Dungeon Overlord: Monster Girl Harem!-Chapter 130: A foolish warning Only Fuels the Beast

The door groaned shut behind him, drowning out the last echo of blood-soaked silence from the meeting room.

Leonhardt stood at the edge of the hallway, shoulders square, boots rooted in the warped floorboards of The Last Call. His coat still fluttered slightly from the motion, the heavy scent of sweat and smoke clinging to the folds.

His hand flexed once—just once—as if recalling the weight of the sword he hadn't finished swinging.

His face was blank.

Inside?

His blood screamed.

It wasn't the kind of rage that came with heat. This was colder. Denser. Like lead poured into his bones and left there to harden. The type of fury that made breathing mechanical and movement deliberate, or else something would break.

Visit ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com for the 𝑏est n𝘰vel reading experience.

He could still hear Enzo's voice in his head. That damned smirk and his smug words.

"Touching my daughter…"

"You're not even human…"

"Do you think a normal woman would be interested in a freak like you…"

He inhaled slowly.

Enzo threatened Zafira, Ace threatened Asuka, and he knew that despite calling Erina his daughter, he hadn't taken back the assassination order. Nor would he divulge the location of the one who did.

[Stay calm, Leon, you did well not to attack him]

Ifrit's voice, warm and level, echoed through his thoughts like a river trying to carve a canyon through stone.

Leonhardt turned a corner of the hallway, its walls cracked and water-stained. The deeper he walked into the tavern's belly, the more the sounds of violence gave way to the creaks and hums of midnight rot.

(You should have beat them! Crushed his annoying face.)

'Humans!'

An illogical hatred grew towards those who denied and rejected anything different.

He didn't answer.

The voices of Dravanna and Ifrit helped his mind clear up, and he remained focused. In the past, he might have lost himself. Attacking Enzo or Ace on the spot.

(Hehe!)

Dravanna chuckled in his mind with a sharp and sweet tone, almost stirring the pot with her constant digs to get him to act out or release his anger.

However, Leonhardt didn't mind. Having two opposing voices, along with his psyche, helped calm his thoughts. And kept him grounded.

"Forget it. Revenge shouldn't be rushed for a momentary emotion."

Leonhardt paused in a dead-end hall. There was a half-broken window, open just enough to catch the cool night breeze. He looked out at the faint silhouette of the city—Astrea sleeping under the illusion of order.

He closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, clearing his mind. The cold air soothed his lungs and calmed his bubbling anger.

(Eh~ why hesitate? Say the word and we'll burn this fucking city to the ground! You want to see them kneel? Make a contract with me too!)

[He didn't hesitate, you foolish gremlin.]

(What are you saying, you fat pixie!?)

Leonhardt tilted his head back and exhaled.

"...No," he said.

A long silence followed.

(No?)

Dravanna asked, her tone bristling, almost wounded.

(What do you mean, no?)

"I mean," he said, more clearly now, "they're just pieces. Enzo, Ace, the whole damn guild. They didn't plan the hit. Someone else did."

(And that matters?) she spat.

"Now it does."

He pushed off the wall and turned, his boots thudding softly as he walked back the way he came. His voice was low but steady.

"I can use Erina to get to Enzo, Asuka to deal with Ace. There is no reason to get angry. Those fools don't have any use to me except finding the one who made the request."

There was a pause—long and strange. Even Dravanna didn't respond immediately.

[What are you going to do to her? That girl isn't like the other two...]

Leonhardt said nothing. He just kept walking, his blood dripping from the cut on his throat from Enzo's earlier attack. The cheap door to his room opened without a knock. Leonhardt stepped inside.

The room was bathed in a pale golden light. One candle burned low on the table. The window was open, the curtain swaying gently in the breeze.

And perched at the edge of the windowsill like a figure from a painting was Zafira.

No glamour now.

Her horns curled gently from her dark hair. Her tail flicked lazily, swaying like a feline's behind her. Her wings were half-unfurled, relaxed but still poised as if she might take off at any moment.

She didn't turn immediately.

Only after a few seconds did she speak, her voice soft like a hushed whisper in the wind.

"You're finally back," she said.

Then she turned—gliding down from the window with effortless grace. Each step was more of a fairy dancing than a walk. Her feet barely touched the floorboards. Her eyes, which glowed golden, studied him like he was both prey and puzzle.

"I thought you wouldn't return," she tapped her cheek, "at least until tomorrow."

She slipped into his space, like a moonlight into shadow. Her hands pressed lightly against his chest. Resting her cheek, barely touching the cloth of his coat.

He felt her breath against his collarbone.

Then she asked, softer now, almost like she knew everything, her voice caressing him.

"The human broke his promise, didn't he?"

Leonhardt didn't respond at first. His hand drifted to her back—resting there, not claiming her, not pushing her away.

His voice, when it came, was quieter than the wind.

"…You knew?"

Zafira's eyes peeked up from his chest, her wings spreading out before wrapping around Leonhardt's face, covering them from the outside. Her warmth spread through the small space, heating his cold rage. Melting it into something different. Addictive. And bright.

Leonhardt stared at her.

Zafira tilted her head.

"Humans always lie, Leonhardt. The only question is what they lie for. And Enzo? He lies to keep power."

Her expression softened again, and her hand slid down to his.

"But we can take it from him. Together."

Leonhardt's lips curved—just slightly. The faintest flicker of a smirk.

"Get your cloak," he said. "We're going out."

Her eyes lit up.

"A midnight stroll through the rotten heart of the city?" she purred. "You really know how to charm a girl."

"Well I'm done playing like a human, we're not humans. So shall we deal with this like what we are?"

The hands resting on his chest tightened. Zafira's eyes glowing deeper, as she nuzzled his chest with a wide smile. "I'm your demon." As if embarrassed by her words. She let go, spinning once, grabbing her cloak from the chair.

Her wings fluttered and vanished beneath it, forming a dress. Tail tucked into the folds.

Leonhardt adjusted the buckle on his coat, running one hand through the loose strands of silver hair falling over his shoulder. The blood from the shallow wound on his neck had mostly dried, a faint smear now against his collarbone—he left it there.

Zafira turned back to him, cloak already cinched tight, her posture regal despite the mischief behind her glowing eyes. She pulled the hood low, shadowing her horns and ears, but the smirk she wore made it clear: concealment was for fun, not necessity.

"Should I wear the glamour again?" she asked, lips curling, already knowing the answer.

Leonhardt stepped toward her, gaze steady. "No need," he said, voice low. "I prefer your true form. It suits you—like a black flower blooming under moonlight. Dangerous. Beautiful."

Her eyes widened, pupils dilated in shock—just for a second. And then narrowed with pleasure.

"Well," she murmured, "say things like that, and I might start thinking you're finally learning."

"I learn fast."

She gave a satisfied hum at that and turned toward the door, her steps soundless despite the worn floorboards. As she passed him, her shoulder brushed against his—just enough contact to make him glance her way.

Zafira paused at the doorway, turned halfway back toward him.

"You smell like blood," she said, her voice lower. A slightly distorted tone, her eyes becoming strange and distorted along with an eerie purple aura.

Leonhardt tilted his head. "It's always someone else's." He didn't want her to worry.

The strange mood faded with her nose snorting. Zafira grinned, the sharp edges of her teeth glinting faintly in the candlelight. "Good."

The wind outside whistled faintly as he opened the door, spilling a line of moonlight across the room. Shadows bent around them, stretching long and quiet down the hall.

They slipped out in silence, their footsteps nearly indistinguishable from the creaks of the old wood beneath them. Down the narrow staircase, past drunken snores and the faint clink of mugs from whatever stragglers remained at the bar.

Neither said a word.

Not until they stood outside, cloaked in darkness, beneath the crumbling stone archway of The Last Call.

The city of Astrea yawned before them, sleeping but never safe. Buildings sagged under the weight of enchantments gone stale. Magical fog drifted like half-forgotten spirits across the alleys, laced with the scent of burned oil and mana-dampened air.

Zafira leaned in close, her lips near his ear.

"Where to, Master?" The way she whispered 'master' filled with all the deadly, seductive charm of a succubus. Unable to endure, his body reacted.

Yet ignoring her playful tease. Leonhardt's eyes narrowed toward the upper city—toward the tunnels Enzo didn't want him near.

"To the place they want us least," he said. "The Seventh Circle."

And with that, they vanished into the dark.