Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!

Claude was deeply proud of his children. More than anything, he wished for them to have a proper childhood—one untouched by rivalry or politics. At least not yet.

But already, in less than a year, their bodies resembled toddlers nearing three, and their speech—fluent and articulate—was more like children of ten. Some of them even behaved like adults at times.

It frightened him, honestly. Their rapid growth made him feel as if time was slipping through his fingers, and with it, their precious innocence.

After all, childhood was meant to be the most cherished phase of life. To rush through it would be a tragedy.

"Father, what are you staring at?" Carina asked, tilting her head. "Is the tea not to your liking?"

She was younger than Lyra, yet already carried herself with a calm, elegant maturity that made Claude chuckle.

"You don't need to speak so formally with me, little flower," he said as he finally sipped the tea. "You're still a child. Act like one."

But Carina frowned faintly. "I may look like a child… but my thoughts aren't."

Then, her cheeks flushed. "Still… if you want me to act like a child, may I ask for something?"

Claude smiled. "Anything you want."

"I want to sit on your lap…" she mumbled, toying shyly with her fingers.

He laughed heartily. "That's all? Come here."

She climbed down from her chair and approached. Claude gently lifted her into his lap, cradling her with ease. Carina leaned against his chest, a quiet smile playing on her lips.

Meanwhile, Lyra was still commanding William to eat lemon tarts in one bite. She clapped in delight when he succeeded.

"This doesn't look like punishment if you're enjoying it!" she huffed.

Startled, William quickly feigned a pained expression, as if he had swallowed a rock. Lyra burst into laughter.

"Hmph! No more bad news, or I'll make you eat every lemon tart in the kingdom!"

William bowed with exaggerated dread. "Yes, Princess Lyra! I swear upon my tart-filled stomach!"

"See, Papa! Even you have to keep your promises—or I'll punish you too!" Lyra turned, only to find Carina snuggled on Claude's lap.

"Ehh?! I want to sit there too!" she cried, hurrying over. "Up! Up!"

Claude chuckled. "Alright, both of you it is."

He scooped Lyra up and settled her on his left thigh, with Carina still nestled on the right.

"Yaaay!" Lyra squealed, hugging his neck.

Claude held them close, his arms full of laughter and warmth. He knew the peace wouldn't last. The war would come. But for now—just for now—he would treasure every fleeting moment.

***

The next morning, the training yard behind the palace echoed with the clang of wooden swords and the rustling of grass underfoot.

Claude stood at the center, wearing a simple tunic and gloves, holding a wooden practice sword in one hand and spinning it with ease.

His crimson eyes, usually sharp with authority, were softened today with patience and pride.

Opposite him stood two boys—his sons—though calling them that still felt surreal at times.

Antares, with windswept red hair and wild eyes, was already bouncing in place, grinning as he twirled his sword clumsily.

"Are we doing real sword stuff today, Father? Like that spinning move you used against that knight last time? Or maybe the thing where you flipped a guy by the shoulder!"

Claude smirked. "Let's get the basics first, chatterbox."

Antares groaned dramatically. "But the basics are so boring! I already did that in my dreams five times last night."

Beside him stood Vega, composed and precise. His grip on the wooden sword was correct, posture immaculate—but his face held no enthusiasm.

"Honestly, this is pointless," Vega said, adjusting his glasses with one finger, his tone calm but firm.

"I'm a necromancer. Antares is a beast summoner. We aren't swordsmen. It's inefficient training."

Claude arched a brow. He couldn't believe his son could said something like that. Sword, inefficient? Who cares about it! It was cool!

In his first live, he always thought that sword was cooler than being mage! It was unbelievable that his child didn't has the same intrigue as him.

'It must be because there isn't any anime to watch...' he shake his head.

Claude then asked, "And what happens if you don't have magic?"

"I always have magic," Vega replied flatly.

"Wrong," Claude said as he stepped closer.

"Magic can be sealed, drained, disrupted. You boys need to learn how to survive without relying on it. Besides, you're my sons. Swordsmanship is tradition."

Antares glanced sideways at Vega and whispered, "He's going into 'Dad Lecture Mode' again..."

Vega didn't even look at him. "Good. Maybe you'll learn something."

Claude let out a short laugh, then gestured for them to raise their weapons. "Alright. Just ten minutes. If you still think it's pointless after that, I'll let you leave."

Antares instantly raised his sword and charged—more enthusiasm than skill. Claude dodged him with a pivot, tapping his son's back with the flat of the blade.

"Too open," he said.

"Ow! That was fast—how did you even—wait, no, do that again, but slower!" Antares stumbled back, already launching into a monologue.

"I think I see what you did, it's like you turned your shoulder a bit, right? Is that a thing? Can I do that too? Vega, did you see that?"

"I saw it," Vega muttered, but still didn't move.

Claude turned to him. "Your turn."

Vega sighed but raised the sword. He stepped forward, form almost perfect—until he dropped the sword and summoned a skeletal arm from the ground instead.

"This is faster. More effective. More me."

Claude raised an eyebrow, arms crossed.

Antares blinked. "Ooh! That's cheating. But cool cheating."

Claude walked over and kicked the arm lightly, making it crumble back into ash. "I said swords, not skeletons."

Vega looked vaguely offended.

"Listen," Claude said, kneeling so he was eye-level with both boys.

"You don't need to become knights. I don't expect you to live by the sword like I do. But this isn't about swords alone. It's about discipline. Control. And understanding your limits—so you can exceed them."

Antares blinked. "Wait… that sounded kinda cool."

Vega looked at his father silently for a moment before sighing. "Fine. Ten minutes."

Claude stood and tossed the sword back to him. "That's all I ask."

As the training resumed, the morning sun warmed the courtyard. Antares kept talking through every move—about spells, animals, what he had for breakfast, and what he might name his next summoned creature.

Vega, though reluctant, began mimicking Claude's footwork in silence.

Claude watched them both, a proud smile forming as they clumsily swung and parried. Childhood was short.

But if he could, he'd stretch each of these moments for as long as the heavens allowed.

***

Cushions were scattered across the floor, books and plush dolls resting among blankets.

Antares sprawled dramatically on a round cushion in the middle of the room, hands waving in the air as he recounted yet another tale.

"And then, right when the flame bear was about to attack me, poof!—I summoned Helga, my stone gorilla! You should've seen her, she's twice the size of Father's horse and she just roared and the bear ran! Too bad she's not allowed indoors... something about 'breaking walls again.'"

Carina sat beside him with her chin resting on her knees, eyes wide. "Is she really that big? A gorilla made of stone... that sounds heavy. Can she climb trees?"

Antares perked up, thrilled to have a listener. "She tried once. The tree broke. But it was awesome! Next time, I'm gonna summon her inside the garden. Maybe if we—"

"You'll crack the fountain again, and then Father will say we need 'discipline,' and then we'll have more sword lessons," Vega cut in flatly from the corner of the room, where he sat cross-legged with a book open.

"You're a beast summoner, not a demolition crew."

Antares pouted. "You sound like a tutor, Vega."

"I am smarter than most of our tutors."

"I bet you can't even climb a tree," Antares muttered.

"I don't need to climb trees. I raise the dead."

Across from him, Lyra giggled behind her hand, lounging with a tray of sweets she had smuggled in from the kitchens.

"You're always so serious, Vega. You sound like a grumpy old man."

"I'm practical," Vega replied, not even glancing at her. "Unlike you."

"Unlike me?" Lyra tilted her head innocently, her twin tails swaying as she popped a macaron into her mouth.

"That's not very nice, big brother. You'll hurt my feelings."

"You don't have feelings," Vega said.

"You pretend to be cute and harmless, but I've seen the records. You've stolen magic from three knights and that poor healer's ability. And you keep smiling while doing it."

Lyra giggled again, sweetly, eyes twinkling. "Is it my fault people leave their powers just lying around?"

Carina frowned a little, turning to Vega. "But Lyra's really kind too... she always gives me the first pick of sweets."

"She's calculating," Vega said. "You can't even eat chocolate without wondering if she poisoned it."

"I only did that once," Lyra hummed, licking sugar from her finger. "And it was a love potion. It wore off."

Antares blinked. "Wait, what? Who did you—"

"None of your business," she sang.

Vega muttered, "Two-faced sadist."

"You're just jealous," Lyra teased, scooting closer to Vega. "You know, if I really wanted to steal your magic, I could."

He closed his book, glaring. "Try it and I'll put a binding seal on your desserts."

"Ooh, scary," she whispered, leaning in. "I like it when you fight back."

Antares blinked at the two, then whispered to Carina, "I think they're going to be rivals forever."

"Should we pick sides?"

"No," Antares whispered back, "We should hide the desserts. It's gonna get dangerous."

Just then, one of the nannies peeked in, blinking at the chaos—Vega huffing with small magic circle glowing faintly on his fingers, Lyra still smiling sweetly with crumbs on her cheek, Antares trying to shield the pastry tray behind him, and Carina sitting right in the middle of it all, hugging a pillow to her chest with fascination glowing in her eyes.

Yes, the royal children were a handful—but in their own strange way, they were perfectly in sync.