear.

From the way her body ached to hear his voice more.

"Last chance," he said to Leonhardt. "Walk away."

Leonhardt exhaled, bored.

"I did," he said. "And she followed."

Dia's chest rose sharply, a pleasant and hot shame burned in her throat and spread through her body, causing her mind to turn blank. She wanted to scream out, to stop them and undo this whole moment. But the only thing she could do was fall.

Again.

And pray one of them didn't make her break in front of the other.

The blade sang when it struck.

Not metal on metal.

Metal on silence.

Endo moved first—always did. She remembered that about him. Fast, decisive, sharp. His body turned low with the first swing, not aiming to kill but to test. Draw blood. Gauge distance.

Leonhardt didn't flinch.

He parried without moving his feet. Steel scraped, sparks spun in the ash, and the force of Endo's strike drove a tremor through the flagstones.

Dia couldn't breathe.

Her chains clinked softly when her body shifted around, trying to avoid this sight, arms still bound, the cloak slipping from her shoulders, but she couldn't fix it.

Didn't move.

She watched.

And all she could think was—

Please… don't let him win.

She didn't even know who she meant.

Endo swung again—a wide arc aimed at the ribs. Then a faint. Blade reversed direction, shifting upward to cleave Leonhardt's shoulder.

She'd seen him kill men with that move.

Leonhardt tilted his head.

Then stepped inside it.

Dia gasped.

The blade passed just behind Leonhardt's ear. Endo's eyes widened a fraction—he realised too late.

Leonhardt's elbow slammed into his sternum. A sharp, controlled strike—enough to knock air from the lungs, nothing more. Enough to say:

You're not faster than me anymore.

Endo staggered back.

Dia's hands clenched into the dirt.

Her thighs pressed together.

She could feel the moisture again. Wet, aching, building between her legs as her body reacted.

Not to fear.

To Leonhardt.

To his calm.

To his control.

The way he was winning without rage.

Endo cursed under his breath.

"You've changed."

Leonhardt smirked, but said nothing.

His body crackled with a strange black lightning—Leon's muscles tightened, and her eyes focused on his muscles... tight, sculpted... and alluring.

Another exchange. Quick. Two blades flashing in the air between them. Endo cut low. Leonhardt stepped back and twisted, slicing open Endo's upper arm with the edge of his sword. A clean line. Blood spilt down Endo's sleeve.

Dia whimpered.

Her body clenched.

The only thoughts that entered her mind were the feeling of being ordered by Leonhardt when he told her to complete obscene demands... and how it made her body bloom with a heat she had never experienced.

Dia couldn't remember Endo... not his touch, his voice or... his love.

But now she didn't even want those hands.

She wanted Leonhardt's.

Even if they never touched her again.

Even if he left her chained and ruined.

Even if he never kissed her mouth and only used her holes—

She wanted.

Endo roared, leaping forward in a full-body thrust, his speed increasing with each attack, the force causing the ground to crack.

Leonhardt didn't move.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't step back.

He lifted his greatsword, blocked the blow with the blade and then pushed the hilt, smashing Endo's chest with the pommel.

This time with mana.

Fire.

A flash of black heat ignited against Endo's ribs and sent him skidding backwards across the stone, sparks flying from his boots.

Dia covered her mouth.

Endo groaned.

Leonhardt stepped forward.

No fear. No fury.

Just inevitability.

He's already won, she thought. And I… I want him to.

"Why?" she whispered to herself.

Why do I want him to win?

Because she needed it to end.

Because if Leonhardt lost, she'd lose herself.

But if he won—

Then maybe she'd finally be allowed to stop suffering with this agonising hunger inside.

Endo was bleeding—but he was far from dead.

Dia recognised the look in his eyes.

That cold, righteous fury. The same one he used when interrogations went too far. The same one he wore when he made her kneel in apology for disobeying his orders. When he said things like, "You should feel lucky I still want you."

Now he was staring at Leonhardt with that same intensity.

And her body didn't tremble in fear.

It pulsed with relief.

Endo dropped his stance low, blade reversed, weight shifting.

Leonhardt narrowed his eyes.

Then Endo vanished.

Steel clashed near her. Sparks burst into the air. Leonhardt caught the strike just in time, blocking the full force with a raised blade—but the impact cracked stone beneath their feet.

Endo rushed forward, attacking with several silver arcs. He moved like a phantom—cutting high, low, fainting, slashing. Dia saw Leonhardt take two shallow cuts. One across the cheek. One at his side. One ripped his shirt.

Her breath stopped, she couldn't breathe... why did she feel so anxious, so upset?

He's getting hit.

Panic bloomed in her heart, and this feeling, she hated it.

Endo shouted, blade raised high—

Leonhardt's blade stopped his last attack, blood running down his arms, before he countered... throwing his body forward with a brutal headbutt.

Dia flinched at the sound.

Endo reeled back.

Leonhardt followed—calm. Measured. Striking not like a man defending, but a man deciding he wanted blood, his greatsword howling as it tore through the air from below them, cutting across Endo's chest with a wet, sticky slash.

Endo spat blood and lunged again—his strike caught Leonhardt's shoulder this time, clean and deep. Blood sprayed.

Leonhardt didn't back off.

He stepped into the pain.

Dia felt it in her stomach. Her thighs. She clenched involuntarily.

Why am I afraid?

No… why do I want Leonhardt to keep going?

She remembered Endo's punishments. His silent judgment. How he dismissed her when she cried. How he told her pain made her stronger, and meant it.

He never loved me.

Leonhardt dropped his sword.

"No!"

The word slipped out—reflex.

But he wasn't surrendering.

He was done playing.

He caught Endo mid-swing. Twisted. Slammed his elbow into Endo's jaw—once, twice, three times. The blade clattered to the ground. Leonhardt spun, grappled him, and smashed him into the nearest wall. The force sent a shudder through the plaza.

Endo gasped.

Leonhardt whispered:

"You're weaker than the last time."

Endo spat blood. "You're not even human anymore."

"When did I ever claim to be human? Fool!"

Leonhardt pulled him forward and buried a blade into his side.

Dia gasped.

She didn't want to—but the sound escaped. And she hated that it didn't come from fear.

She crawled forward.

Endo sank to his knees, with his blood oozing from the wounds, trembling without power.

He looked at her with empty, emotional eyes; there was no hate... only sorrow.

Just beaten.

"Dia..." His voice was hoarse. "You are mine!"

She froze.

That voice.

That possessive weight in it.

That claim.

She snapped.

Her hands found a dagger on the ground. She didn't think—she felt. Her fingers tightened around the hilt. Her chest rose. Something in her vision twisted, and her thoughts became a blur of red and violet.

She heard her voice, it was different, sounding low and shaking:

"No. I was never yours."

Her eyes flashed purple.

And she drove the dagger into his chest.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Again.

Again.

She didn't cry.

She didn't scream.

She stabbed until his breath stopped.

Until her arms shook.

Until the chain at her neck pulled her back, gently.

Leonhardt had not moved.

He didn't stop her.

When she finally dropped the blade, her body slackened. Blood clung to her hands, her chest, her thighs. She collapsed to her knees beside Endo's lifeless body.

Leonhardt stepped closer.

She tilted her head back.

And smiled.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her lips trembled, not from sorrow, but from release.

"…I'm yours," she whispered.

Her voice cracked.

"I was always yours."

Leonhardt didn't speak.

But when he turned away, the chain pulled gently, and she followed.

Without resistance.

Without thought.

And without regret.