Dungeon Overlord: Monster Girl Harem!

The chapel stood at the edge of Arlet village. Quiet. Removed. A thin trail of white stone led up to its arched doorway, flanked by flowerbeds that hadn't bloomed in months. The walls were old, but clean. No rot. No dust. Someone had been tending to it.

Inside, it smelled of old incense and polished wood.

Light spilt through the tall windows in golden beams. Not holy light. Just sunlight fractured through the glass.

Erina stood at the front.

Not preaching.

Speaking.

She spoke of community, of protection, of adapting. Her voice was soft but sure, each word stitched with careful warmth. Not sermons. Conversations. She didn't name Leonhardt directly, but her words leaned toward him—his influence, his policies, his shadow spreading through the village like the roots of a quiet tree.

She told herself it was a strategy.

Aligning with him kept the people calm. That it was about balance.

But when the heavy wooden door creaked open behind her, and she heard his slow, deliberate footsteps echo across the stone floor—

—Her voice stuttered.

Only for a second.

She didn't turn to look.

Didn't need to.

She already knew it was him.

Leon.

Always arriving when she least wanted him to.

Always making her heart speed up in ways that had no reason to.

Leonhardt walked without urgency.

His black boots tapped against the polished stones, and he stopped just behind the last pew before placing his hands behind him and gazing at Erina. He watched her like a beast pretending to be tame in front of his prey.

"Lady Erina," he said, voice smooth. Refined. The kind of voice people trusted because it carried no weight. "You speak to them well. Better than most priests I've met."

"What priests have you met?"

"Hah, true..."

She turned, slowly. Her green eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in that way she always looked at him. Guarded. Annoyed, maybe. But never indifferent.

"It's not hard," she said, while brushing the faint dust off her robe. "These people are good, honest and just a little scared."

He smiled, a small, practised curve, something he worked on with Zafira. "Scared people are the easiest to guide. So long as the voice sounds gentle."

Her fingers twitched. "Is that how you see me? A voice for your plans?"

He tilted his head slightly.

"No," he said. "I see you as something else entirely."

The words sounded quite charming, at least if taken at face value. But Erina couldn't do that... because she could see his cold, icy gaze staring at her without the same warmth and affection.

"Erina," he corrected himself, his voice softer than before as if her name tasted better without the title.

She looked away first.

There were villagers still sitting near the back—elderly men, a pair of mothers with their children, a hunter resting with his hands clasped. None of them moved. It almost felt like they waited for her to send them away, like lost lambs.

With a sigh, she stepped down from the altar and gave a light bow, ending the sermon as her heels clacked against the stone as she crossed the hallway to meet him.

"You shouldn't be here." Her eyes flicked between the villagers leaving, and she added with a whisper. "People will talk."

"They always talk," he said. "But only the ones worth listening to speak with purpose."

"You're not helping."

"I rarely do," he said with a faint smile.

She hated that smile. It was calm, elegant, always just polite enough to pass—but never human. And yet, every time Leonhardt used her name, every time he looked at her like that—like she wasn't prey, or a pawn, or one of them—

Her heart betrayed her.

Thump.

Just once.

But enough.

Leonhardt's eyes drifted past her, scanning the pews with the faintest trace of disdain. Not obvious. Just a subtle twitch of his nose. The scent of sweat, cheap soap, nervous skin—it clung to humans like rot clung to damp wood.

But not her.

Erina smelled clean. Not perfume. Not oils.

Just… clean.

It unsettled him.

He looked back at her.

"Follow me," he said with a faint smile.

Erina knew it wasn't a question, but she still hesitated for a moment before turning on her heels and then following towards the back corridor where the light dimmed. A private place where the villagers couldn't hear or see them.

Behind them, near the last row of pews, a masked woman with a curvy figure rose silently to follow, wearing a cat mask and pale cloak.

Dia.

Leonhardt didn't need to turn to know she was there.

She was always there.

Watching. Recording.

Maybe thinking she was keeping an eye on him in hopes of reporting back to a man who would never hear the truth again.

The man she loved, but no... her love wasn't the same now.

He did something, a cruel and heartless thing.

A fun scene for the future.

The back corridor was cooler. Narrow. The stone shifted in tone here—less polished, more weathered. Cracks were running along the walls and floor like small spider webs, and the faint scent of candles and old parchment became thicker.

Along the wall, faded murals told stories long forgotten.

One showed a knight kneeling before a tree. Another, a woman holding a sun in her hands. The paint had chipped and darkened. Small details eroded by time, but the silhouettes remained—echoes of faith that no longer mattered.

Their footsteps were soft, swallowed by the stone. Leonhardt walked just behind Erina, his gaze fixed ahead, though he could feel her tension like a thread pulled taut between them.

Dia followed at a distance.

Silent.

Unseen by most, her figure flickering like a ghost.

But not by him, no, never by him.

They stopped near a small reading chamber—unused, quiet, partially hidden behind a hanging curtain of faded blue fabric. Inside was a bench along the wall, a simple wooden table, and a tall arched window with no glass, only iron bars. Wind passed through it gently, stirring the curtain behind them.

Erina didn't sit.

Neither did he.

Instead, she faced the open window, arms folded, as if the view beyond the stone mattered. It didn't. Just a patch of grass, a crumbling fence, a crooked tree.

But it gave her something to look at that wasn't him.

"I've kept my end," she said. "Spoken for you without saying your name. Shifted hearts without changing doctrine. They're listening."

Leonhardt stood behind her, a careful distance away.

"You've done well."

The praise caused her to gasp at him, confused and a little shocked, but then she felt doubtful because of his tone.

"Am I one of your goblins? No!"

He stepped closer.

"No," he said, voice quieter. "They follow orders. You made choices."

Erina turned her head away just enough for him to see the corner of her eye. "Do you think that matters to me, a human?"

"Yes."

She opened her mouth, lips parting with a moment's pause.

Wind stirred her hair, golden strands brushing her cheeks like a small dance as he noticed her green eyes flicker with uncertain thoughts and a slight gleam.

"I don't understand you!" she muttered.

"What you are doing with this village, or with me. But it's dangerous."

He said nothing, and yet that silence told her everything she wanted to know.

She turned to face him fully.

"I'm not stupid, Leon," she continued, her voice low and tight. "You want power. You want control. You're playing a long game—one I probably can't even see the edges of."

She stepped closer.

"But the people here… they're not pawns. They trust me," her voice trembled as she reached out, touching his chest. "It's me they will blame, hate and curse when things go wrong."

Leonhardt watched her quietly.

The candlelight caught the curve of her jaw. The tension in her shoulders and the slight tears she fought off with sheer will at the corners of his eyes.

He nodded once.

"I know."

Erina's hand lingered against his chest. Not in affection. In accusation. She wrapped her fingers around the smooth fabric of his coat, almost a fish but not quite. It was just enough to show her feelings.

"You won't deny anything?" she asked.

He didn't waver and answered her in a flat voice. "No."

There was no cruelty in it. No apology, either. Just the truth.

He leaned forward, not enough to tower—but enough that her hand, still resting against him, felt his breath when he spoke.

"You want me to lie to you, Erina?"

"I want you to stop making me feel like I matter," she said.

It slipped out—too quiet, too raw. A whisper wrapped in something bitter, and something else… almost afraid.

Leonhardt didn't flinch.

"You do."

That was all he said. Calm. Certain. No hesitation.

And for some reason, that hurt more than anything else he could've done.

Erina looked at him, lips parting, eyes wide with something that wasn't entirely anger.

Maybe not entirely fear, either.

Her mouth moved, searching for a reply—something to push him back, or pull herself out.

But nothing came.

Because in that moment, as the silence grew between them, she wasn't sure if she wanted to run from him.

—Or take another step closer.