Dungeon Overlord: Monster Girl Harem!

The throne felt warmer tonight.

Leonhardt sat alone, fingertips brushing the smooth armrest of the bone-forged seat, his mind far from the dungeon walls around him. The magical lights above flickered with low flame, casting amber shadows that danced across the black veins of crystal embedded in the floor.

The envelope was gone—burned.

But its weight still lingered.

"Zafira," he said, voice low but resonant.

A moment later, her presence bloomed behind him.

The air thickened with her scent—sweet spice, a trace of strawberry, and something darker, more indulgent as her presence grew his skin tingled with small bumps.

"Master," Zafira purred as she stepped down the curved stairway from the back chamber. Her heels tapped against the polished stone. Her tail trailed behind her, flicking once. "You finally called."

She wore no armour tonight—just a slit robe of deep black, split high at the thigh, her skin glowing faintly under the dungeon light. But her smile wasn't teasing.

It was worried.

"You've been quiet," she added. "Ever since that… thing appeared."

Leonhardt gazed up at her with a faint smile, his chin resting on his hands, before he asked the beautiful woman a question.

"What do you know about the Dungeon Master's Meeting?"

That made her pause.

Visibly.

Her golden eyes narrowed. "So it's come to that."

"I didn't think it would be this soon."

"Come, sit here."

Leonhardt didn't hold back with Zafira anymore.

Once he became an incubus, his understanding of her strange actions and why she took a distance when they first met became obvious.

Their pheromones were poison to others.

"It's never fair." She descended the rest of the way, her voice sharper now. "You conquered territory too fast. You're strong. You're male. That alone is enough to put a target on your back."

Leonhardt gestured lightly. "You've been to one?"

"No," Zafira said, coming to stand beside the throne. "But I've heard plenty. Even in the demon realms, the meetings are a matter of whispers and rumours. Some Dungeon Masters return stronger. Some vanish. Some… change."

He tilted his head. "Change?"

"Well, at the event, sometimes there are demons who wish to put one of their monsters in charge of another dungeon to keep their rivals and enemies in check. The issue is that your dungeon puts the entire human continent in check..."

The affectionate aura that pulsed from Zafira's body made Leonhardt comfortable.

"I cannot join you..."

"Ah, it would be dangerous."

He knew she wouldn't join him, all because that would make things difficult for him. Imagine a new F-Rank dungeon master appeared with the missing Demon Princess. That would buy him a lot of dangerous renown.

Her tail lashed behind her once. "You're going alone?"

"I might take one person."

Zafira's voice dropped lower. "Then be careful."

Leonhardt raised an eyebrow.

Zafira's tone wasn't just cautionary.

It was possessive.

And beneath that—something bitter.

Her claws curled.

"They'll be watching you, Master. Testing you. And if there are other demons—especially female ones—keep your distance."

Leonhardt's smirk returned. "Jealous?"

"You don't understand." Her voice hardened. "Female demons at these meetings… they're not like me. They're not loyal. They're sluts. Manipulative, vicious, and eager to sink their claws into any powerful male they think they can mount."

"Don't worry, I will be going with Nyxara."

Zafira didn't respond immediately.

Her eyes flicked to the side.

"...That damn elf," she said, quieter and more aggressively. "Of course."

Leonhardt chuckled under his breath, catching the shift in her scent, the faint drop in temperature that came from her body rather than the room. Her wings didn't open, but her tail had stiffened.

"Would you rather I take someone else?"

"I'd rather you stayed here," she snapped. "With me."

His eyes widened, her words slipping out by mistake as she blushed.

Leonhardt tilted his head.

She didn't look away—but her voice trembled, just faintly, with that sharp mix of shame and longing that only Zafira knew how to carry.

"You're mine..."

She spoke with a quiet and more lovely voice, twisting her face while gazing up at him with wet eyes as if to tempt him.

"Don't go..."

"I'm not yours!"

Zafira's body tensed.

"But you are mine."

That made her shiver.

She looked away, lips tight, biting back whatever pride wanted to rise.

Then she slowly stepped forward and sat on the edge of his throne—beside him, not on his lap, not touching—but close. Her thigh brushed his once before she adjusted, tail coiling loosely around the base of the chair like it wanted to claim territory.

"I won't stop you," she murmured. "You need this. I know that."

"Are you gonna cry?"

Zafira's eyes narrowed with a mischievous smirk growing on her lips. "I should cut off your cock for even asking."

"Then who will make you squeal?"

He yanked her closer and covered her lips with his, sucking her tongue before pulling back after a moment of passion.

His instant response and action shocked the succubus.

Leonhardt's aggressive action truly surprised her in a good way.

"Please. You'd miss it too much."

Zafira looked down.

Then exhaled, long and slow.

"I know what happens at those meetings. The masks. The lies. The contracts… sealed with seed, not ink. If one of them tries to charm you—one of those ancient demon lords, or a spirit queen—you'll be vulnerable."

"I'm not that easy."

"You're male," she said flatly. "And now that you're awakened, the wrong touch can be just as dangerous as the right one. You're not immune, and now neither are they... what if they become obsessed with you?"

Leonhardt's lips curled into a sharp smile, then he leaned close to her ear. "I only need one demon, and that's you."

Leonhardt watched her closely.

She wasn't lying.

This wasn't just jealousy.

It was fear.

Zafira leaned in closer, eyes sharp with something deeper now.

"Only I get to be that close to you. Only I."

She placed her hand on his chest, firm, fingers splayed. Her claws didn't press. They held.

"You don't need to fuck me to prove that. But… I need you to remember it."

Leonhardt looked down at her hand.

Then, back at her lovely face, and smiled with a nod.

—

Zafira stood slowly.

Then offered her hand.

"Come with me," her voice soft and silky, like melted caramel.

Leonhardt didn't ask where.

He followed her without a word, letting her lead him down one of the lesser-known corridors carved behind the throne platform—an entrance only she used, the second doorway like his, but it led to her room.

The path twisted downward, lit by seams of amber flame that pulsed as they passed.

Eventually, it opened into a hidden chamber—circular, silent, and alive with warmth.

The floor was dark marble, the walls laced with blood-coloured silk. At the centre lay a sunken pool carved directly into the stone, filled with hot water that shimmered faintly with purple mana as steam spread through the air.

This was no servant's bath.

It was hers.

And only hers.

"You've never invited me here," Leonhardt said.

Zafira didn't answer.

She stepped behind him, and her hands went to his cloak.

No words. No flourish. Just touch.

She undressed him in silence—unfastening clasps, peeling away fabric, pulling it down layer by layer. Her fingers lingered, not teasing, but memorising. Like every inch of his body might be different tomorrow, and she had to know it now.

Once he was bare, she guided him down into the pool. The heat caressed his skin, muscles easing as he sat along the submerged step.

"It smells like you... sweet and delicious."

"Really!?"

Zafira snapped back as Leonhardt commented, surprised that the entire pool smelled like her. Then she joined him, flinging off her robes, knees dipping into the water as she knelt behind him.

Her hands began to move—slow, precise, reverent.

With a rough cloth in hand, she rubbed his back, shoulders, arms and body. She traced the grooves of scars and wounds that healed badly, fresh from recent training or battles.

Tomorrow they might heal completely, so she wished to remember everything about him...

She cleaned as if he would vanish from her sight in the next moment.

"You can't let them touch you," she said, voice barely a breath. "No matter what they offer."

Leonhardt let her work.

"You'll return," she added. "You always return."

He loved the bath, it wasn't sexual or lewd, but calming and sensual. Her hands massaged his stiff muscles, and the tip of her tail pushed into the spots that needed more force, causing his joints to crack.

"So good..."

Afterwards, she helped him dry again in silence. Her claws were careful. Her gaze constantly straying lower than his chest.

Then she took him by the wrist and pulled him into the next chamber.

Her bedroom.

It was quiet.

Dim.

The bed was massive—dark red sheets, heavy drapery, pillows still shaped by her body. It smelled like her. Sweet spice. Mana. Desire.

Zafira pulled him down with her. No kiss. No invitation. Just a sharp tug.

She pressed her face against his chest before throwing her leg over his thigh, tail wrapping loosely around his ankle.

And there they lay.

Wrapped in quiet, the room started to heat from the mana crystals around the bed... it was strange, neither erotic nor boring.

'I'm feeling sleepy...'

Just before sleep, her voice reached him again—soft, nearly childish.

"Sleep well, my Leon."

She didn't let go of him all night.