Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!

The sun hung low over Rivemount, casting long, fractured shadows over a town that looked more like a husk than a place once brimming with life.

Saintess Marienne dismounted her horse with swift grace, her holy staff shimmering faintly as if responding to the cursed ground beneath her feet.

She really wanted to use her flying spell or teleportation spell to make her movement fast and effective.

But she never visited this town before so teleportation magic was impossible while not everyone could use flying spell and prohibited by the captain as her safety was their priority.

"This place… it feels wrong," one of the clerics whispered.

Marienne didn't respond. Her eyes were fixed on the water purification tower ahead, its once-pristine columns now etched with faint red glyphs.

But what caught her attention more was the group waiting near the base of the hill—Prince Lorian and his elite unit, the Dawn Force.

Even from a distance, she could see it.

They were pale and their eyes were hollow as if they seen something terrifying before.

The knights stood, but barely. Some leaned on their swords. A few avoided her gaze entirely.

And at the center of it all was Lorian, standing tall—but not like before. Not arrogance or defiant like usual. Just… still as if his weight had been replaced by stone.

She approached him, slowing as her staff clinked softly against the cobbled road. "Prince Lorian. Why are you here?"

It was more like a formality question as Marienne know for sure why he was here. He wanted to be the first who solve this problem and become hero in the end.

Prince Lorian still didn't believe in her anyway.

The price didn't look at her right away. When he did, his green eyes were duller, and his face unreadable.

"You came late," he said.

"I came as soon as I could," she replied. "What happened here?"

"Nothing, nothing happened."

A beat of silence passed.

Even his own knights turned to him, eyebrows furrowed. One of them, a man named Gareth, shifted uneasily.

"Your Highness… she's here to help."

Marienne narrowed her gaze, but said nothing. She stepped past him without pressing further, her holy robes brushing lightly against his cloak.

"You're hiding something," she whispered to him, he didn't reply her at all.

She then turned to the group of exhausted engineers kneeling beside the tower, some with cracked hands and singed robes.

"Your Holliness! That's, that-" one of the engineer approached her first, he wanted to blurt out something but the moment his eyes met the prince he shut his mouth tight and said something else entirely:

"We apologize for our weakself that can't stop that monster to pollute the water." he bowed deeply.

Marienne just smile and put her hand on his shoulder, "You don't have to worry, it's not your fault." she paused and continue, "And it's not the time to blame anyone, it's time to solve the problem."

The engineer looked at the Saintess with tears streaming down his eyes and he wiped it, his voice was soft, "Thank you..."

She nodded. "Take me to the source, the spring, I'll purify it myself."

The lead engineer—an older man with grayed hair and blistered fingers—nodded wearily. "This way, Saintess…"

They led her through the broken back alleys of Rivemount, down past ruined walls and silent homes, to a hidden aqueduct that vanished into a natural cavern behind the hills.

The spring inside still flowed, bubbling peacefully from beneath enchanted stone, but the glow around it was wrong. The water shimmered darkly, like oil catching firelight.

Her priests retched just standing near it.

"It's deeper than simple poison," one of them murmured. "It's spell-bound."

"No," Marienne whispered, extending her hand over the water. "It's venom. Hexed, and protected with layered sigils. This is… old magic, the one who made it must be a genius or a monster."

She knelt, planted her staff deep into the earth beside the spring, and began the purification ritual.

Her voice rose in low, clear incantations, woven from both divine invocation and ancient tongue:

"Holy light, drive out the rot."

The waters glowed gold—faint at first—then brighter, waves of cleansing power pushing against the deep-rooted darkness. The red glyphs began to sizzle and spark, resisting.

One layer was stripped away. Then another.

But each banishment drained her. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her knees buckled. She poured more holy power, gripping her staff tighter.

Hours passed.

By the time she emerged, her robes were soaked with sweat and spring mist. Her hair clung to her neck, and her legs trembled beneath her. The spell was complete.

The venom was gone.

But it had already run its course. Many people were dead, especially the place she couldnt reach. This was dirty strategy. She never thought that the Lord of Calamity would steep this low.

Her hands clenched, eyes full of determination, "I need to end this fast, once and for all before this world turn to ashes."

***

The war chamber had never been this tense.

Marienne stood at the head of the table, no longer asking to speak—but commanding.

"We strike now," she said. Her voice rang through the chamber. "Not tomorrow, not next week. Tonight, we begin the preparations for a full-force assault."

Murmurs erupted instantly.

"Impossible!"

"We've lost too much ground!"

"The southern wards are crumbling—what army do you expect us to field?"

"Silence." Her voice cracked like a whip.

The room quieted.

Marienne also didn't want this to happen, after all this was a stupid gamble. But this was better than being played like a rat in sewer.

"I have already contacted the Promised Land. The Everbright Vanguard is marching. Ten thousand strong. War-priests, flying cavalry, and sun-blessed siege towers." Her gaze swept across the doubting faces.

"They will cross the border by the end of the week. We'll have numbers. And with my divine barrier protecting the frontline, we can crush the Lord of Calamity."

"But the Lord of Calamity is—"

"—one man," Marienne cut off the general. "A brilliant strategist, yes. A monster of dark magic. But not invincible. He plays with fear because fear makes us slow and divided. That is how he has won."

She jabbed her staff against the map. Her voice rose, fire in every word.

"Windbarrow, Fairholt, and Tirenhall. He's bleeding us by a thousand cuts, weakening our morale. Poisoning our land and corrupting our faith."

"If we don't strike now, we never will. The longer we wait, the stronger he becomes—and the less of Hyparia there will be left to save."

Barthold's jaw was tight. He looked around at the other nobles they were tired, hesitant men and women who had once ruled with confidence and now only watched their holdings shrink each week.

One duke finally sighed. "Even if we go full force, we lack coordination. The eastern houses still haven't responded."

"Which is why the Vanguard from the Promised Land matters," Marienne answered.

"They bring not only troops, but fresh tacticians, clerics, and medics. We will retake the west and cripple his advance before he crosses into the midlands."

A pause. Then:

"And the prince?" someone asked.

All heads turned to Prince Lorian, who sat near the end of the table—quiet, arms folded, eyes downcast. His cloak was still stained with ash from Rivemount.

He did not speak.

Marienne glanced at him, expecting perhaps a word of support—or protest. She got neither.

Just silence.

If he noticed the stares, he gave no sign. Only his hand shifted slightly, curling into a loose fist on the table's edge.

Barthold cleared his throat. "Without the prince's command, the western cavalry won't ride."

Still no answer.

Marienne didn't push, not now. She turned back to the others, steel in her posture.

"With or without him, I ride. The Lord of Calamity thinks us cowards. I will show him what divine wrath looks like. Either we burn the rot now, or it will consume everything."

This time, there was no objection. The room didn't roar with approval, but neither did it protest. That silence—heavy, reluctant, but resolved—was enough.

They began making plans.

Maps were unfurled, forces tallied and couts dispatched.

And in the one of the chair, Raven look at them cautiously, hearing everything they said carefully, and make a mental note.

He need to report to his lord after all.

---

Inside the dim room, Raven turned off the black crystal with the help of Vulture. From the crystal then formed Claude's figure.

He was seated at ease, shirt undone at the collar, dark hair still damp from a recent wash. Behind him, a woman laughed, her voice muffled by distance, before vanishing behind silk curtains.

"Well?" Claude asked, eyes gleaming.

Raven bowed slightly. "She's rallied the court. They're planning a full offensive. The Everbright Vanguard is joining with ten thousand strong. Holy siege towers and mounted clerics."

Claude's lips curled into a grin. "Oh? So they're finally desperate enough to burn it all."

"They believe this is the only chance before you turn Hyparia uninhabitable."

Claude chuckled, pouring wine into a golden goblet. "Let them believe it."

"And the prince?"

Raven hesitated. "He said nothing. But he's hiding something. I think your words unsettled him."

Claude's smile faded to something more dangerous.

"He'll break soon," he said softly. "They all do."

He stood slowly, swirling the wine in his cup.

"Let them come. Let them bring their saints and suns and sermons." He looked out over the darkened horizon of his camp.

"I will crush them all beneath me."