Dungeon Overlord: Monster Girl Harem!-Chapter 158: Another Step Toward Domination

Leonhardt raised an eyebrow. His coat didn't move. "Come again?"

The woman turned to face him, her plague mask tilting just slightly as she gestured toward the pulsing door.

"The core cannot bond through clothing. The link is bodily. Runic. Symbolic. To anchor the node, it must interface with your mana roots. Through the skin."

Zafira made a soft noise. Not a laugh—not quite. But close.

She stepped forward, standing between Leonhardt and the masked woman like a lioness blocking another predator. "You want him to strip in front of you?"

The woman didn't blink. "I do not want, Lady Zafira. It is required."

Her tone was even. Perfect. Trained to avoid emotion. But Zafira's eyes flashed gold.

"So eager to see what's not yours," she muttered, almost to herself. Her wings flared once before settling. "Leon, let me help."

He didn't speak at first.

He shrugged the coat off himself. No flourish. No smirk. He simply dropped it—slowly, soundlessly, letting it hit the stone floor behind him. Then the shirt followed, pulled over his head and tossed aside. His hands moved without shame, but not carelessly either.

Like he'd undressed for war, not seduction.

His cock flopped to the side entering the gaze of the women, thick and curved to the side but he lifted his head and acted like normal.

"What next?"

The two assistants didn't look up.

But the plague-masked woman... she watched, and under that mask it might have been something more than just business.

Zafira noticed.

It stirred something within her chest, but seeing that it didn't grow further and remained the thick eggplant she remembered helped cool her anger.

'Hehe, he didn't get hard for them.' The reason she thought with was simple... because their clothes were suggestive, skin-tight and with huge cleavage cutouts.

Her expression shifted, and she stepped behind him, her hands ghosting over his shoulders—not sensually, but possessively. "I'll prepare him," she said flatly. "You can just wait."

Leonhardt didn't argue.

He allowed her to slide along his body, the warmth of her palms comforting.

Zafira stroked his arms at first, her wings fluttering and cheeks flushed red. Then down to his chest, tracing the faint scars that lined his abdomen. The runes inked along his sides pulsed in rhythm with the chamber now. In the centre of the room, the box hovered—still open—its blue glow spiralling slowly into the air.

Zafira whispered near his ear, voice low.

"You're really going to swallow this thing in front of them?" she asked.

Leonhardt gazed at his beautiful partner... he lifted her chin with his fingertip, she looked at him with glowing orbs filled with wonder, affection and obsession. "You are here."

"Eh?"

"So why would I hesitate."

And then... silence.

Zafira's body trembled, her smile distorted for a moment, becoming wider, bigger... but he didn't shift his gaze or show dislike. The lovely succubus hugged her body and let out a cute sound from her plump, red lips.

'After all, you're the cutest when like this, Zafira.'

While she was quivering on the spot, her tights clamped together, Leonhardt turned to the plague doctor and nodded.

The plague-masked woman gestured again. The attendants moved aside, revealing the platform—just a simple raised dais of obsidian stone, a single sigil etched at its heart. It pulsed once, recognising him.

Leonhardt stepped forward, bare.

Zafira didn't follow this time.

She watched.

Watched the way the light wrapped around him—like the dungeon itself was curious, confused, tempted. The orb rose into the air, hovering chest-height. It spun faster now. Reacting. Beckoning.

"Oh?" Leon's lips curled into a smile as he sighed.

And the air changed.

It wasn't mana.

It wasn't heat.

It was intent.

The room wanted something. Not just a link.

It wanted submission.

Leonhardt didn't kneel.

"Don't be foolish, you are the one who will serve me."

He reached out with one hand, fingers curling slowly around the edge of the glowing core—and as his skin touched it, the room screamed.

Not with noise.

With pressure.

Fear.

"Since you resist me like a flailing child, allow me to devour you whole."

Normally, they would need a contract and a binding agreement. The dungeon master needed the core to accept them. Acknowledge them, otherwise it will fail.

However, Leonhardt was nothing.

"Submit to me!"

A low voice... Deep, threatening.

The stone cracked beneath his feet, a pulse of mana expanding outward like a shockwave in water. The runes along his arms lit one by one, like someone dragging fire through his veins.

His head jerked back.

And the orb shattered.

No, not shattered—entered.

The crystal dissolved into pure mana and slammed into his chest with a force that lifted him off the platform for a heartbeat. Every muscle in his body seized.

His mouth opened—but no sound came. Only blood.

"LEONHARDT!?" Zafira's concerned scream echoed, dull... repeating in his ears as he hovered in the air. Her worry. Her concern. It brought a sense of irritation and anger, drawing intense and fiery emotions to his chest.

'Behave and let me devour you!'

NEVER. The orb seemed to howl, the surface cracking as its essence flooded into Leonhardt's mouth. All the women and plague-masked women looked scared, shocked and confused.

His feet left the ground.

Not like a flight. Not a gift.

It was violent. Ripping. A forced ascension.

The air around him cracked like glass, threads of blue and black spiralling outward from his chest where the core entered.

The sigils etched across his ribs flared in sequence—one, then two, then all at once—as if they too were being overwritten. His body twisted slightly in the air, back arching. Bones flexed. Muscles locked.

Mana collided with muscle, intent with instinct. The audience didn't breathe.

Zafira took a step forward but stopped herself—hands clenched at her sides, her wings flaring once before falling still. Her throat worked soundlessly.

"Leonhardt..." she whispered, but the name barely passed her lips.

From the stage, the plague-masked woman leaned forward, posture finally shifting from formal calm to something near awe. "He's consuming it raw…"

"No conduit. No ritual. No stabiliser..." one attendant muttered, fear edging into his tone.

A shriek of wind echoed through the chamber—not from outside, but within Leonhardt's body. His chest glowed, veins alight with violent silver, like cracks forming in a vessel under pressure.

Then—

He growled.

Low. Guttural. Not human.

"Your will... breaks like glass."

The mana shrieked back, but it was too late.

Leonhardt's eyes flared open, blazing red from within. He ate the orb, not bound to it, but pulling it into himself like prey.

And it screamed.

Not aloud—but through every stone, every wall, every core, still watching from deep within the dungeon network.

IF one could hear the stone's voice... it might sound something like this.

"HELP IT HURTS! HELP I'M SCARED. PLEASE... HELP ME!"

The light faded like someone had removed the fuse, with Leonhardt crashing to the ground.

He landed hard.

Zafira rushed forward but stopped short when she saw it.

The veins along Leonhardt's neck glowed blue. His eyes pulsed crimson. His chest bore a single rune now—unfamiliar even to her. Old. Ancient. Dangerous.

The assistants didn't move.

They bowed.

Low. Slow. As if offering themselves to something holy.

Or something far worse.

"Master Leonhardt," the plague-mask woman said, her voice faint now. Almost reverent. "You've passed the binding. The node is yours."

Leonhardt's breath was ragged, his bare skin still steaming. But he stood. Tall. Unshaken. His voice came out low, tight.

"Forgive me, but I must return..." The woman in the plague mask flicked her gaze to the fallen Leonhardt's crotch once again, her mask slightly steamy as she turned away, and left with unstable steps... "The auction must continue."

The air was different now.

Even Zafira felt it.

And somewhere deep in the velvet-lit theatre above... the crowd began to stir again.

They felt it too.

Something happened, something unholy, unfamiliar and wrong...

Leonhardt went against the rules of the world.

What danger this would bring...

Nobody knew.

However, to one person this meant nothing... as she rushed forward and pushed the other women out of her path and scooped up his steaming body, the moment Zafira touched him, the heat caused her pale skin to sizzle, burn as if scalding her.

"Ack! It's a little hot, darling."

If the heat could damage a level 101 demon princess... then what would it do to someone half her level? Her heart throbbed, ached, and she began to breath heavier.

"Z... Zafira?"

Leonhardt sounded weak, but... something was different, which made her quiver.

His voice carried a new aura, sensation, and it tickled her body, like soft fingertips brushing along her spine, neck and erogenous zones.

"T-That core..." She snapped with a red face... "What type... was it?"

Zafira snapped towards the female priests, unable to hide the sudden change in her tone.

Her skin flushed, thighs rubbing together and wings that flapped and slapped against her thighs like a paddle.

Before she could hear an answer from them, a sly, yet handsome grin formed on Leonhardt's lips as he tapped her cheek.

"It was a low-grade incubus core."

Zafira froze.

For half a second, not even her wings moved. Then—like something cracked inside her, she let out a long, shaky breath that sounded more like a moan than an exhale. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating into thin golden rings, locked onto Leonhardt as if she were seeing him for the first time. No—smelling him. Feeling him.

The heat wasn't just heat anymore.

It was pheromonal.

Her knees buckled slightly, thighs squeezing with an audible squish, her chest rising and falling with sharp, shallow gasps. Her magic flared instinctively, trying to suppress the sudden, overwhelming ache tearing through her stomach, hips, and lower.

"Y-You... idiot..." she whispered.

But her claws had already gripped his shoulders, her lips parting, breath growing ragged. Her thighs clamped around his knee without thinking, grinding softly, almost shamefully.

Leonhardt didn't move.

He just watched her unravel.

Not cruelly.

Not gently.

Just... knowingly.

And as her body quivered against his—melting, maddened, half-feral—Zafira looked up at him one last time before her voice cracked under the weight of her own desire.

"You can't stay like this… I'll go into rut—"

The lights above flickered.

And the next item of the auction was announced.

"You look so cute, Zafira. It makes me want to eat you..."

Leonhardt couldn't believe the adorable sight before him as Zafira rubbed her face against his chest, panting desperately.

"Say it again…" she gasped, wings twitching. "Say anything like that again—and I'll make sure no one else hears you tonight."

"Say it again—"

"No." He snapped. "I'll show you."