Dungeon Overlord: Monster Girl Harem!-Chapter 166: The Last Call - A Lover’s Tryst

In the beautiful white city of Astrea, the lord rested silently in the peaceful night of his elegant mansion at the top of the spire.

He never once cared for those beneath the sixth ring, where the lowest level of nobles and rich merchants would live. For those beneath the sixth ring, foreigners, peasants, orphans and even lower.

None of them mattered to him.

"Nn..." The lord stirred, trickling drops of rain disturbing his pleasant sleep.

The crackle of thunder and lightning spread through the sky as a figure slipped into his window, half ajar. Never expected someone to sneak inside on the first ring. A place where only the most noble and opulent people lived.

A black cat mask.

Long golden hair down to her lower back. freēwēbηovel.c૦m

Sapphire blue eyes, sharp and focused on her target, as she stroked the dagger hits with both palms.

However, in the eyes of Dia...

The world looked very different, a floor covered in women's clothes, panties, and the scent of sex... this was the room of Enzo, the man she loved.

His hair was dirty blonde with dull eyes.

'Inferior compared to Erina... the young lady.'

What used to be blind faith and affection transformed... into hatred, disgust and disappointment.

Dia couldn't accept Enzo anymore, the brainwashing and mind control so deep that now she compared the Lord to Enzo, while thinking about Erina.

The line between lover, master and hated enemy blurred.

She couldn't stop herself, slipping through the room, her blades gleaming in the darkness, as Dia dropped her calling card, just like her 'master' asked.

'He told me to ensure that the world knew...'

'Why am I killing Enzo... why would Enzo want me to?'

"Ngh...!"

Her hands covered her face, visibly struggling and in anguish, which made her suffer a dense migraine as the brainwashing kicked in once again.

"Haa... I must..."

'Kill him, he is the target. This is my mission!'

'Master is waiting for me.'

Her steps faltered.

Dia pressed her back to the cold marble wall, blade still clutched in her palm. The handle had grown slick with sweat. Her breathing was sharp and shallow. Her memories and emotions rose and fell with the movement of her chest. She bit her lips as blood trickled down her chin.

'He used to kiss me there…'

Her eyes flicked to the bed—white silks disturbed only by the slight turn of the man's shoulder. His sleeping form, his bare neck, the steady rise and fall of his breath.

Enzo.

The name twisted through her mind like barbed wire. Her heart didn't know the difference anymore. Her mind screamed, It's Endo, Endo, Lord Endo, but her blood whispered something sweeter, warmer. That old warmth was poison now.

"I loved you," she mouthed silently.

But that memory was a lie, too.

She remembered his voice—calm, smooth, detached. "You're just a tool, Dia. Don't mistake kindness for care."

It had shattered her once.

Now it fueled her.

Her eyes stung, tears welling at the edges—but not falling. She couldn't cry. Not when he was watching.

She glanced toward the corner of the room. No one was there. But her gaze lingered anyway.

"Master," she whispered. "Are you watching me?"

Leonhardt's voice echoed in her skull, low and intimate: "Do it slowly. Let him feel what he never let you show."

A phantom hand touched her cheek.

Dia shivered.

It felt real. Too real.

Her knees shook as she dropped to her knees beside the bed. Her hands trembled. The dagger rested against her thigh, sharp and patient.

"I have to do it. I have to make him understand. He… he used me."

"He used everyone." Leonhardt's voice again—calm, inevitable.

Dia held her breath, silently, before she leaned forward and kissed the sheet near his arm.

"I'm sorry, Enzo," she whispered.

Then her fingers tightened on the blade.

"I'm sorry… but Master is waiting."

The rain tapped against the glass behind her like fingers trying to pull her back.

Dia didn't move.

She stared at the man who once meant everything to her, no... he still did. His mouth opened slightly as he snored, lips damp from saliva. The blanket had slipped low across his waist. She remembered touching that skin. Her cheek rested there. Her fingers tracing the curve of his hip.

But that wasn't real anymore.

"Enzo," she whispered, the name spilling like blood from a wound.

He stirred.

Just a shift. A wrinkle in the sheet. But it was enough.

Dia finally moved, claiming him and straddling his waist. The blade stopped shaking. Rather, it felt like it grew from her hand. Her hot sigh created a foggy cloud in the cold air as she leaned closer, pressing her breasts against his chest.

"You lied to me."

He mumbled something, still asleep. Dia didn't let him finish.

'His voice... sounds different.'

The dagger slid under his chin, just below the jawline. She angled it upward, just as Leonhardt had taught her—so the scream would be silent, the bleed immediate.

His eyes opened.

For one second, confusion. Then recognition. Then panic.

He tried to speak. Tried to reach for her.

Dia plunged the blade up.

Blood poured over her hand, hot and fast, coating her fingers, splashing across her face. His eyes went wide, then unfocused. His body twitched violently beneath her, then stilled.

Dia stayed there, crouched over him, staring into his dying eyes as the light left them.

Her thighs were slick with blood. Her lips parted. She let out a small, breathy moan she didn't recognise.

Then silence.

Only her breathing remained.

Dia raised her hand slowly, brushing blood-matted hair from her eyes. Her face was soaked, her heart thudding like a drum, but her expression was blank.

She leaned down and kissed his lifeless lips once, softly.

"Goodnight… Enzo."

She slid from the bed without a sound. Her movements were precise, rehearsed.

There was still one thing left to do.

The man's blood still dripped from her boots as she crossed the chamber with slow, deliberate steps. No tremble. No pause.

Dia knelt at his polished desk and unfurled the parchment sealed in dark wax. A forged manifest—detailing arms deals, rebel affiliations, slave brokering, and smuggling routes through the lower rings of Astrea. Each accusation signed, stamped, and sourced to The Last Call.

Her hand moved with quiet reverence as she set it on the lacquered surface. Then, from her coat, she pulled a small iron seal—a perfect replica of The Last Call's symbol, scorched with age. She drove it into the corpse's palm with her second dagger, pinning it there like a badge of guilt.

Blood oozed from beneath the iron edge.

'Master said to make it obvious.'

'But I should be more careful... hide things, making it a little more professional.'

Dia glanced back toward the bed.

The corpse's eyes were open now, dull and glassy, staring at the ceiling like they still didn't believe it. Dia walked to the far side of the room, pulled a small bottle from her belt, and emptied it onto the curtains.

The oil soaked in instantly.

Then she struck flint to steel.

Flames caught fast, licking upward with orange tongues.

Not enough to fill the room.

Just enough to make sure someone found it.

Just enough to spread panic.

Dia stood still a moment longer, watching the fire reflect in her eyes.

Her breathing was even. She blinked once. Twice.

Then she turned and walked out the window—just as silently as she'd entered.

The fire caught faster than she'd expected.

By the time Dia reached the rooftop balcony, the curtains had become a wall of flame, sending black smoke spiralling into the air like a signal flare. Panic would come next. Guards scrambling. Priests screaming prayers into the sky. Noble tongues spitting blame like venom.

All just as Master intended.

She sprinted across the rooftop, leaving wet crimson prints behind her. Down the angled shingles, over a private guard's barracks, and into a shadowed alley nestled between two ivory towers.

No one saw her land.

The sound of shouting began in the distance—sharp, confused, rising fast.

"Fire! The Lord's chambers—move, move!"

Dia reached into her belt and pulled a small crystal shard, pulsing with faint dungeon light. It vibrated in her palm. Dungeon-forged. Marked. Bound to Leonhardt's will.

She didn't hesitate.

A single whispered word—"Return."

Light folded around her, and she vanished like a breath caught in the dark.

Moments later, guards poured into the upper ring, blades drawn and prayers spilling from their lips. The fire had begun to crawl along the roof's edge, licking greedily at the frame of the manor.

Inside, they found the corpse.

The seal.

The documents.

And blood—so much blood.

As the panic rose, no one looked up.

Not high enough to see the tall spire shadowing the burning mansion.

Not high enough to see the silver eyes watching from across the district—silent, unmoving.

The figure did not flinch at the sight of the fire.

Did not blink when the crystal pulsed and Dia vanished.

They simply watched, eyes reflecting the flames like mirrors.