Dungeon Overlord: Monster Girl Harem!-Chapter 131: The Seventh Circle! A Ring of Endless Greed.

The wind caught beneath Zafira's cloak as her wings spread wide, lifting both her and Leonhardt into the shadows above Astrea's sleeping spine.

She didn't speak, and he didn't need her to. The sound of her wings—muffled against the night air—was rhythmic, steady. Her grip on his coat was light but comfortable. One hand curled near his shoulder, the other just under his belt, adjusting each time they shifted against the light winds.

Below them, the city layered itself like a rotting cake of cheap slate rooftops and the polished wood and old brick houses of the slums.

Suspending each platform with thick support beams, massive stone struts were etched with glyphs that faintly buzzed when passing too close. Defensive wards. Triggered by sound, not heat.

Although they could walk to the top, this was the best method, floating in the darkness, avoiding the guard's vision. Zafira ducked beneath one, gliding under the crumbling archway half buried in vines. It seemed maintenance was lacking.

"Mm..." Zafira's body pressed closer, wrapping both arms around Leonhardt in a loving embrace, taking advantage. The situation where she could happily grope and caress him without complaint.

The only sound between them was the faint breaths from Leonhardt as he scanned the brightly lit windows nearby, counting the shapes inside.

"Three on that balcony," he murmured. "One's a watcher."

"I know," Zafira whispered into his ear, barely brushing the edge with her lips. Her voice wasn't playful—just a little breathless. She pulled a hard left, folding her wings just enough to slip into the shadows of a bell tower.

Leonhardt twisted slightly, gripping the wooden frame as they landed inside.

Below them, two city guards argued about something near a small cart of wine barrels. One of them looked too young, his breastplate hanging loose. The other smoked a cigar, leaning on a pike like he hadn't moved in hours.

"Drunk, and useless."

"Astrea's nobles, oh so fragile."

The pair didn't stick around, but Zafira's gaze lingered on the monument in the distance.

Immediately airborne once again, skimming rooftops now more vibrant and glowing with enchanted lanterns and other magical tools. The air transformed. Different. Less like smoke and more like honey and perfume.

They were in the higher districts.

Zafira slowed once they reached the next platform, much smaller than the previous but its height added a sense of power.

Superiority as the slums became nothing but ants beneath.

The sound of fountains could be heard even at this height, and statues lined the edges, carved to resemble angels with blank faces. Leonhardt's eyes narrowed.

He pointed to a mansion with more shadow than the others. "Let's head towards the centre using that mansion."

They passed the window of a music hall mid-rehearsal. Inside, a woman in silks screamed at a conductor while five violinists sat frozen in terror. No one noticed the two shadows passing just beyond the glass.

They landed on the roof of a tall circular observatory. Leonhardt crouched low, cloak drawn tight. Zafira leaned near him, her breath steady.

"We're close," she said. "I can feel the stench."

"Of what?"

"Entitlement."

Leonhardt didn't comment on her words. Instead, he reached out, grasping her soft hand. Delicate like silk. Yet filled with the power to crush anyone in this city.

The distant castle came into their sight, with a huge bridge connecting the seventh ring with the castle... a beautiful sight with the castle build from the ground up parallel with the platform for the nobles.

"Are you as excited as I am?" Zafira raised her eyes, flapping her wings as she leaned against his chest, tapping along his muscles with her spare hand.

"I'm having the time of my life. Why?"

Zafira grabbed his collar, smirking faintly now. "I just like hearing you speak."

She leapt, wings unfurling once more.

***

Zafira angled her wings for a softer descent. The glow of the Seventh Circle pressed against them like static—golden and arrogant, humming with magic far older and far cleaner than what passed for enchantment in the lower tiers.

They landed behind a row of hedges trimmed into beautiful artistic shapes.

The alley was narrow, the walls smooth and polished, unlike the rough stone below. No ivy. No grime. Just sterility. A single orb of floating light hovered near a metal archway, casting pale silver over the white marble paths.

Zafira retracted her wings, folding them down until they shimmered and vanished into the illusion of a backless cloak. Her tail tucked beneath her layers without a word.

The shift was smooth—done so often it felt like second nature.

Leonhardt pulled his hood low, enough to shadow the silver strands of hair and smear of dried blood along his collarbone.

His coat now looked less battle-worn and more ceremonial, thanks to a minor glamour Zafira traced along his arm with a teasing finger. Functional illusion—nothing flashy.

They walked.

No rush.

Just another pair of privileged night-lovers taking a stroll through polished stone paths and midnight fountains. Hands connected and fingers intertwined.

They paced towards the plaza ahead in a district wrapped in silence. No laughter or music. Just the whistling breeze tugging at the noble banners overhead.

A monument stood in the centre of the fountain like an insult carved in stone.

Twenty meters tall. Cast from enchanted moonstone alloy. Lit from below with a ring of soft orange firelight.

King Adolf.

Barefoot, in a sweeping royal cloak, one boot raised high over the crushed pile of demon bodies beneath him. They weren't even accurate. Deformed. Grotesque.

Their wings were tattered, horns twisted into crude symbols of evil. One had its mouth open in a silent scream—fangs exaggerated, eyes bugged. Swords and spears impaled them in melodramatic poses.

Zafira stopped walking.

Leonhardt followed her actions, watching her face while stroking the back of her hand.

Yet she didn't say anything.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Not trembling. Just… quiet. Her eyes traced every figure beneath the King's foot. Not with horror. With cold, slow recognition.

"Doesn't bother you?" she asked finally, voice low, almost bored.

Leonhardt followed her gaze. "Should it?"

"No," she said flatly. "But if I ever meet the sculptor, I'll make sure his fingers forget how to hold a chisel."

Leonhardt looked at her sideways. "You want me to carve something better?"

Zafira's mouth twitched—just a bit. Not a smile. More like approval, as she placed both hands on his shoulders and pushed him, suddenly thrust against a pale white wall, masked under a tall hedge of mana-locked roses.

Each one glowed faintly with crimson light, a luxury enchantment to keep them blooming all year. The perfume clung to the back of her throat before her words caught his full attention.

"How about you let me carve your lips with mine."

At first, he couldn't understand her sudden change, but then he could taste it.

The warmth and sweet flavour of a succubi's saliva flowed into his mouth like a delicious wine. Subconsciously drinking it while the sound of talking echoed from the other side of the bushes.

"…Still can't believe he's keeping that foreigner around."

The other guard let out a short laugh, low and sharp. "Heard he even brought him into the nobles' court. Bold move for a dog without manners."

"Bold or stupid." A pause. "Wouldn't be the first time a 'hero' ended up on the wrong end of a pike because they misunderstood their role.

A grunt of agreement. Metal clinked softly as one of them shifted his stance.

"Well the nobles want answers, paying so much to the kid and supporting him, yet all he does is play with women, and laze around." There was a short silence. One guard lit a small mana torch and shook out the flame once it caught.

Zafira's hand slipped into Leonhardt's coat, her cold fingertips dancing along his chest as their tongues folded together in a wet matrimony, her golden eyes melting into closed slits as she felt him sucking on her lips.

"Well... the church seems to be adamant on hunting down the monster that killed the saintess."

"Tsk, doesn't that mean more taxes?" The older guard spat into a pot, disgruntled.

"I don't know, but there's been a lot more rumours lately..." the young guard paused for a few moments. "Well, you heard about the monsters that appeared in the dungeon..."

"How did they evolve into Arachne... Munat village was almost wiped out in a few nights." The old man sighed deeply, his voice growing quieter as they walked away from the pair.

"Apparently, the villagers spotted a black haired male, with an elf, blonde priestess and tall red headed dragonoid." He sounded sceptical of his own words.

The older man paused. "A black-haired man?" His voice roughened—just enough to raise a brow. "So the useless hero did it?"

The young guard gasped. "Ah! No wonder the noble council wants him then... He's done for!"

Hnnng—!

Zafira's eyes widened as her tongue slipped from Leonhardt's mouth, forming threads of saliva stuck to his lips. Shocked that his hand slipped inside her feathers and touched her bare crotch.

Leonhardt's body, overwhelmed with a pink aura, fought back using his arachne sight, able to see the tiny erogenous zones of a succubus.

'So they mistook me for the hero?' He thought while catching his breath.

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"Huh did you hear that? It sounded like a woman."

"No..."

This mansion was marked with Enzo's daggers on the map. Leonhardt came because he had a hunch that it was related to his business.

"Let's go, Zafira."