Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!

Claude didn't actually want Layla to be here—as a commander, at least. She was his concubine, and although nearly two years had passed since she gave birth to the future heir of House Xalvach, she was still recovering.

According to Regina, his royal physician and the head of concubine care, five years was the minimum recovery period before a woman could safely conceive again.

It wasn't just about the body—mana depletion was a real threat, especially when a baby had drawn heavily from the mother's core.

But Layla, stubborn as ever, had insisted on joining Claude's new military campaign: Operation Lock & Destroy.

She badgered him for days until, finally, he gave in—not because he agreed, but because she wouldn't leave him alone.

Llyold, too, eventually caved, unable to endure the pain of being ignored by his daughter for a whole week.

'That weak old man…' Claude shook his head in disbelief.

"Yeah, General Heinrich said there was some trouble here, so I came to check it out myself," Claude replied to Layla as she approached.

"Ohh, you mean that old guy with the holy power?" Layla asked, grinning. "So, it's done then? You beat him, right?"

Claude sighed, his tone more tired than triumphant. "Unfortunately not. That man turned out to be the one who saved me and my mother back in Blackwood."

Both Lilac and Aquila, standing beside Layla, looked up in surprise. Even Aquila tilted her head, blinking curiously.

As they walked, Claude began recounting the events that had taken place inside the barrier. After spending nearly three years living with the women in his palace, he understood one thing well—women loved stories.

Whether it was gossip or his own firsthand experiences, they always wanted the full version.

"Oh my," Lilac said softly. "That's quite unexpected. It must be fate that brought you two together again."

Claude gave her a small nod, then scooped Aquila into his arms and smiled faintly. "Let's talk about something else. I'm tired of war—it's starting to get boring."

Layla burst into laughter. "I never thought I'd hear those words from you. You used to get that wild gleam in your eyes every time someone so much as mentioned battle."

"Yeah, well," Claude shrugged, "I expected this campaign to be grander. More interesting. But hey, I won't complain."

With that, the four of them headed toward the heart of the camp—no strategy, no orders, no politics. Just casual conversation that made even the Lord of Calamity seem human.

***

When Claude arrived back at his outpost in Hyparia, he was once again greeted by Samson, who offered a respectful bow before giving his report.

"As you ordered, I guided the princes and princesses around. Once the sun started to dip, I sent them all back to Elysium before nightfall."

"Good." Claude nodded, his tone brisk. "And? Have you caught Duke Ciel?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Samson answered as they walked toward Claude's command tent. "He tried to flee, but we captured him in time. He's currently being interrogated by one of my men."

Claude unfastened his robe and tossed it aside as he sank into his chair. "Report back once he's broken," he said without looking up. "I have something to finish first."

Samson nodded and left the tent.

Claude reached for paper and pen. He had promised Dalia, who was still confined within Elysium for her own safety, that he'd send her letters—little glimpses of his life on the outside.

Since she wasn't allowed to step beyond the capital's walls just yet, his letters were the only thing she had to ease her worry.

He never wrote her about war—not truly. Instead, he wrote about walking with children, playing with summoned beasts, or demonstrating his summoner talents to curious villagers.

He painted peaceful pictures to reassure her, not lies, just... softer truths.

Recently, however, she had grown more anxious. She knew, despite his carefully chosen words, that Claude had gone to war.

'More like rehearsing for one,' he thought with a sigh.

The Church hadn't made any significant moves lately. They were too busy salvaging their image—trying to reclaim their former glory. In some territories, their efforts were working. In others, not so much.

The truth was catching up to the world. People were finally realizing what the Church had done: executing witches who had once saved them, who had brewed their medicines and healed their sick.

If the Church had truly succeeded in wiping them all out during the plague... humanity might not even exist today. That sobering fact had made many believers rethink their faith—and leave it behind.

Claude didn't interfere. His goal was to build a better world for those the Church had tried to erase.

'Still... they must be planning something,' he mused, tapping the pen against his lips.

According to Black Orchid's latest report, the Church was quietly rebuilding its military force, licking its wounds from the plague's aftermath.

It meant Claude didn't have much time left to crush them entirely.

He was midway through writing the letter when Samson returned.

"Your Majesty," he said with a low bow, "someone tied to Duke Ciel wishes to speak with you."

Claude didn't look up immediately. "The Duke himself?"

"No, it's his son."

Claude finally set down the pen and stood. "I see. As long as it's useful, I won't mind."

He followed Samson, both men walking side by side toward a separate tent.

"Let's see what the boy has to say."

When Samson pulled open the tent flap, Claude was greeted not by a prisoner chained or bloodied, but by a man in his mid-thirties calmly seated at the table, posture straight, eyes downcast.

There were no ropes binding his wrists, no bruises or cuts—just a man who looked as if he'd already accepted his fate.

Claude narrowed his eyes slightly, then walked in without a word and took the seat across from him. The man didn't look up until Claude's presence fully settled into the space like a heavy storm cloud.

When he did, his eyes widened—and then, instinctively, he averted his gaze, trembling faintly.

"Calm down," Claude said coolly, voice almost gentle. "No need to be nervous. I know you surrendered yourself."

The man blinked. "How… how did you know?"

Claude's reply was blunt. "You're not tied down. No wounds. And your expression looks like someone who's given up everything."

The man let out a defeated sigh. "I suppose I have."

Claude leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening. "What's your name?"

"Raven," he said, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Claude raised an eyebrow. "You're the Duke's eldest son?"

Raven nodded, though there was a flash of surprise in his eyes. "How did you? Ah forget it, you have your own intel. But why you seem shocked?"

"It's usually the younger sons who come crawling first," Claude said dryly. "Less burden. Fewer consequences. But the heir? That's unusual."

Another sigh escaped Raven's lips. "Unusual or not, I came here of my own will."

"So, tell me," Claude said, crossing his arms, "why did you surrender? What are you hoping for in return?"

Raven's demeanor shifted. His spine straightened, and his tone gained a solemn weight.

"You've heard the rumors, haven't you?" he said.

"About why the Hyparia royal family had a strained relationship with the Church? That the king's favorite daughter was a witch?"

Claude nodded slightly. "I've heard things."

"Well… it's true," Raven said quietly. "And my wife… is that very daughter."

Claude blinked once, silently.

"We've been married for twelve years. We have a daughter and a son—both of them gifted. One's a witch, the other a wizard. I'm proud of them. My wife and I raised them to be kind, to use their magic wisely."

A soft, nostalgic smile curved his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "The King accepted them."

"The kingdom has slowly learned to embrace witches because of their service for healing the Red Slumber, and for the first time, I truly believed my children would grow up in a safe world."

Claude leaned back, arms still crossed, watching him.

"But then… your army came," Raven continued, voice quieter now.

"When I heard the Lord of Calamity himself had come, I thought surely it wasn't an attack meant for us. After all, your kind doesn't persecute witches. You protect them."

He paused, and when his eyes rose to meet Claude's, they were filled with something raw—confusion, fear, and desperation all at once.

"I thought our king would send a letter. I thought there'd be a treaty, some kind of understanding. But something changed."

This was what Claude had thought too. Since Hyparia condition was in crisis, he thought they would just surrender.

But Raven continue, "The king grew paranoid. Then we received reports that your forces weren't stopping. That villages were falling. He said we had no choice but to fight."

Claude's brows furrowed slightly. "Then tell me, Raven… what exactly happened?"

Raven's face hardened. "The chruch come to the palace, Your Majesty and the king decided to shake hand with them."

"They came to destroy you."