Dungeon Overlord: Monster Girl Harem!

The private chamber adjacent to the throne room shimmered with light from dozens of floating glyphs. They spun slowly overhead, humming like a beehive spun from mana and old promises.

Leonhardt stood at the centre, arms crossed, coat shrugged over one shoulder.

The two women stood across from him, Zafira crossing her arms under her breasts with wings twitching slightly, from her excitement and Erina, still stiff and hesitant and wearing her travel clothes, a little out of place.

A small pedestal stood in the centre of the room, with two items floating over the surface.

A sleek black mask shaped like a wolf's snarl, etched with faint red runes and a silver one, painted gold along the edges, smiling like a silent fox.

He tapped the side of the pedestal lightly.

"Choose," he said.

Zafira didn't hesitate.

Her hand slid out first, snatching the wolf mask between two delicate fingers. She tilted it toward the light, inspecting the sharp teeth and narrow slits for eyes.

"Fitting," she purred, slipping it over her face in one smooth, practised motion. Her golden gaze gleamed through the openings, sharper now, more feral. Like she'd only been waiting for permission to show her real fangs.

Leonhardt watched her without comment.

Erina, meanwhile, hovered near the pedestal, her fingers twitching at her sides.

She stared at the fox mask, the soft porcelain curve smiling back at her in silence. A mask that contained cleverness... and deceit.

Her lip quivered, almost imperceptibly.

Leonhardt stepped closer, his boots whispering across the stone floor. When he stopped beside her, the temperature seemed to drop, not cold, but heavy.

"You hesitate," he said, voice low, threading into her ear like a hand brushing her hair.

Erina startled slightly, blinking up at him.

"I... it feels wrong," she whispered. "To hide."

Leonhardt tilted his head, studying her like a craftsman might study a cracked blade.

"Wrong?" he repeated, savouring the word. "No. Wrong is lying to yourself."

He reached out and brushed past her cheek before nudging the fox mask closer to her chest. "This is for survival, Erina," he said. "This is freedom, painted in another shape."

Erina remained still for a moment, taking slow, deep breaths. Then, slowly, Erina lifted the mask with both hands and pressed it against her face.

When she looked at him through the golden edges, something subtle shifted in the air. The helplessness dimmed. A flicker of something dangerous, yet buried deep, still raw, rose behind her green eyes.

Leonhardt smiled, just slightly.

Good.

Leonhardt reached into the side compartment of the pedestal—a shallow drawer built into the stone. A soft click, a pull, and two thick, folded bundles of fabric emerged, each tied with black velvet cord.

He handed the first to Zafira without a word.

The second, he extended toward Erina.

"Change," he ordered simply.

Zafira didn't bother walking to the alcove.

The moment Leonhardt turned his back to toss the second bundle to Erina, she tugged the knot free on the velvet cord and let her gown pool at her ankles with a careless sweep of her wings.

Erina froze mid-breath.

Zafira stood with a faint smile, brazen and bare under the dim rune-light. She happily revealed every luscious inch of her body, of shameless sin. Her hips swayed with plump curves bouncing with her movements, heavy, rounded breasts with pink buds, a narrow, bee-like waist and hips that spread into a dangerous curve...

A succubus born to seduce and dominate men.

Her long legs were perfectly toned, skin shining faintly as if kissed by the very air.

Erina's throat closed up.

For a heartbeat, she simply stared, mouth parted slightly behind the fox mask.

She jolted when Zafira gave her a sly glance over one bare shoulder, golden eyes gleaming.

"Ara? What's wrong, little priestess?" Zafira purred. "Shy?"

Leonhardt, still seated lazily on the throne, shifted his gaze to watch, without even pretending to look away.

Erina flushed.

Panic overtook sense. In her mind, this must be what's expected.

Her fingers fumbled while unfastening her coat, trembling with the buttons. The heavy cloak floated to the ground, revealing a simple white tunic, pulled over her head... then with a messy flop... Erina's swollen mounds slapped against her chest, jiggling slightly.

When she fumbled for the belt of her pants, she heard Zafira's giggle—but it was too late.

Her underwear, loose without the belt's support, slipped down her hips and fell with a whisper to the polished stone floor.

Erina gasped.

Her bare breasts bounced slightly as she covered her chest with both arms, trying to turn and scoop the undergarments up, but not before Leonhardt caught full sight of her.

Pale pink, a slight bell shape...

A modest but delicious curve to her breasts, taut with tension.

And lower...

The soft, shy curls between her thighs, pale gold like the hair on her head, glistening slightly from the heat of the room.

For a long, slow moment, nobody said anything.

Zafira licked her lips.

Leonhardt simply watched, his crimson eyes half-lidded, silent.

He let her squirm. Let her panic. Let her struggle to hide herself behind the heavy fabrics she dropped, before speaking, deliberately late:

"You didn't have to strip completely, Erina."

His voice, low and warm, wrapped around her trembling form like a second skin.

Erina squeaked—a pathetic, utterly adorable noise—and scrambled to yank the new outfit over herself without any grace at all.

Meanwhile, Zafira was already halfway into her own auction attire, humming under her breath like a woman completely at ease with being devoured by male eyes.

Leonhardt smirked faintly.

'Not bad,' he mused. 'They'll steal every eye at the auction.'

Especially with how embarrassed one was—and how utterly shameless the other could be.

He leaned his cheek against one hand, lounging on the throne like a lazy king.

"Move faster, little priestess," he murmured. "Or I'll dress you myself."

Erina fumbled faster, cheeks burning so fiercely she thought she might ignite on the spot. Somehow, between desperate tugs and panicked shuffling, she got the new outfit halfway onto her trembling body—a sleek crimson and black ensemble that clung too closely for her modesty.

Leonhardt watched without speaking.

Something curious pricked at the edge of his senses as she dressed.

Her scent.

Before, it had carried the sharp, irritating sting of holy magic—like a priest's incense burning too close to the skin. Now... it was softer. Duller. The acrid gold had begun to fade, replaced by something faintly sweet, like crushed lilies after rain.

Almost… tolerable.

Almost alluring.

'Is it because of me?' he wondered. His crimson gaze sharpened slightly, tracking the trembling curve of her bare back before she yanked the tunic into place.

The divine hue around her body—the faint shimmer he always saw on church-blessed fools—was almost gone. No halo. No warning light. Just a girl, standing clumsily in the middle of his dark empire, her innocence slowly bleeding away under his shadow.

Fascinating.

Leonhardt filed that thought away for later and rose from his throne, boots clicking on the black marble.

Zafira finished first, of course. She turned, twirling once on the balls of her bare feet, the high slit of her dress flashing a scandalous glimpse of the rich skin beneath.

"My King," she said, voice dripping with smoky humour. "Am I worthy?"

Leonhardt didn't answer immediately.

He stepped down from his throne and slipped between the women, eyes fixated on Zafira's charming form, lingering on her exposed throat, the subtle curve of her breasts swelling against the deep neckline.

His gaze was clinical. Predatory. Approval flashed behind his crimson irises.

"You look too beautiful... I don't know how many men I might have to slay tonight." His low voice filled with bemusement as he winked at the succubus.

Zafira's wings fluttered slightly at the praise, preening under his gaze.

Then he shifted his attention to the other woman, Erina...

Erina stood like a statue, rigid and full of nerves. Her hands wrapped firmly around her chest, with a flushed face, able to remember Leonhardt's gaze upon her breasts and crotch, the sheer thought bringing more heat to her abdomen... a lustful and sinful heat.

Yet Leonhardt found her to look stunning, her outfit hugging her figure like an affectionate lover, tight around the waist, hinting at the soft swell of her hips, and the tight corset emphasising her peach orbs.

Leonhardt approached her slowly. Each step was measured. Each glance deliberate.

Erina tried not to flinch as he stopped just in front of her, towering over her smaller frame. Slowly, Leonhardt reached out, brushing a gloved thumb along the stiff collar of her dress, adjusting it by a fraction.

She couldn't believe that he would be so gentle, so comforting.

"There, beautiful." His voice was soft like cotton sliding down her back. "Now you look... almost proper."

Erina's heart nearly broke through her ribs.

Zafira, from behind, grinned like a cat who knew exactly what she was watching.

Leonhardt stepped back, surveying both women once more.

He dressed Zafira like the chained rose on the envelope... and Erina... the saintess in a sinful red dress filled with sex appeal.

"Perfect," he said finally. "Let's go."