Dungeon Overlord: Monster Girl Harem!-Chapter 154: The Auction of Broken Promises

The path stretched before them, paved in stones that pulsed faintly like dying hearts. Each step they took made the ground squirm slightly underfoot, as if something just beneath the surface was watching, waiting.

Leonhardt walked at an even pace.

Zafira glided beside him, her hand lightly brushing his coat now and then—half reassurance, half warning. Erina clutched the hem of her coat tighter, her emerald eyes wide, lips pressed into a line of quiet defiance.

The air changed.

The oppressive mist lifted like a theatre curtain pulled aside—and the Black Briar Auction Hall revealed itself.

A cavern.

A cathedral.

A nightmare.

It spread out in a massive hollow under the earth, supported by pillars grown from twisted black roots, each one thick as a house and covered in barbed, writhing vines. The ceiling above vanished into darkness, broken only by the pale green luminescence of fungal lamps and braziers that oozed black fire.

Hundreds of creatures filled the audience.

Not men.

Not really.

Demons lounged across velvet couches, monstrous arms draped over chained slaves. Vampire lords in crimson robes murmured to each other, their dead eyes gleaming with greed. Hulking beastmen wrapped in iron bands stood guard at the fringes, leering at anything that moved.

And near the centre—a grand dais shrouded in thorned vines and a black silk canopy—the Auctioneer waited.

A woman, maybe. Or something that once had been one.

She hid her face behind a plague-doctor mask carved from polished black leather, maybe from a monster or some kind of magical beast. Yet, her body swayed with an eerie, unnatural grace that carried an unusual charm. With long, skeletal fingertips tapping a cruel iron bell hanging from her hip.

When she spoke, it wasn't loud, but gentle... charming and filled with excitement.

"Welcome, honoured sinners...to the 115th Gathering of the Black Briar Court."

A low hum of laughter and hunger rippled through the crowd.

Leonhardt didn't slow his stride.

Not even when one of the demon lords leaned forward, golden eyes sharpening, nostrils flaring as if tasting the new blood walking through the hall.

Zafira's wings shifted slightly, as she bounced with a sensual sway, her eyes narrowed into pleasant slits. Her tail twitched once—a warning, or maybe because of excitement?

Erina kept walking.

Barely.

She felt every stare and felt a mix of horrific terror from the deformed abominations. Every tongue was practically licking the air in her direction. Even covered in travel-stained clothes, she stood out like a beacon of untainted purity in a sea of rot.

Leonhardt placed his hand lightly against her back as they walked, not pushing—just anchoring her against his chest.

The air seemed to stir the moment he did, but he didn't care. "You're mine," he said under his breath, voice low enough only she could hear. "Remember that."

Erina swallowed hard, nodded once. Her heart racing from the sudden whisper... she could feel his warmth seeping into her back from his rough palm... unable to hide her delight and embarrassment, forming flushed cheeks.

The demons kept their distance after that.

Barely.

As they neared the open seats reserved for them—black-stained stone thrones carved with coiling roses and thorns—Zafira leaned close enough for her whisper to ghost against Leonhardt's ear.

"Isn't this lovely, my Master?" she purred, her voice a soft blade. "So many future corpses gathered in one place."

Leonhardt's lips quirked into a faint predator's smile.

He didn't answer—instead, he leaned back and remained quiet. Leonhardt's chair was a small throne in the centre of the room. With one arm over the chair's wooden backrest, he watched the stage quietly.

The bell at the Auctioneer's waist rang once again, indicating that the bidding would soon begin.

And tonight... someone would bleed for their sins.

The heavy curtain dragged open with a dry rasp, dust curling at the edges like smoke.Two guards stepped out first, their boots striking the stone floor with a hollow rhythm.

The pair dragged a girl in chains before locking her in place using a huge black bolt. They shackled the girl with heavy, black metal that caused her wrists and ankles to bruise. Thin, dull hair fell over her face. Her body trembled, not from fear, but exhaustion.

The cursed pink runes glowing along the metal pulsed like an infection under the skin.

Leonhardt's crimson eyes narrowed slightly, following her slow collapse onto the stage.

From the side of the hall, another figure entered.

The woman, clad in the plague doctor mask, returned, walking across the stage, with her arms lifted into the air, as she started to speak. Her voice spread through the air like a silk ribbon.

"Honoured guests," she said, bowing with a mocking sweep of her arms. "A gift for those who understand the value of... reclamation."

The girl didn't lift her head.

Her chained hands clenched once, twice—then stilled again. The masked woman paced slowly around her, the sharp clicks of her heels echoing across the floor.

"Once blessed. Once pure," she continued. "A vessel of divine faith, offered to their precious gods. Now—emptied. Ready to be... reshaped."

A few chuckles broke out among the crowd. Ugly words and disgusting mockery rumbled from their deformed, distorted mouths. Leonhardt leaned back in his seat, fingers tapping the throne's armrest lightly.

Zafira smiled, her legs crossed, golden eyes glittering with amusement, she didn't bother to hide.

And Erina... The sight caused Erina to freeze stiff, her hands gripping the hem of her dress as she couldn't stop herself from being scared. Her teeth chattered, while her face turned pale white.

The girl's aura—

It should have been gold.Brilliant.Alive.

Instead, it shimmered like a dying candle in a storm. The runes weren't just marks. They were shackles. Eating her soul inch by inch.

Erina's chest tightened.

For a moment—just a heartbeat—she didn't see the stranger on stage.She saw Dia.

Her Dia.

Her friend.Her protector.Her betrayer.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as she couldn't deal with the situation. Was this going to be her when Leonhardt became bored?

Countless thoughts were racing through her mind.

Meanwhile, Leonhardt shifted slightly, sensing her turmoil, but didn't speak. The auctioneer turned and lifted her hand, snapping her fingers.

A hollow bell rang once, dull and final.

"The bidding shall now begin," she announced with syrup-thick cheer. "Be swift, dear guests. She won't last long."

A man near the front—a fat one, rings glinting on sausage fingers—shouted first.

"Two hundred crowns! I'll break her in a week!"

Laughter rippled through the crowd, a disgusting and foul sound that made Leonhardt's lips press together in a calm frown. He didn't find this interesting, but not quite enough for him to find a reason to save the girl, either.

The guards yanked the girl up by her hair, forcing her face into the dim light.

Her eyes were blank. Empty.Not dead—but close.

Leonhardt said nothing.

His crimson gaze sharpened, the weight of it making the air near him feel heavier. Tighter. Like the first pressure before a storm splits the sky.

Erina's mouth opened, her breath hitching once——But no words came out.

Only the searing, helpless rage.

She turned toward Leonhardt, her green eyes wide, wild, desperate for an answer.

He met her gaze.

And after a heartbeat, gave the smallest of nods.

Permission.

The leash was off.

Erina swallowed thickly.

Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. Every instinct screamed at her to stand, to raise her hand, to stop this.

But her legs refused to move.

The plague doctor tilted her head in mock curiosity.

"No one?" she purred. "How sad. Must we reduce her further?"

She snapped her fingers again.

One of the guards yanked the girl's tattered shift lower, baring bruised skin to the cold air. A whip-crack sound followed—one of the other auctioneers testing the leather against his palm.

The hall chuckled darkly.

Erina's fists clenched so hard her nails cut into her palms.

"I... I want to—" she whispered, but her voice broke.

Leonhardt watched her.

Still silent.

Still waiting.

The price climbed steadily.

"Two-fifty!"

"Three hundred!"

"Three-fifty!"

Each number was another nail in the girl's coffin.

Erina bit her lip until she tasted copper. Her eyes burned. She couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Her body felt frozen to the seat.

Then, just as the next bid rang out—

"Four hundred!"

—A shadow moved, and finally Leonhardt stood. He made no sound or announcement, just the sheer weight of his body rising from the throne brought a wave of aura.

The entire row of bidders near him shifted unconsciously, like small animals sensing a storm about to break.

The plague doctor tilted her head again.

"Ahh… a new bidder," she said, her voice sweet as rotted fruit. "Most unexpected."

Leonhardt's coat swayed as he tapped the marble display, creating a flashing light on the edge of his box, and chose to bid. The girl lifted her head faintly, eyes blurry. Leonhardt tilted his head once.

A king surveying broken property or something else. Something worse.

He raised two fingers lazily.

"Five thousand," he said. His voice was calm, but it cut through the auction hall like a blade.

The crowd shifted uneasily.

Some sneered.

Others glanced away.

"Five thousand going once!" The plague doctor spread her arms, acting like a theactric actor, pointing to the various people around them.

"Twice! Are there no takers?"

'Thankfully Crowns are worth less than pure coins...'

1 gold = 1000 crowns

1 platinum = 10000 crowns

The masked auctioneer clapped her hands softly. "Sold," she said, almost reverent. "To the Lord cloaked in shadow."

The chains snapped off the girl with a flash of magic.

Her body slumped.

The guards didn't move to help her.

They didn't need to.

Because as Leonhardt stepped forward—

Erina's heart twisted violently.

Because in the ruined girl's eyes, for the first time—

There was a flicker of life.

A tiny ember.

And it wasn't pointed at salvation.

It was pointed at him.