Dungeon Overlord: Monster Girl Harem!
Chapter 190 - 190: Death of the Skullbrand!

Krogar's strength and attributes were on par with a Lesser Demon, most of them matching Leonhardt, apart from attack.

But the orc was old.. almost double Leonhardt's age.

And he was too angry.

Krogar stalked through the carnage, each heavy step cracking burnt bone underfoot.

The blackened great-axe on his shoulder seemed to pulse with hatred. Orc blood painted his arms and chest. He was taller than Leonhardt by nearly a head, muscles knotted like old rope, eyes burning with the agony of loss.

The world narrowed to the two of them.

The chimaera and the last war captain of the broken tribe.

Leonhardt shifted his grip on the greatsword, measuring the orc. Fast. Defensive. But his anger makes him reckless. That's fine. He rolled his neck once, scales shifting with a soft scrape.

Krogar spat blood onto the ground.

"You killed my brothers." His voice was thick, trembling on the edge of a roar. "You burned my tribe."

Leonhardt's eyes didn't flicker. "That's war. You did worse to the elves."

A tremor ran through Krogar's thick arms. The orc's chest heaved. "We fought with honour. We fought for survival. You… you just massacred them all!" His voice cracked, ragged with rage. "I'll rip your spine out."

"Hypocrite"

The two circled, boots and claws crunching over ash and bone.

Then Krogar came. Faster than a man that size should move. His axe cut a blurred arc at Leonhardt's midsection.

Clang—!

Leonhardt caught it on his blade, sliding with the momentum. The shock jolted his arms, but he held his ground. Krogar pressed in, roaring, and slammed his head forward.

Leonhardt ducked, felt the whoosh of air as the tusked jaw missed his temple. He retaliated with a sharp elbow, but Krogar twisted, using his momentum to drive a knee toward Leonhardt's ribs.

It caught him, just barely. Pain followed by a dull bruise beneath his scales.

Krogar grinned, wild and desperate. "Not so untouchable, are you?"

Leonhardt's answer was a quick backstep, blade swinging out in a feint, testing, not killing. Krogar blocked with the shaft of his axe, the wood splintering under the force. Their weapons locked for a heartbeat.

Then Krogar spun, using surprising speed to hook the axe at Leonhardt's ankles. Leonhardt leapt, flipped, landed behind Krogar and slashed at his exposed back—only for Krogar to roll with the blow, armour absorbing most of the cut.

Blood spattered. But not enough.

The orc twisted, bellowing, axe crashing down. The ground shook.

Leonhardt darted aside, sweat stinging his eyes. He wasn't winded, but neither was Krogar! His rage seemed to fuel him, making his body burn with new strength.

A faint red haze pulsed around the orc's muscles, veins bulging, eyes bloodshot.

"Bloodrage," Leonhardt muttered.

Krogar's laughter was wild, half-mad. "Fight me, monster! I want your skull for my altar! I'll carve your eyes out and—"

Leonhardt's blade shot forward, slicing across Krogar's chest. The orc howled, but instead of falling, he slammed Leonhardt back with the haft of his axe.

The force staggered him. Krogar seized the moment, raining blow after blow. His attacks became less controlled, but brutally strong, each swing a burst of power.

Leonhardt dodged, but the last strike caught his shoulder and pain crackled through his body, his scales denting but not breaking.

He's stronger in this state… Fast, but he's burning himself out.

Krogar roared, spittle flying, blood streaking his tusks. "For my kin! For the blood you spilled! For my name!"

He rushed again, axe overhead, eyes burning with grief and wrath.

Leonhardt steadied his stance.

"Come then, Krogar," he said, voice cool, scales gleaming in the firelight. "Let's see whose pain is deeper."

And they crashed together in a storm of steel, hate, and flame.

Krogar's rage boiled, drowning out the pain, the fear, even the memory of his brothers' faces. He only saw the chimaera now. This arrogant bastard, this butcher, standing among orc corpses like he belonged.

He lunged with a guttural snarl, both hands gripping his axe before striking with wild and unfocused attacks.

All fuelled by rage and his blood rage.

But Leonhardt didn't back away.

Instead, he smiled—slow, unsettling, almost hungry.

"Is that all you've got, orc?" Leonhardt's eyes flickered, and something shifted within them—deep red, star-shaped sigils, burning like the memory of hell itself. The pentagrams spun in his pupils, catching the firelight.

Krogar swung, again and again.

Yet his trusted axe whistled past Leonhardt's ribs, biting the air as the chimaera twisted aside, always half a step ahead, boots gliding over ash and blood.

He was watching.

Learning.

Every movement, every furious slash, every stomp, every feint!

Leonhardt absorbed and mimicked, his body adjusting, posture shifting, stance widening to match Krogar's brute style. For every wild swing, Leonhardt's sword moved in kind, parrying, countering, sidestepping—never the same trick twice.

Krogar's eyes widened. His blood haze thinned just for a heartbeat.

"How—? You mock me?"

Leonhardt's smirk grew sharper. "I'm studying you, Krogar. Otherwise this entire experiment would be worthless."

"W-Worthless... YOU!!!"

Krogar roared and spun, lashing out with a booted foot. Leonhardt let it graze his hip, not enough to knock him down, just enough to close the distance.

He darted in, sword flashing—this time not for a killing stroke, but to tap the back of Krogar's thigh. The orc staggered, spun, bared his tusks and let loose a scream so raw it shook the flames around them.

"Fight back! Use that strength, Captain! Or will you just keep swinging until you die like the rest?"

The orc's mind snapped.

His axe now blunt and broken... He bellowed in grief and anger, tossing his axe at Leonhardt with a thunderous clang and charging after it, swinging fists like hammers.

"Don't tarnish their names!"

Leonhardt didn't flinch.

He faced Krogar's foolish charge head-on. He stepped into the arc of his arms, grabbed the orc's wrist and twisted. Leonhardt used the momentum to flip Krogar over his shoulder and slammed him into the dirt.

Krogar rose, blood dripping from his nose, chest heaving.

But Leonhardt was already upon him, pressing the advantage.

His Fae and Djinn eyes allowed him to break the limits of the world, learning to copy anything he saw. He copied Krogar's footwork, switching from swordplay to brutal, close-quarters strikes.

A punch to the throat, a knee to his gut and a spinning elbow to finish, cracking Krogar's skull.

Each blow was calculated. Each movement refined the longer Leonhardt watched, as if he practised them thousands of times, equal to the orc captain.

Leonhardt's eyes shone with the crimson light of his demonic heritage, the pentagrams pulsing as he learned, adapted, and improved.

The orc captain stumbled back, eyes glazed. Sweat and blood ran in rivulets down his broad back. "No… not like this… I am the last captain…"

Leonhardt cocked his head, voice flat, eyes merciless. "You are. And you'll die like one."

Krogar bared his tusks and let out a final, broken war cry. "For my kin! For my tribe!"

He rushed one last time, but Leonhardt's body moved like water, anticipating, flowing, countering each desperate strike. The chimaera's sword flicked out—three quick, precise slashes—each one deeper than the last.

Krogar dropped to his knees.

His axe was out of reach. His blood steamed on the scorched ground.

Leonhardt stepped forward, blade resting against Krogar's neck.

For a moment, the world went silent.

Leonhardt's pentagram eyes gleamed.

"Sleep. You fought well."

He drove his blade home.

[You have Slain Krogar Skullbrand]

[You have exterminated the Skullbrand bloodline]

[15000 EXP]

[Level: 60 (32,000/100,000 Experience)]

Leonhardt exhaled, the last wisps of Krogar's blood steaming from his blade.

All around him, the orc camp was nothing but ruin—torn bodies, fire, broken weapons scattered like children's toys. The night pressed close, smothering, the only light the flames he'd conjured himself.

He glanced down at his hands, shaking, caked in black-red gore. Even now, the scales along his arms pulsed with residual heat. He could feel it in his teeth: the high, the rush, the taste of combat that he'd craved far more than he would ever admit to anyone.

The dark, jealous ache still lingered in his chest, sharp and unfamiliar.

'Pathetic,' he thought, spitting a clot of blood to the dirt. 'All this rage over a woman who isn't even mine.'

He cleaned his blade and closed his eyes.

'Should I make her mine?'

Lost in thought, a sudden flicker of mana caught at the edge of his senses.

Sharp, delicate, and familiar. Dark elves. He could already smell their approach, their elegant caution, the filthy lust that lingered in their hearts.

Leonhardt's lips curled—not quite a smile, not quite a snarl. He would not let them see him like this, not with his scales exposed, his body bare and stained with slaughter. Not with jealousy twisting in his gut and the shame of satisfaction burning beneath his skin.

He snapped his fingers.

A jagged tear opened in the air—dungeon portal, cold and flickering.

Without another glance, Leonhardt stepped through, vanishing from the carnage.

***

Moments later, Nyxara and her rangers reached the camp's edge, bows drawn, eyes wide. The air was thick with blood and ash, so thick even the sharpest of them staggered at the stench.

Nyxara's gaze swept the field—burnt orcs, scattered arms, pools of blood cooling in the dirt. There was no sign of the enemy. Only death.

But she stopped, eyes narrowing at the ground where Leonhardt had stood.

His delicious mana still lingered like a thick perfume... the heavy scent overwhelming her as she stroked her body in a trance.

Male, demonic, powerful... it was unmistakable... he was here a moment before.

With a pounding heart, Nyxara closed her eyes as her lips twisted into a wicked, distorted smile of obsession and deep affection.

'I can sense you, beloved master…

Your mana, your scent, thick as a brand. Did you do this for me?'

Nyxara's hands trembled, her thighs pressed together, a shiver of desire running through her even in the aftermath of slaughter.

No words.

'Please take me soon!'

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