Dungeon Overlord: Monster Girl Harem!-Chapter 143: Return of the Goblin Butler—

Leonhardt raised an eyebrow.

The goblin rolled onto his back while groaning and then blinked up at the towering man above him.

"...Sire?"

Leonhardt crossed his arms.

"Sire... leaving me alone in that cesspit of a brothel... how cruel of you."

Leonhardt scoffed. "Weren't you enjoying that human whore?"

Griv cleared his throat, smoothing down his ragged shirt with exaggerated dignity. "Ahem. Who, me? Sire, Griv is a clean and healthy goblin. I've always been a gentleman. Isn't that right, Scrabby?"

From behind Leonhardt's throne, a voice croaked.

"It's Snaggle, Griv."

Leonhardt smirked.

"Minister of Wealth, now," Snaggle added with more pride than was probably warranted for a goblin in gold-trimmed suspenders.

Griv wobbled to his feet, brushing dust off his knees and wincing as he took in the masterwork chamber—the polished obsidian walls veined with glowing red runes, the flicker of illusionary torches that burned without heat.

"Griv, consider this your promotion," Leonhardt said, striding past the still-dazed goblin. "Butlers don't get vacations. Or whorehouse retreats."

"No more vacations," Griv repeated dutifully. Then paused. "Unless...?"

"No."

"…Understood."

Leonhardt stopped at the doors leading into the council wing, the thick, rune-inscribed slabs of blackstone that only opened to his aura. As they rumbled open, he glanced back over his shoulder.

This was a new room that Zafira seemed to have added while Leonhardt visited Erina.

"Get dressed. You're attending your first council meeting."

Griv stood straighter, grinning like a goblin possessed.

"Oh, Sire, I've already selected a cravat."

The council chamber had changed.

What was once a bare room near the dungeon's second floor had been transformed into a proper assembly hall: crescent-shaped obsidian tables, arranged like tiers of a miniature arena, each seat lined with violet silk. Magical fire flickered in sconces high along the walls, casting soft golden light over the scene.

It was nothing extravagant. Not yet. But it was the beginning of a kingdom.

Leonhardt entered first, his boots thudding softly against the dark tile floor, the rune-light shifting in colour with every step. He didn't sit—only glanced at the gathered goblins standing in awkward formation.

At the centre of them was Lina.

She stood on a raised dais, her slim brown form now adorned in black-and-crimson ceremonial robes. The gold lining framed her face and wild amber eyes as she bowed.

"Dungeon Master."

The others followed suit. Snaggle fumbled a stack of ledgers in his rush to kneel. Mossi gave a slight nod while still scratching her dirt-streaked notes. Hanz saluted with a large hammer balanced over his shoulder. Nebi adjusted her glasses and bowed precisely 45 degrees.

Leonhardt gave a nod of acknowledgement.

Then the doors creaked behind him.

"Presenting his dust-borne eminence—Goblin Butler Griv!" the goblin's voice rang out a beat before his dramatic entry. He stepped through the open hall doors with perfect posture, one hand tucked behind his back, the other holding a polished silver tray.

Upon it: a single steaming cup of black dungeon-roasted coffee.

A beat passed.

Then he knelt, presenting the tray forward like a knight bearing a sword.

Leonhardt didn't even blink. He took the coffee.

"Your theatrics are getting worse."

"And yet you drank it, my Lord."

Snaggle muttered under his breath, "You're not right in the head…"

Griv turned toward him with a tight smile.

"Minister Scraggle—"

"Snaggle."

"—if you misplace a decimal again in the treasury logs, I will personally roast your tongue in the cauldron of kitchen waste."

Leonhardt took a long sip of the coffee and let the silence stretch.

Then he looked at Lina.

"Well?"

She stepped forward, voice clear.

"We're ready to begin."

Lina placed one hand over her chest, the other rising with a fluid grace as if conducting an unseen choir. Her voice rang clear—not loud, but piercing, vibrant with conviction that settled like a sermon in the air.

"My King… our most gracious and divine Master, Chosen of the Depths, Weaver of the Second Sun…"

Leonhardt arched an eyebrow. "Lina."

"Yes, Master." Her smile didn't waver. "Forgive my joy. I live only to speak your name."

Snaggle muttered into his hand, "Zealotry level ten… gods help us."

"Silence," Lina said without turning. Her tone hadn't changed, but the light in her eyes flared—a flash of violet-red mana.

She continued, stepping forward to the rune-lit dais.

"We, the newly born Ebonfire, are prepared to enact your will. I have drafted three possible plans for integration with the surface world. All revolve around subterfuge, trade, and cultural manipulation."

She waved her hand, and glowing glyphs formed in the air—floating diagrams of villages, road networks, and merchant paths.

"Our disguises are flawless," Lina said. "Each council member has undergone form-stabilisation. We can pass for humans… or elves… or whatever this wretched surface prefers."

Leonhardt studied her calmly. "And the goal?"

"To bleed them," Lina answered. Her voice was quiet, reverent. "In coin. In need. In admiration. We will feed their weakness until they depend on us—and then we pull the roots."

Behind her, Mossi clapped once in approval.

Snaggle adjusted his monocle. "And the numbers, Speaker?"

Lina nodded. "Snaggle and Nebi have projected acceptable losses at under three percent. If we begin with soft trade—herbs, spices, drugs—I mean fruits—we'll build reliance. Then introduce alchemical mixtures and magical tools."

Leonhardt tapped the side of his chair.

"You want to infiltrate Arlet."

"We already have."

Nebi stepped forward now, holding a stack of papers written in perfect script.

"Three goblins are embedded at The Sleepy Kobold. Two more as cleaners at the mercenary guild. Lina… spoke to Veronica personally."

Leonhardt glanced between them. "Did she approve?"

"She approved you," Lina whispered, eyes glittering. "I only had to say your name."

Leonhardt leaned into the armrest of his throne, eyes scanning the floating glyphs and illusion diagrams still glowing above the table. Villages. Merchant paths. The slow creep of disguised goblins.

All moving beneath human noses.

"Ambitious," he murmured. "Very ambitious."

"Thank you, my King," Lina bowed, lowering herself as her forehead nearly touched the floor.

He nodded toward the green-haired goblin standing to the side.

"Mossi?"

The poor goblin shuddered and squeaked before turning to Leonhardt.

Her fingers trailed along a sprouting vine that grew from the floor at her feet—clearly summoned without permission.

"I can make them want what we grow," Mossi said, voice dry and slow. "My herbs… my roots… they soothe. Addict. Entrap. The humans will take it willingly. Beg for it. Trade daughters for it."

"Mossi."

Her body trembled from Leonhardt's deep voice. "Y-Yes, Boss?"

"Ensure they don't affect productivity, and I will give you a bigger workshop."

Griv coughed lightly. "Charming girl."

"Shut up," she said flatly.

This chapt𝓮r is updat𝒆d by ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom.

Leonhardt smiled faintly. "And Snaggle?"

The golden-eyed goblin straightened, holding a crisp scroll like a weapon.

"Supply and demand, my Lord! We control both ends. Even low-tier trinkets can bankrupt barons if sold as 'rare dungeon artifacts.' I recommend limited supply. High price. Exclusivity." His eyes gleamed. "And, of course, a modest handling fee for your most humble treasurer."

Lina didn't look at him. "Ten percent cut."

Snaggle sputtered. "Ten?! Mistress, surely—"

"Or I say twenty," she snapped, still smiling.

Leonhardt raised a hand, ending the squabble with a flick of his fingers.

"Enough. I approve the plan—conditionally. No exposure. If even one noble gets wind of this too early..."

He let the thought hang.

They all nodded.

"Lina," he said.

"Yes, Master?"

"Coordinate with Aella in Arlet. Begin distributing product under her guild's nose. I want a report by week's end."

Lina's eyes gleamed. "It will be done."

Leonhardt exhaled, then waved a hand.

The meeting was adjourned.

As the council began to disperse, Griv leaned in beside him and whispered with conspiratorial glee:

"Sire… don't you just love the smell of corruption in the morning?"

Leonhardt glanced at him sideways.

"Only when it's mine."