Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!-Chapter 183: A Gift For The King

"What? Durnvale has already fallen to the Saintess?" Claude's voice cut through the tent like a blade.

He stood at the head of the war table, surrounded by his generals and lieutenants. The sudden arrival of a panting messenger had silenced the entire compartment, and now murmurs filled the room like buzzing flies.

Claude rubbed his chin, his crimson eyes narrowing as his mind raced through possibilities.

Durnvale. A crucial supply town far behind their main line. Its loss wasn't just an inconvenience—it threatened the very spine of their supply chain.

He could redirect the supply transport from different town, but it takes too much time to do it and the supply won't last long. In war, efficiency and time was crucial.

If they redirected troops or he was the one who go there to retake it, it might be a trap. The enemy could be luring them into retreat while preparing an assault at the front.

But to do nothing? To allow the Saintess to press her advantage unchecked?

Unacceptable.

"We can't ignore this," Claude muttered. "If we let her take Durnvale, she'll target the next, and then the next. That chain supply holds up our entire march."

His gaze snapped to one of the commanders. "Samson."

"Yes, Your Majesty!" The large man stood at attention.

"You'll take a force and reclaim Durnvale. Choose as many men as you need—but take it swiftly and take it cleanly."

Samson grinned, pounding a fist over his chest. "Right away, Sire! I won't fail you!"

Claude nodded once, then turned to the messenger, who was still kneeling on the cold floor.

"What of the survivors? Did anyone escape? What do we know about the Saintess's power?"

The messenger trembled slightly before replying, "She… she didn't fight directly, Your Majesty. She barely lifted her staff. Her army, the holy knights—they did the work. Only one of our scouts made it out alive. The rest are presumed—"

"Dead," Claude finished grimly. "Of course they are."

He turned back toward the map sprawled across the table. His finger hovered over the glowing mark that denoted Durnvale.

"Tell the dark mages to sever the teleportation circle in Durnvale immediately. I won't have them using it to leapfrog deeper into our territory."

"Yes, Your Majesty!" the messenger bowed deeply, then hurried out of the tent.

The room remained tense, all eyes on their king.

Claude exhaled slowly, his voice colder now. "That Saintess hasn't even shown her full strength yet... and she's already this much trouble."

The meeting dispersed soon after, but Claude remained standing, his eyes still fixed on Durnvale's mark on the map. A faint smirk curled at his lips.

"So, you're the one decided to challenge me…" Claude murmured, narrowing his eyes as he leaned back in his chair.

He tapped his fingers against the armrest thoughtfully, then exhaled. "I'll have to change the strategy. Samson won't be able to hold her."

He rubbed his chin, eyes flicking toward the map sprawled across the war table.

"Should I call Heinrich too…?"

Layla could handle minor threats, certainly, but the Everbright Church was on the move.

Their arrival in Mycentia under the pretense of offering protection was inevitable. Claude would not risk Layla's life in the crossfire.

He shook his head.

"No. Samson only needs to take Durnvale back. As for Marienne…" A smirk touched his lips. "I'll handle her myself."

Rising, he swept aside the tent flap, stepping into the early dusk. Standing outside was Samson, his posture alert.

"Samson," Claude said without preamble, "follow me."

The commander nodded and fell in step beside him.

They walked in silence through the camp, past the rows of soldiers preparing for night rotations, until they reached a half-hidden entrance behind one of the supply tents.

Beneath it lay the dungeon—deep, damp, and forgotten by most. Claude lit a black flame in his palm, its eerie glow illuminating the winding corridor.

They moved past the empty cells until finally, they reached one that was not.

Inside, slumped against the wall and chained by his wrists and ankles, sat a man whose pride had long been stripped away.

His dark blue hair was matted with sweat and filth, a scraggly beard overtaking the sharp features that once marked him as nobility.

His chest was bare, streaked with old wounds and fresh ones alike. Blood had dried in jagged patterns across his skin.

Claude stepped forward. "Duke Ciel," he said mockingly, "how's your day?"

The old man said nothing. His sunken eyes, hollow from exhaustion and pain, merely stared past Claude—at nothing.

"Still not talking, huh?" Claude tilted his head, then slowly opened the cell door and stepped inside.

A dark blade materialized in his hand. "You don't need to speak. You've already said enough by living."

Duke Ciel's gaze finally lifted, the faintest flicker of fear showing as he watched Claude approach. He tried to steel himself, but even that small resistance withered under Claude's aura.

Claude raised the blade. "You may be useless as a man," he whispered, "but as a message? You'll be invaluable."

And with one clean strike, the blade came down and a scream could be heard all over the dungeon.

***

Raven stood at the edge of the camp, his orders clear: return to the Hyparian capital alone. No escort. No surviving men.

His fists clenched at his sides, eyes clouded with hesitation and guilt. The weight of betrayal gnawed at him—but giving up seemed easier than pretending to play both sides.

Then, footsteps.

Claude approached, flanked by two men dressed in crisp black suits—Sun and Vulture. Sun carried a small black box in his gloved hands.

"Take this with you to the capital, Raven," Claude said calmly. "And give it to the king himself. In front of the council."

Sun stepped forward, placing the box gently into Raven's hands.

"Y-Yes, sire." Raven nodded, almost instinctively reaching to open it—only to have Claude's hand halt him.

"Don't open it," he warned with a smirk. "Not until you're standing before the king."

Raven swallowed hard.

"One more thing," Claude added, gesturing toward the two men. "You'll take one of mine with you. Choose."

Raven looked between them. One had slicked-back purple hair and a quiet, unreadable air. The other, with sharp red eyes and crimson hair, radiated danger in every breathless second of silence.

"That one." Raven pointed to the red-haired man. "He seems... discreet."

Claude's grin widened. "Good choice. His name is Vulture."

Vulture stepped to Raven's side without a word.

"But remember," Claude said as he turned away, "you're not Vulture anymore. You're Erwin now."

As Raven nodded, trying to steady his breath, Claude glanced back with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"You still look too fit," he muttered. "Let's fix that... just enough to make the lie believable."

Raven's face went pale as Claude raised a single finger.

***

The towering gates of the Hyparian throne room groaned open with a loud creak, the noise echoing across the gilded marble chamber.

All eyes turned toward the doors.

Raven stumbled inside, blood streaking down his forehead, staining his tunic and armor. His breathing was ragged, shoulders trembling—not from fear, but exhaustion.

Behind him, Vulture followed silently, equally bloodied acting as if he was Raven's man.

Gasps erupted from the council members. One advisor stood up, but the weight of the moment forced him back down.

"Your Majesty," Raven croaked, his voice cracked and hoarse. He walked forward with uneven steps, clutching a black box against his chest as if it were a holy relic. "I—Raven Valmont—have returned…"

King Helvian rose from his throne, disbelief written across his face. "Raven?! What happened? Where is your army?!"

Raven fell to one knee, bowing his bloodied head. "All dead. Every last one of them… slaughtered."

"By the Lord of Calamity himself," Raven whispered. "He killed all of knights only using one spell, Your Majesty! The monster he summoned took us apart like… like cattle. I—I was captured. Held hostage."

One of the high priests from Everbright Chruch stepped forward. "Why would he release you?"

Raven raised the box with shaking hands. "Because he wanted me to deliver this. A gift… to you, Your Majesty."

King Helvian gestured. One of the guards cautiously approached and took the box, presenting it to the king. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

Then, the king slowly opened the lid. Inside lay a severed hand, cold and pale, with the ducal ring of House Velmont glinting beneath the torchlight.

Helvian recoiled, nearly dropping the box.

"This… this is—" He turned to his council. "Duke Ciel… he…"

The room erupted into chaos.

Advisors argued. Some shouted treason, others screamed for war. One minister fainted on the spot.

The king could barely hear any of it. His mind echoed with the image burned into the box—the hand of his most loyal vassal, a man who had been with him through rebellion and plague alike.

And now… gone.

"M-Marianne," he stammered. "We need Saintess Marienne. Immediately."

A robed servant dashed to the communication crystal, activating the link.

"I want her recalled to the capital. She is to return at once."

"Sire?" one general protested. "She's winning battles—holding back the Elysium tide!"

"If Claude can do this to a duke and massacre thousands overnight," the king growled, gripping the box with white knuckles, "then I'm not letting my strongest card play far from the throne. If he reaches this city, we'll all die."

The crystal shimmered with faint light as the message was transmitted.

"Bring her back," Helvian repeated, quieter now, though his voice held no less weight. "Protect this throne. Protect me."

At his feet, Raven kept his head bowed, blood dripping onto the pristine floor.

And behind him, Vulture smiled faintly—just enough that no one could tell if it was pain… or satisfaction.