Dungeon Overlord: Monster Girl Harem!

While Zafira pressed her body against Leonhardt's in the warmth of her silken bed, another chamber stirred—one wrapped in velvet darkness, tucked beneath the true throne.

Seven thrones formed a ring here. Smaller than their master's, but carved from the same bone and obsidian. They sat in silence... until the first voice broke through.

"She's clinging to him again."Lilim's words fell flat and reverent. Her fingers traced the side of her cracked horn as she leaned back, one leg draped over the arm of her chair. "He said she could sleep beside him, but not once did he look at me like that."

"You always say that," Nessa murmured, draped sideways over her own throne. Her voice was dreamy, breath thick with want. "Yet Master always lets you speak first."

"He only lets her speak because she mimics Zafira," Vyx chimed in from the floor, half-sprawled, legs bouncing. "It's creepy."

"It's devotion," Lilim snapped.

"It's weird," Vyx replied, grinning. "You even pause between words like she does."

A low hum came from Sera, who was curled with her thighs parted, tail coiled around her leg as she licked the base of her chair. "It doesn't matter who mimics who. None of us are in his bed."

"He touched my shoulder earlier," Nessa sighed.

"You were blocking the hallway," Vel said flatly from her seat, back straight, arms crossed, gaze like a spear that never wavered. "It wasn't affection. It was logistics."

"Liar. You noticed it too," Nessa breathed. "He lingered. I could feel his warmth hours after."

Across the room, Nyra sat at the base of her throne. She didn't speak. Only held a pillow Leonhardt had once used and pressed her forehead to it, her white hair veiling her expression.

Vyx bounced toward her on all fours. "You gonna share that pillow or keep sniffing it like a pervert?"

Nyra didn't respond.

But her arms tightened around it.

Lilim sighed and sat up straighter.

"We're not like Zafira. She was born of another realm. We are born of him. That makes us… purer."

"That makes us created," Sera purred. "And that's far more beautiful than seducing him."

Vel shifted slightly in her seat.

"I don't care who he touches," she said. "Only that he keeps choosing us."

There was a silence. Then:

"…Does he choose us?" Nessa whispered.

The question lingered like smoke.

Until Lilim stood.

"We will remind him," she said, voice steady. "And if we must wait… then we'll wait beneath his throne, like daughters should."

Lilim's declaration left a hum in the air.

Stillness.

Then Vyx rolled backwards, legs kicking over the top of her throne. "So… we're just waiting? That's boring."

"We're not just waiting," Lilim corrected, slipping off her throne and landing with a dancer's grace. "We serve. We watch. We improve."

"And what does that mean, exactly?" Nessa drawled, stretching like a cat. "Are we going to bathe his enemies in rosewater? Or sit on his lap and whisper prayers into his mouth?"

Vel's stare didn't shift. "We protect his throne."

"That's your job," Vyx said. "The rest of us have mouths and thighs, not fangs and threats."

"I have fangs," Sera added quietly, baring them in a faint grin. "But I'd rather use my tongue."

"I want to manage something!" Vyx bounced up. "Like… like maybe we help the goblins! They're gross and funny and strong. I'll be their flirt-captain. I'll make them want to win."

"You'll break them," Vel muttered.

Nessa shifted, her horns brushing the velvet wall behind her throne. "I want to oversee the dungeon's aesthetics. The halls are too grim. We need more mood lighting."

Lilim rolled her neck once. "I'll help Master directly. Document resource flows, evolve the mana-conduits, manage internal corruption."

"You mean spy," Vyx giggled.

"I mean improve efficiency," Lilim said coolly.

"I'll do wake-up duty," Sera added, licking her lips slowly. "Sylvie does it, doesn't she? With her mouth... I'll do it better."

"Denied," Vel said immediately.

"Too late," Sera hummed. "Already visualising it. I'll crawl under the sheets at dawn… wrap my lips around that gorgeous shaft, hum his name into the veins—"

"You'll choke to death," Lilim cut in flatly.

"Then I'll die doing what I love," Sera purred.

Nessa sighed dreamily. "If he moaned just once because of me, I'd never ask for anything again."

Nyra, still silent, stood slowly. She walked over to the scry-stone embedded in the far wall—a crystal mirror that occasionally flickered with a faint reflection of the throne room above. There was no image now. But she touched it gently.

"Papa… watches," she whispered.

They all fell quiet.

Because deep down, they believed that.

Vel stood last, unfolding her arms.

"If we truly wish to be of use," she said, "then we pick one goal. And commit."

Lilim narrowed her eyes. "Then vote."

They glanced at one another.

Then, slowly, each of them spoke.

One by one.

Each suggestion became worse than the last.

But all of them were trying—desperate in their own way—to carve a place not just in Leonhardt's heart…

…but in his future.

——

The morning began quietly.

Too quietly.

Leonhardt strode from his bedroom overlooking the city, robe half-tied, hair slightly damp. He had slept deeper than usual, but something tugged at the edge of his awareness. It wasn't dangerous.

It was… absurdity.

He turned toward the edge of the corridor—toward the view of the southern garden terrace.

And stopped.

"What the fuck is that."

Goblins in polished, glittering pink armour were posing with flowers behind their ears.

Griv appeared at his side moments later, not out of breath—because Griv never ran—but with a rare crease in his brow.

"My Lord," he said carefully, "you may wish to delay the public tour by… an hour."

"Explain."

Griv gestured delicately toward the garden.

"The Daughters of Desire awoke early. They apparently held a vote last night… and chose to offer their service."

Leonhardt raised a brow. "To the goblins?"

"To the domain," Griv said, adjusting his gloves. "Specifically, Vyx has taken charge of… morale and fashion initiatives. She threatened to 'glitter-fuck' anyone who refused to let her paint their weapons."

Leonhardt blinked once.

"…You let this happen?"

Griv gave him a tight-lipped smile. "The goblins refused to kill her. Apparently, she made them laugh. And she gave them chocolate."

Leonhardt pinched the bridge of his nose.

A second disturbance stirred to his right.

"Master Leonhardt!" came Nessa's soft, dreamlike voice. She emerged from behind a corner, arms full of plush silk pillows. "I've redesigned your council room! The seats now promote posture and sensual alignment!"

"Posture and what?"

She blinked sleepily. "Alignment. For your… aura flow."

A loud thud echoed from below.

Leonhardt leaned over the railing and saw Sera kneeling beside his throne, tongue out, licking the obsidian base while moaning softly.

"Purification," she breathed.

"Get. Her. Out."

"I volunteered," Sera called up defensively.

Another presence stirred from the eastern hall—Vel, stalking by with two human scouts in tow.

"I've conscripted new guards," she said simply. "They swore loyalty."

Leonhardt gave her a long look.

"They're in chains."

"They swore with blood."

"Chains."

"They're symbolic."

Leonhardt took a long breath.

He glanced behind him, toward the faint pulse of the throne room and felt it.

That twitch.

That faint pull.

They were watching.

Waiting.

"…They voted, didn't they," he muttered.

Griv coughed discreetly. "Unanimously, Sire."

Leonhardt turned away.

And for once, he didn't yell.

He just walked.

Toward the barracks.

Toward the goblins now sparring with glowing, heart-painted shields.

Somewhere behind him, Vyx giggled.

And Lilim whispered from the shadows:

"We're being useful, Master…"

——

"Griv, you decide on their tasks from now on. If they complain, tell them I won't let them use dungeon points to play."

Leonhardt exhaled.

'I should punish and guide them myself...'

[Haha hahaha!]

(It seems they are just like the one that created them, crazy!)

"Also, send Lilim to me."

He leaned back in his throne, fingers brushing the carved horn on one armrest, the scent of Sera's earlier antics still faint in the air. The moment he closed his eyes, he felt it again.

A presence.

Soft. Too light to hear. Too smooth to announce herself.

Then—

A weight.

Cool skin on his thighs. Long limbs curling.

Lilim settled in his lap without a word, her movement too fluid to be natural.

"You called, Master Leonhardt," she whispered, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

He opened one eye. "I should punish you."

Her breath caught. "I know…"

"You turned my throne room into a shrine."

"It is a shrine."

Leonhardt's hand cupped her chin, lifting it. Her eyes—far too wide, too still—reflected him perfectly.

"You're not Zafira," he said calmly.

"I don't want to be." Her voice dropped, soft and clear. "She's a visitor in your bed. I'm a piece of your will."

He stared at her.

She smiled faintly.

"…That's not the compliment you think it is."

"I'll work harder," she murmured. "Give me something useful."

"Fine," he said.

Leonhardt's tone shifted—low, direct, steady. "You'll oversee the scribe's den. The dungeon archive. Record every material we harvest. Every life we take. I want numbers, patterns, trends. Can you handle that?"

Lilim went still for a moment.

Then nodded.

"Good."

He tapped her thigh twice.

"Now get off."

She didn't move.

"…I'll get up when your lap stops being the warmest place in the dungeon."

Leonhardt sighed.

Ifrit laughed.

[She is just like you!]

(Weirdly, she's rubbing your crotch like that.)

His hand rose and flicked her forehead—light, but firm.

"Stop trying to seduce me!"

"But father..."

"No buts..."

"Ehehe~ want to see mine?"

"!!!!"

'These damn girls are going to make me into a sick beast!'

(It's not like you share blood...)

[Well, you are sick...]

"Oh!? It got big!"

Lilim smiled as if blessed.

And stayed exactly where she was.

"Get out!"