Dungeon Overlord: Monster Girl Harem!

The black marble beneath their feet trembled slightly as ancient glyphs activated deep below the throne room. A rumbling, low and patient, stirred the air.

From the far end of the hall, Griv appeared—almost floating rather than walking, so light were his nimble steps. His butler coat was slightly crooked, a monocle perched awkwardly over one yellow eye, and he bowed so deeply it seemed his back might snap.

"My Lord, the portal has been summoned. All awaits your illustrious command," he said, his voice oozing an aristocratic purr. "Might I suggest a cloak for the Young Miss? She seems... ripe for the picking."

Erina stiffened, pulling her travel cloak tighter around her flushed body.Zafira gave a soft, wicked laugh.

Leonhardt's gaze flicked lazily toward Griv."Let them see," he said simply.

The words dropped into the silence like stones into a still pond.

Griv, ever the professional, simply grinned wider and turned on his heel, leading the way across the dark hall.

The way down was through a wide, descending corridor carved into the living stone—an ancient, spiralling staircase that felt too vast and too intimate at once. Magical lights filled with mana flickered along the walls, creating blue light as they approached their destination.

The weight of history pressed down harder with every step.

Erina stumbled once, her boots slipping on the smooth black stone. Zafira caught her elbow with a grip that was soft... and slightly too warm.

"You'll grow used to it," Zafira murmured close to her ear, voice silky. "The dungeon likes to test new blood."

Leonhardt said nothing, but she could feel his presence ahead, steady and unshakable.

The lower portal chamber opened before them—a vast cathedral of shadow, the high ceiling lost in mist. In the centre, a massive gate hovered, suspended over a pit of swirling blue and violet light. Runes crawled across its metallic surface, alive and shifting, like veins in a sleeping giant.

Griv stopped before the edge and turned, spreading his arms dramatically.

"Your chariot, Sire," he announced. "Direct to infamy."

Leonhardt shot him a withering look. "Bite your tongue, or I'll hang you from the castle walls."

Griv bowed even lower, lips twitching. "As my Master wills it."

Without hesitation, Leonhardt stepped forward. The portal rippled as he approached—no roar, no blinding light. It simply accepted him, swallowing him whole like a lover's sigh.

Zafira gave Erina a playful wink before striding after him, her wings flaring slightly as she slipped through the veil.

Erina stood alone at the edge.

The blue portal hummed with a shivering movement like a heart beating.

Erina gripped the pendant beneath her tunic, feeling the heavy waves of mana washing over her, before she stepped forward and entered the blue light.

The portal embraced her.

And the world dissolved into mist and memory.

The portal snapped shut behind them.

Magic hissed against the black stones, mist curling low like something wounded.

Leonhardt stepped out first, boots striking the ground with a sound too sharp for this place.

"Stay close," he said—voice low, cutting across the silence.

Zafira's wings folded tighter behind her back, her golden eyes gleaming. She matched his pace without a word, predatory grace in every step.

Behind them, Erina hesitated.

Her boots scraped against the stones. She caught herself—too slow.

"This place..." she whispered, green eyes darting between twisted statues and black banners stitched with thorns. "It's wrong."

Leonhardt adjusted the cuffs of his coat with a sharp flick, the stitched fabric relaxing around him like a second skin. Behind him, the sound of wings folding tight broke the stillness.

Zafira's body wrapped in a charming air, as she filtered the foul air.

"You're not wrong," he said. "Keep moving."

The air smelled of burnt copper and rotten incense. The scent of prayers abandoned long ago.

Further back, Erina hesitated.

One foot scraped against the blackened stone. A stumble she tried to hide. Her green eyes darted between towering gates and crooked statues, wide with something caught between awe and dread.

Leonhardt didn't look back.

He didn't need to.

The city stretched ahead like a corpse garden.

Twisted towers hunched against a bruised sky, their bones fused with black iron. Lanterns swung from skeletal poles, bleeding sick green light onto the crowds below. No flags. No kingdoms. Only black banners stitched with thorns and bleeding roses.

Ahead, the city opened its jaws.

No kingdoms, no kings. Only broken towers stitched together with iron and magic. Lanterns swung from chains made of old bones, painting the street in sickly green.

Figures moved beneath them.

Shrouded, horned, masked.

Things that watched.

Things that waited.

A ripple ran through the crowd as Leonhardt approached. A hush. A shifting away. No words. No orders.

They simply moved. Like rats fleeing a deeper predator.

Zafira's lips curled into a smile as she caught the scent of fear."You're making friends already, my Lord," she purred.

Leonhardt didn't answer. He was already moving.

One road lay open ahead, framed by an arch of severed wings and broken teeth.

Above it, a black banner fluttered, stitched with a single name in curling, crimson script.

Briar.

Erina's steps faltered again.

Her hand brushed his sleeve, almost instinctively, almost begging.

"Leon..." she whispered. "Are we... really meant to be here?"

He stopped.

Just for a moment.

His head turned slightly, and he noticed Erina's fearful expression with a chuckle.

"If you're afraid, stay close to me."

Erina swallowed hard.

Then nodded, gripping her cloak tighter.

Leonhardt turned without waiting for more.

Through the archway of broken wings, into the heart of the Court.

The market beyond unfolded like a wound.

Crimson tents stitched from leather. Bonfires belching black smoke. Shadows huddled behind iron-masked merchants whispering deals with too many teeth.

Zafira stepped closer to him, brushing his coat lightly with her fingers—a signal. She smelled it too.

Predators.

Hunters.

Things that they knew when new blood walked into their den.

Leonhardt slowed only once, scanning the market.

"They're watching," Zafira murmured near his ear. Her breath was hot against his skin. "Sizing us up."

"Let them," he said simply.

Erina tugged her hood lower, voice trembling. "Leonhardt… this place feels cursed."

Leonhardt's smile was thin and without warmth.

"It is."

They moved deeper.

The tent flaps shifted as they passed—some by wind, some by hands that were no longer human.Eyes gleamed in the dark. Blue, red, black. None of them were kind.

Still, none dared step into his path.

Not yet.

The smell hit first.

Not rot.

Not incense.

Something stranger—like burnt sugar poured over old blood.

Leonhardt caught it half a heartbeat before the figure appeared.

A man—or something shaped like one—stepped from behind a twisted pillar.

He wore a coat of a hundred stitched-together fabrics, his sleeves dangling past clawed fingertips. His mask, half-jester and half-hyena, grinned too wide, showing rows of painted teeth.

A little black bell jingled softly with every tilting step.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome..." the creature sang, voice light as cobwebs strung over a corpse.

He bowed low—mockingly low—one hand sweeping a circle in the ash-laden dirt.

"Fresh faces for the Black Briar Court? Mmm, how deliciously new you smell."

Leonhardt didn't stop walking. He didn't flinch.

The jester's head tilted, his painted smile widening.

"Ahhh, but manners, manners!"

He sprang forward in a flash—too fast for a human—landing directly in Leonhardt's path, barring the way with a pirouette and a little tip of his ridiculous hat.

"You must forgive me, travellers," he said, voice syrupy sweet. "But you see... entrance to the court's sacred revels requires... one tiny little test."

Leonhardt's gaze was flat.Unamused.

Behind him, Zafira smiled faintly, already scenting blood in the air.

Erina stiffened.

She could feel it too.

The killing intent curled under the jester's voice like knives hidden in a bouquet.

Leonhardt stopped only inches away from the painted mask.

The jester grinned wider.

"So tell me, my pretty pretties," he cooed, tipping his head. "Are you guests of the Court…?"

His voice dropped, the air behind the words thickening, sharp as broken bone.

"Or are you trespassers?"

Silence.

Even the ash drifting down from the twisted braziers seemed to be still.

Leonhardt didn't blink.

He raised a hand, casual and slow. The air around his fingers shimmered faintly, the dark black flames of his magic.

"If you don't move," Leonhardt said in a low voice. "I'll rip that stupid grin off your face."

For one heartbeat, the world held its breath.

The jester froze.

Then—

He clapped, giddy.

"Oooh, I like you," he sang, spinning back with a flourish."Such teeth! Such fire! The Court will love you."

The black bell jingled again as he skipped backwards, still grinning.

With a dramatic bow, he gestured toward a spiralling path of violet fire opening beyond the courtyard.

"This way, honoured guests. Try not to bleed too much on the merchandise, hmm?"

Leonhardt's eyes narrowed once.

Then he strode forward, Zafira falling into step with a little purr of satisfaction.

Behind them, Erina shivered.

Not from cold.

Not from fear, exactly.

But because here, in the Court's heart, even hope smelled like blood.