Dungeon Overlord: Monster Girl Harem!

The city was no longer dying.

It was reshaping.

From the open windows of the white citadel, Leonhardt watched the stone pathways fill with order. Blood had long dried in the cracks between bricks. The scorched flags of Astrea had been torn down, replaced with clean black cloth—simple, unmarked, awaiting his true banner.

For now, the city held its breath.

But not in fear.

In transition.

Below, human workers stacked bricks, painted signs, and scrubbed the walls where fire once kissed too deeply. Goblins patrolled alongside them, not snarling, not barking orders. Just present. Side by side. Watching.

A month ago, that would have been a joke.

Now it was the law.

"You look like a man trying not to enjoy his legacy," Zafira said behind him, golden eyes catching the late sun. Her arms crossed under her full chest, wings tucked tight, her voice somewhere between amusement and admiration.

Leonhardt leaned against the cold stone window ledge.

"I don't enjoy things until they stop moving."

[You're lying again!]

Ifrit whispered in his mind, her tone crisp and hot.

[You love this.]

[The silence before it all starts again... I don't know when you became so twisted...]

(And you've barely begun.)

Dravanna's voice curled softer, warmer than before, ever since he massacred most of Astrea, her tone and words became eerily affectionate and sultry.

(The filthy orcs stir in the west! Those dirty humans seek to march north and the damn demons don't know their place!)

"I know."

Leonhardt's power increased greatly after the fall of Astrea, even though he didn't realise that he could absorb and devour the essence of life through his minions when they killed things close to him...

All thanks to the secondary core of the incubus and how it absorbed energy from women, somehow it upgraded the world eater's core.

'The core of the world eater... paired with my incubus core, it's unfair.'

Though he couldn't deny that Ifrit, who cared deepest for him, was right. He became a little too anxious and sought more power and to make Erina his. That's why he sent her to the west with the others, to gain experience to grow and become a more fulfilling meal.

'Now I can focus on the future... those damned dungeon masters.'

Lina stood behind them both, hands folded neatly.

When Leonhardt entered the chamber, all three straightened.

Snaggle tucked his scroll under one arm.

"My King," he said quickly. "The new merchant taxes are set. Trade is flowing better than expected. Several villages have already sent tribute."

"Tribute?" Leonhardt raised a brow. "Or bribes?"

Snaggle grinned. "Bit of both, sire."

"Snaggle, I gave you control of wealth, but understand that you must not abuse it, increase your wages if needed. Tax the people at half the rate of their human counterparts."

"!!!!"

Snaggle gripped his chest, twisting his face as if suffering a severe heart attack, the notion of lowering taxes, probably beyond his ability to exist.

"Haha, you're so amusing."

Leonhardt couldn't help but chuckle—he knew Snaggle wouldn't defy him, and so he allowed such displays.

'Morale is important, after all...'

"Snaggle, you understand right?"

"...Y-Yes, Your Majesty."

Though not obvious, the moment he noticed the greedy glint in the goblin's eyes, Leonhardt's mana surged along the ground, and a searing lash brushed against his cheek.

Hanz simply nodded once and tapped a half-finished schematic on the table—reinforcement designs for the north wall. He didn't speak, but Leonhardt understood.

Lina bowed her head. "The people pray daily," she said softly. "For your mercy. For your strength."

He waved her off. "Let them pray. Just keep them working."

Snaggle chuckled.

But Lina bashed him with her elbow.

Leonhardt looked over the basin map.

The city had been divided into four sectors.

Two remained under human administration, observed by his goblin council.

One was goblin-controlled—home to Griv's operations and where Gobbolas had stationed his training archers.

The last sector… was his.

The citadel.

With help, he linked the dungeon to the citadel, while Gobomir would defend the outer citadel with his squires. Also, thanks to Ifrit and Dravanna they would return to the dungeon in a much cheaper and efficient manner.

But this was his personal domain.

And soon, his throne.

The inner citadel was a shell of white stone and dark tile, older than Astrea itself. Carved halls led to dead ends and hollow rooms, most of which had gone untouched for generations. But now, one chamber glowed.

Leonhardt stepped through its heavy double doors.

A subtle hum filled the space, barely audible but constant. Mana. Stabilised. Threaded into the very walls.

The bedroom he stood in was his now, not merely by claim, but by link.

Ifrit's gift.

The very room that Zafira designed, only twice the size... even the bed.

Thankfully, only he and people who have access to his room in the dungeon can enter this place, so there was no worry that an intruder could sneak inside.

A single enormous bed stood at the far end, sheets black and gold, etched with the sigil of the fire tree he'd conjured during his conquest.

A mirror of silver crystal hovered above the dresser—not for vanity, but scrying. Three embedded runes pulsed gently near the floor, their glow threading toward the heart of the citadel.

A corridor connected this room directly to the dungeon.

It had taken them days to secure the link. Ifrit had done most of the work, while Leonhardt carved the sigils with his blood.

He reached out and touched the frame of the mirror.

It pulsed once, then cracked with orange light—and the air shifted.

A door now stood at the far side of the chamber, one that hadn't existed a moment ago.

Beyond it: his dungeon throne room.

The link worked.

[You're welcome—make sure you don't forget it!]

Ifrit said, voice sultry but tired.

[You burn too many bridges not to leave yourself an escape route.]

(Or a bed to fuck your whores in...)

Dravanna added lazily.

Leonhardt smirked faintly. "You two always fight over the last word."

He walked to the bed and sank onto it, rolling his shoulders.

There were no guards in this part of the citadel.

He didn't need them.

Gobomir and his elite scouts had claimed the outer ring of the citadel like wolves—patrolling rooftops, alley shadows, and tunnel access points. They didn't sleep. Not in any way that mattered.

When asked why, Gobomir had only said:

"I serve the flame that rose from ash. Until it burns me—I watch."

Though he evolved and levelled up, this might be the limit of an ember goblin's language skills, but it was enough for Leonhardt.

There was no reason to force his goblins to change to suit him.

Leonhardt had accepted that without question.

His shadow wolf had grown too—fed by mana, by kills, by time. It now moved like a living blot of smoke, vanishing between buildings, appearing wherever Gobomir needed it.

The goblin knight had stopped asking for rewards.

He only asked to stay close.

So once a week, Leonhardt would meet with Gobomir, Gobbolas and the squires to drink beer together and have fun.

Leonhardt also insisted that during those meetings, he wasn't their king or master but another goblin like them.

'I can't say no to that...'

[He's yours...]

[Like the others.]

"Not like the others," Leonhardt muttered. "He's faithful by choice."

Dravanna's voice curled softly.

(They all are. That's the difference between you and the ones they called heroes. You don't promise light. You give them something real, even if it's soaked in darkness—and they choose it anyway.)

A knock sounded at the outer door.

Griv's voice filtered through, precise and polite.

"Sire. The throne room is prepared. And the envelope arrived."

Leonhardt didn't answer right away.

He stood, ran his fingers along the surface of the dungeon mirror again.

The pulse was stronger this time. As if something or someone was watching back.

The chamber fell silent once Leonhardt left.

The echo of his footsteps faded into the citadel stone… and then the mirror shimmered.

Zafira's reflection appeared first—golden eyes glowing faintly as she stepped through the still-open link, her long black hair trailing behind her like a shadow.

She crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps, eyes fixed on the bed, rumpled, still warm from his body, the sheets faintly clinging to his scent.

Her tail swayed once.

Then she leapt.

Not graceful.

Not regal.

No semblance of a succubus princess.

Zafira buried herself in the sheets as she bounced. Then wrapped them around her shoulders, her legs, her hips and clenched tightly around a pillow, and she pressed her face into the hollow where his neck had rested. Her wings shifted restlessly behind her, feathers twitching.

"…Still warm," she whispered.

She inhaled deeply, the scent making her eyes flutter.

Not cologne.

Not perfume.

Just him.

She rolled over, half-naked now, thighs tangled in the black-and-gold sheets, lips parted, a quiet, broken sound slipping free.

"Mine…"

Her tail coiled against her leg.

She didn't need him here to feel possessed.

Just the scent was enough—for now.

"Leon~ You were so cool today... Ahh~ how cute you look on that big white throne... please keep growing... as an incubus... How can I let you escape me!?"

Her eyes shone with a dull golden glow, as she bit her hand to muffle her moans, sliding two fingers inside her wet, welcoming hole and thinking about the man who just left.

Each day, her obsession and desire grew stronger.