Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!

The war council chamber in Hyparia's capital was choked with tension. Dim light filtered through stained glass, casting fractured shadows across the polished marble table where nobles, generals, and advisors had gathered.

Among them stood Raven, arms crossed and jaw tight, eyes locked on the man seated at the head of the table.

King Helvian, aged by war and worry, raised a weary hand. "Before we begin the strategy discussion, allow me to introduce someone who will shift the tide of this war."

The heavy oaken doors creaked open.

She stepped in like a specter dressed in grace and steel. A long white cloak fluttered behind her armored form, the silver and ivory plates of her battle habit marked with the sigil of the Everbright Church.

Her hair was silver-white, tied back with a golden cord, and her eyes, the color of polished lapis, surveyed the room with quiet amusement.

"This," the king said, rising, "is Saintess Marienne of Everbright."

Gasps rang out like ripples in water. One noble stood in protest. "Your Majesty, we severed ties with Everbright years ago—!"

Raven widened his eyes in worry, how come King wanted to work together with the people who wanted to burn his favorite daughter?

Were their really in desperate condition?

'But, Elysium's king given a room for negotiation...' he thought.

Though, that negotiation were more like slavery in their side. One of the agreement were to catch and sent all holy people to Elysium and many more things that disadvantages them.

But it was better than war. Even with the help of other kingdom and Promised Land, they have small chance to win because of the Red Slumber that rotting their kingdom inside.

"We had no choice," the king cut in, voice steely. "Our supply lines are failing. Our soldiers grow sick. Morale is cracked. The nobles are fracturing. We are on the brink."

Raven stood. "And you think Everbright's dogma will save us? That the very people who once burned witches in our borders will lift a hand for us now out of kindness?"

"They didn't come for free," the king admitted, casting a glance toward Marienne.

"But she has already proven her worth. She single-handedly wiped out a raiding daemon pack on the western ridge and resurrected five of our fallen knights."

Marienne took one step forward. "Your king is not naïve. I do not offer miracles for charity."

She unfastened her helm and tucked it beneath her arm, revealing the beauty of a noblewoman and the focus of a war general. A faint scar marked her jawline—proof of battles fought up close.

"I have come to aid Hyparia. In exchange, I request one thing."

Raven narrowed his eyes. "Which is?"

She smiled faintly. "When the war is over, I want exclusive rights to establish an Everbright enclave within Hyparia's capital."

"A cathedral and some chruch staffed by my disciples. Fully independent from your government."

Outrage boiled through the council. "That's blasphemy!" one noble barked. "We'll become a puppet of Everbright!"

Marienne remained calm, only slightly tilting her head. "Then find another Saintess who can heal your men by touch, cast barriers over a city, and fight beside your knights without faltering."

The silence was telling.

Raven looked to the king, incredulous. "You're accepting this?"

His question was more like 'Are you really want your daughter and granddaughter to be burned by them?'

Helvian stared into his chalice for a long moment before answering. "I don't like it. But I have no army left because of the Red Slumber. You see yourself how their army take over many villages and town?"

"They are just like plague that keep rotting us inside!"

"I choose the survival of our people, even if it means swallowing pride and allowing a foreign church to plant its roots here."

Raven muttered a curse under his breath.

"Besides," Marienne added softly, eyes on him now, "I am no zealot. I did not ask for Hyparia to kneel. Only to accept our help. If you want to win, you'll need more than soldiers. You'll need hope. That's what my presence will bring."

The room was still and murmured among the council started. He know that most of them would agree and even his father eyes were determined of what choice he would made.

He couldnt scream to everyone about his wife and daughter too, not in front of the saintess herself. So he could only frowned and think another way to save them.

Raven stared into Marianne unblinking blue eyes. She was calm, collected, and more dangerous than half the generals here — not because of any threat she posed, but because she had calculated the price of victory before she ever stepped into the room.

A healer, a warrior, a diplomat—and a viper in silk gloves.

And yet, Raven realized with a chill: she might be exactly what Hyparia needed to survive. But still, he couldn't accept it.

The king broke the silence. "Let it be written then. Saintess Marienne will remain with our army as commander of all divine units and as advisor in council. The cathedral… will be negotiated post-war."

Raven sat down slowly, jaw clenched. The deal was done.

And the war had just become more complicated.

***

"You surrendered just like that?" Claude asked, his voice laced with a curious amusement.

Instead of worry or suspicion, his crimson eyes sparkled with rare interest. For once, something intriguing had entered the rhythm of war—a move that might shift the tide, and Claude lived for unpredictability.

Raven nodded slowly. "Call me odd, call me foolish… but I once took a private audience with the King, hoping to sway him with reason."

Claude folded his arms, waiting.

"But he wouldn't budge," Raven continued. "I pleaded. Not just for myself—but for my wife, for our daughter and son. I thought… he would understand. But he just said—"

Raven's jaw tightened, voice lowering to mimic the king, "'You still have one son. That's what matters.'"

Claude raised a brow. "How fatherly of him."

Raven looked hollow. "It was enough for me to take a different side."

"So I want protection," Raven said, his tone now a little more serious. "For my family, my land, my people. I want my territory untouched by both Elysium and Hyparia."

He nodded again. "I know I've no right to ask, but I came here on my own will. I want to negotiate. For them."

Claude's smirk widened slightly, the glint in his eyes darkening. "Freedom, autonomy, protection… all noble requests." He paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I can grant it. For a price, of course."

Raven tensed. "What kind of price?"

"I want you to become my spy."

The words struck harder than a sword.

Claude leaned in. "I'll keep your father alive—as a prisoner. A symbol of the old Hyparia nobility under my mercy."

"But you… you will return to the capital. Proclaim your failure. Swear loyalty to your king and the saintess. And from there, you will feed me every trap, movement, and whisper from the court."

Raven's face paled. His hands trembled slightly as he clenched them on the table. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly.

"Give me a moment to think…"

Claude said nothing. He didn't rush those who danced on the edge of desperation. That was when truth showed its face.

After a moment, Raven opened his eyes. "If possible… I want to speak to my wife. Just once. I want her to know that I am save."

Claude gave a short nod. "We'll provide you the communication crystal. But you'll be supervised."

He gestured toward Samson, who stepped forward silently.

"This man will be your shadow," Claude added, his voice sharper.

"You try anything—codes, hidden meanings, betrayal—I'll have your father executed. Publicly. Then I'll burn your land down to salt."

Raven stiffened but nodded, a heavy acceptance in his eyes.

Claude stood and brushed imaginary dust from his coat. "Then we have a deal."

As he walked toward the tent's exit, his mind wandered elsewhere—toward a name now murmured through his network.

Saintess Marienne.

He pulled open a mental file from the Black Orchid's reports. Her power was unlike the other Everbright lapdogs.

A jack-of-all-trades—magic, swordplay, healing, enchantment—all well-balanced. Not a master of any one thing, but adaptable and dangerous.

"She's not a saint," Claude muttered to himself with a small smile. "She's a toolbox."

His smile grew. "But even a sharp tool dulls eventually."

He stepped out of the tent, the war drums faint in the distance—his mind already turning to the next move on the board.

"I wonder if the Plundering skill from Lyra could steal that saintess power, can I weild holy magic then?" he smirked thinking about all the possibility.

***

In the peaceful room far away from war, Saintess Marianne acribbeled something on the paper. Her desk were full of documents while her subordinate discussed about another strategy in the another long table with map. Whispering not to disturb the Saintes.

Then, suddenly the door burst open, a soldier in a hurry come in and knelt before her, his armor scorched and eyes wide with fear.

"He summoned a creature, my lady—a beast of six legs that melted men alive with acid. It came from nowhere… no chant, no delay. Thousands died in seconds."

Marienne's pale fingers tapped her staff, expression unreadable. "So the Lord of Calamity is a summoner, huh?"