Dungeon Overlord: Monster Girl Harem!

The dagger slipped from Nyxara's fingers.

Her eyes blinked once, slowly, as blood poured from the twin ice shards lodged through her stomach and chest. Her legs wobbled as the ice vanished, and she lost her balance.

And then… she fell.

Nyxara's eyes searched the crowd, dazed and wet as she collapsed like a puppet with frayed strings.

The arena became silent after Vellod's body shattered into light particles.

Then their voices echoed.

"He's dead! The Oni Dungeon Master is dead!"

"What the hell!? She actually killed him?!"

"Wait... look at her body. Shit. She's bleeding out!"

"Is she... is she gonna die right after winning!?"

Monsters, beastkin, and onlookers leaned over the railing of their private booths. Some gasped, others laughed. A few female dungeon masters looked sick. A few monster lords stared in stunned silence.

One of them began to stand.

But it was too late.

A shadow streaked across the sky.

Leonhardt watched her fall in slow motion, his breath caught in his throat as if choked. His pupils shrank the moment the ice tore through Nyxara.

[Tyrant's Blitz]

Once.

Twice.

Thrice...

The barrier around the arena didn't matter to him.

His body moved before his mind. In an instant, he descended like a meteorite.

Boom—!

The first second, his punch cracked the dungeon arena's spatial field.

The second obliterated the enchantments.

The third second let him slip through.

And the fourth brought him to her side.

He caught her body before she hit the floor.

Blood soaked her torso, running down her abdomen and thighs like crimson streams, across her torn leathers and smooth, pale brown flesh. Her breath was faint, and her head lolled, but she was alive.

Barely...

"...Stupid woman, when did I say to get this hurt?"

"M-Master... I won... for you." Her voice was hoarse, and her eyes were distant.

"Did I permit you to fight until the brink of death?"

"...Hehe~ Master is worried about me."

The crowd didn't cheer in support or move. They just watched silently as a monster held another monster in his arms. And the arena floor began to freeze around him, not from residual magic.

Leonhart's rage alone formed this cold aura.

"Don't laugh, just rest..." He paused as his hand hovered over her wounds. "You did well."

She was limp and breathing shallow. The shards had pierced deep, one just barely missing her heart.

'You fool... Don't you know how valuable you all are to me?'

His fingertip glowed with a dark light.

He whispered something, a twisted incantation of healing magic, using dark magic instead of holy magic. It was something he stole from Zafira, a demonic restoration spell that was why the human church saw them as profane.

Her skin knit slowly, too slowly.

"I'll have to purge the cold first..."

The ice lodged in her flesh resisted, burning her from the inside. His hand clenched, forming a black flame. He hated the look on her face. It was a childish smile, as if she had achieved something impossible.

He wouldn't let her die.

He wouldn't let anyone take from him again.

"Clear the field..." He said quietly, while looking at the stunned Rock. "Is there a private room available?"

No one spoke or moved.

All who watched, at first out of interest. Then, from cruel greed and twisted desires, they wanted the beautiful elf to be torn apart and die.

All of them felt the pressure coming from Leonhardt. Invisible chains of darkness wrapped around their spines, and breathing became harder.

A weaker Orc Dungeon Master dropped to his knees and vomited.

"I said... clear the field."

The announcer tripped over himself to obey.

Guardian monsters scrambled, with the spectators retreating in a terrified awe.

Only the strongest remained.

Only the stupid lingered.

He walked toward the arena's edge, still holding Nyxara like a bride, his steps silent, precise, crushing. Icy mist followed his wake, not magic, just pure mastery of elements.

Killing intent.

And somewhere, behind a shielded balcony, a woman in crimson fur sipped wine and laughed softly.

"So that's the Tyrant of Embervale... fascinating."

***

"Ah..."

Leonhardt stopped at the arena's edge, Nyxara still cradled against his chest. Her shallow breaths brushed faint warmth against his collarbone.

He looked back.

The last remnants of Vellod—the Dungeon Master of Ice—hovered in the centre of the ruined battlefield. A floating core, faintly glowing, wrapped in a storm of frost.

It pulsed once.

Alive and preparing to revive.

How fitting.

Leonhardt's lips curled into a cruel smirk.

"You won't be coming back."

He turned his palm toward the core.

A breathless silence swept through the stands as something dark, different from mana, surged like a hungry beast.

The World Eater's Core Roared.

Invisible gravity twisted the air as space warped around his fingers—a vortex formed, devouring the ice and the spiritual fragments bound to it. Vellod's echo screamed.

Pulled into oblivion, shredded and consumed.

"No Dungeon Gate. No rebirth. No resurrection." Leonhardt's voice was cold. "Your story ends here."

The core cracked with a sound like breaking bone.

Blue light folded inward.

Gone.

All that remained was part of his authority, the Domain of Frost, which settled into Leonhardt's soul, heavy and cold like a crown forged from glacial steel.

But he didn't keep it.

He looked down.

Nyxara's eyes were fluttering open.

Hazy.

Weak.

Her lips trembled, barely able to call out to him.

"Master..."

Leonhardt gazed at her.

Not as a tyrant or dungeon master.

But as the man who saw her fight on the edge of death, he was impressed by her desire to appeal to him just for a sliver of his approval.

He leaned down.

Pressed his lips against hers.

A soft and lingering kiss.

Then the skill flowed between them like breath, as his tongue pushed into her mouth, softness curling around him despite her faint breath.

[Nyxara has learned Frozen Domain]

[Error...]

[Host's jealousy has triggered a mutation!]

He felt it shift inside her.

A pulse of darkness woven through cold.

Ice became shadow.

Her skin shimmered with a gloss of moonlit silk, and her hair deepened to a black so pure it swallowed the light. The more his tongue probed and danced inside her small mouth, the more powerfully his mana fused with the skill.

[Nyxara has gained the Unique Personal Skill: Shadow Domain]

Nyxara gasped against his lips, her breathing heavy as she gripped his collar, eyes shining and wet. Leonhardt pulled away just slightly, their foreheads brushing.

"There, it's yours now. You earned it."

"I… I can feel it," Nyxara whispered, voice quivering.

He smiled.

She gasped at the sight, reaching for his face.

"Don't worry, there is no need to rush, Nyxara."

Leonhardt felt proud of her achievements, and the flow of aura inside him was calm before he stepped off the stage.

This place meant nothing to him now.

He wanted to leave.

And behind him, the entire arena stared in stunned, reverent silence.

Even gods would have paused to watch.

***

"…Damn," a high-pitched voice rumbled behind them.

Leonhardt turned.

Rock stood at the arena's edge, arms folded across his small, furry chest, the broad scar over his right pectoral twitching slightly. The kobold looked excited but didn't cheer. He just watched, his lone eye fixed on the pair.

"Leon... she fought like a monster," Then he looked at Leonhardt. "You were also awesome boss."

Leonhardt adjusted Nyxara in his arms. She nestled against him, her face hot and glowing, the power still settling inside her veins.

"I have a room," Rock added. "Private. High warded. No one will disturb you."

"…Thanks." Leonhardt didn't hesitate.

They moved quickly.

The crowd didn't dare speak, only the murmurs of the name Tyrant of Embervale passed. How he carried her, as if nothing else mattered, was enough to silence the hall.

Rock opened a reinforced obsidian door behind one of the medium-grade seats. It led into a quiet hall, then another layer of stone until the world vanished behind them.

Torchlight flickered along the carved walls, illuminating draconic murals and sigils old as the dungeon System itself.

Inside the private chamber, a massive bed carved from darkwood sat beneath a chandelier of frozen bone and crimson crystal.

Leonhardt laid Nyxara down carefully.

She looked up at him with parted lips, glossy skin flushed, still trembling faintly. Her fingertips brushed his wrist as if afraid he'd vanish.

"Rest," he said, brushing her black hair from her face.

Rock stood near the exit, arms crossed. He was weak and lacked an imposing aura, but Leonhardt didn't care about stupid things like that.

He was grateful to this kobold.

Nobody else.

Rock opened his Dungeon Interface and extended a tether.

"Here." A glowing chain of light floated between them.

Leonhardt raised an eyebrow, then smirked and accepted the link.

[Dungeon Link Established – Rock, Warlord of Greystone]

[Dungeon Network Access: Enabled – Distance Messaging, Emergency Gate, Shared Alerts]

"If you need anything, just call me."

"You too," Leonhardt replied.

Then he stepped out, closing the obsidian door behind him with a heavy thud.

The silence that followed was thick with heat and pulsing breath.

Leonhardt turned back to Nyxara.

Her eyes no longer fluttered with pain or exhaustion.

They were focused.

Wanting.

Waiting.

"What about my reward, Master?"

And the night was far from over.