Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!-Chapter 128: Special Daughters

"What do you want?"

Claude asked as he stood and approached the sofa, settling into it with a sigh, basking in the warmth of the crackling fireplace.

The office was quiet now. William and Lloyd had already finished their work for the evening, leaving the room to Claude alone.

"May I, Your Majesty?" Aldrich asked, approaching respectfully.

Claude gave a small nod. Without another word, Aldrich poured two glasses of wine, offering one to Claude and keeping the other for himself.

He seated himself across from his lord, taking a long sip before speaking. "Did you like the present I prepared for you?"

Claude lazily swirled the wine in his glass, watching the liquid whirl like a tiny storm. "You mean that woman, Freya?"

Aldrich nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I think you'll grow to love her."

Claude lifted an eyebrow, skeptical. "Why would I? She's just like any other female daemon I've seen..."

He paused, shrugging lightly. "Though... I'll admit she's more beautiful. Curvier too."

"And she has a very lovely voice," Aldrich added quickly, leaning forward slightly. "Plus, she's different, isn't she?"

Claude gave him a look, silently urging him to get to tell her everything.

Clearing his throat, Aldrich continued, "You know how most daemons have dark hair? Black, brown, navy, maroon..."

"Get to the point," Claude said flatly.

"Freya's hair is different. Grey." Aldrich said, lowering his voice. "She's not a pure-blooded daemon. She's mixed."

Claude's brow lifted in mild interest.

Aldrich leaned in, his voice dropping lower. "There's a secret buried deep within Olvon House... something even most nobles don't know."

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before beginning.

"In the past, I had a brother, a rebel. My father couldn't control him, so he exiled him—sent him to serve under one of the envoys."

Claude listened silently, twirling the wine in his glass.

"Not long after, my brother returned with a woman," Aldrich said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "She was a holy people."

Claude's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Go on."

"My father was furious. He tried to kill the woman—she was already pregnant, ready to give birth—but in the end... it was my brother who died. The woman fled."

Aldrich's gaze grew distant as the memory resurfaced.

---

"Father! What are you doing?!" fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

A young Aldrich stumbled across the bloodied floor, lifting his brother's limp body into his arms.

"SHUT UP!" his father roared, his voice shaking the walls. "THIS USELESS SON OF MINE DESERVES HIS DEATH! HE HAS TARNISHED OUR NAME!"

"But... he's your son!" Aldrich cried, his voice cracking. "Your blood! How can you do this?!"

His father's glare was murderous. "What? You dare to question me?!"

The elder Olvon loomed closer. "Do you want to end up like him too?!"

Trembling, Aldrich shook his head, swallowing back the bitter taste of defiance.

"Good," his father sneered. "Now, let go of him—and bring me that woman!"

But before Aldrich could move, his brother's bloodstained hand grasped his sleeve weakly.

"She's in the hut... south forest..." His brother's voice was a breath, barely audible. "Protect her... please..."

Tears stung Aldrich's eyes as he nodded. A moment later, the hand fell away, lifeless.

It had taken Aldrich half a day to find the hut. By then, the scent of blood was thick in the air.

Pushing the door open, he saw her—Mona—collapsed on the floor, clutching a newborn in her arms.

"Aldrich..." she whispered weakly upon seeing him, a fleeting smile crossing her lips.

"How do you know me?" he asked, stunned.

"Edward... told me all about you," she whispered, her voice so soft he had to lean closer. "Please... take care of her... our daughter."

She held out the child—tiny, squirming, a wisp of grey hair on her head.

"Her name is Freya."

"I will," Aldrich said fiercely, cradling the baby close. "Don't move. I'll fetch a doctor."

But when he looked back, Mona had already closed her eyes for the final time, her body still.

---

"I brought her secretly to the Moretti family to raise her," Aldrich said, voice heavy with old guilt as he poured himself another glass of wine.

"Freya is special, Your Majesty." He met Claude's gaze, his own full of quiet conviction.

"She carries a spark of her mother's power. Just a hint—most daemons wouldn't even notice it—but it's there."

Claude leaned back, regarding him with newfound interest.

"And I know," Aldrich said slowly, "that she's exactly the kind of woman you've been searching for."

Claude smirked. "You really have great intel to know that," he said, sipping the wine.

"Intel?" Aldrich laughed. "I don't need that... Your servant, Sun, sometimes strolls through the garden near this office with his child..."

He continued, smiling, "And his wife—the blonde one—she has a light affinity, doesn't she? So I just guessed you ordered Sun to make her pregnant."

Claude narrowed his eyes slightly, saying nothing, prompting Aldrich to push on.

"But why would you do that? Of course, it's because you must have heard the rumors—about children born from daemons and holy people. Mixed blood," he finished, his voice laced with satisfaction at his own deduction.

Claude furrowed his brows. "You're smarter than I thought. So, what do you want?"

"I want you to not send any of the artifacts to the auction! That's all I ask, Your Majesty!" Aldrich said, his eyes burning with determination.

Claude gave him a strange look. "Just that?"

Aldrich nodded firmly. "You might not understand, but those artifacts are proof—proof that daemons once ruled this world. They are our legacy, Your Majesty. Symbols that we were born to win."

Claude leaned back against the sofa, "Fine. I won't sell them to you."

Aldrich's eyes shone with relief.

"But," Claude added lazily, "you will decrease the maintenance costs."

Aldrich frowned but quickly straightened, still grateful. "Yes, Your Majesty. I will do my best!"

Not long after, Aldrich bowed and left, leaving Claude alone, gazing at the moon through the window.

"Finally," he murmured, smirking to himself, "all the preparations are complete. Now, I can move."

---

Aubree and Aurelia were having afternoon tea, a spread of desserts laid out before them, as the floral scent filled the room.

The weather was serene as snow fell softly outside the glass house, blanketing the garden in white.

Still, Aubree looked uneasy, her gaze never leaving her daughter, her heart heavy with worry.

"Mother, I told you not to worry. I will be fine," Aurelia sighed. "Claude promised to take care of me."

"And you believe a man's promise so easily?" Aubree crossed her arms. "I told you—never trust men. They are liars."

"And yet you became his concubine and slept with him," her daughter shot back, her voice filled with pointed judgment.

Aubree gasped. "Aurelia, you—!"

Before Aubree could continue, someone entered the glass house, flanked by two guards. Humming a low tune, he smiled warmly when he saw Aubree.

"Ah, what lovely weather for a warm cup of tea. May I join you?" Claude said casually, and the maids moved swiftly to prepare a seat and tea for him.

Aurelia smiled slightly when she noticed one of the guards—Rhys. She hadn't seen him for nearly a week.

He seemed much healthier now, no longer limping, his frame fuller, stronger. When their eyes met, he gave a subtle nod.

Beside Rhys stood Sun, dressed in his usual butler uniform, stoic and cold as ever.

"Claude," Aubree began, her voice tight, "I wanted to speak about sending Aurelia to Cortinvar. Don't you think it's too dangerous? What if she's arrested by the Church and burned alive?"

Claude lifted his teacup, savoring the aroma before answering nonchalantly, "There's no Everbright Church in Cortinvar. They despise the Photenosians."

"Still!" Aubree raised her voice, "Can you give me a guarantee that she will be safe?!"

"Mom! Stop embarrassing me!" Aurelia cried, cheeks flushed. "I'll be fine! I'm not a child anymore!"

"But still—"

Aubree's protests were cut short by Claude's calm, cold voice.

"Aubree, have I not told you? Witches are people worthy of protection."

He placed the cup down with a soft clink and looked at her

"I will not allow even a single drop of her blood to be spilled... if she fulfills her duties properly," he said smoothly.

Then he turned his gaze back to Aurelia. "Are you ready for that? If not, I believe your mother would fill the role perfectly."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Instead of feeling reassured, Aubree's heart sank. She knew Claude's protection always came with a price.

But sacrificing her daughter? That was something she couldn't bear.

"I can be the new face of hope," Aubree said, her voice colder, more formal. "I am more experienced than my daughter."

Claude frowned slightly at her offer.

"No!" Aurelia suddenly slammed her hand on the table, the dishes rattling.

"You're the one who told me I needed to be independent, aren't you?! Isn't this the perfect time to prove it?!"

She grabbed her mother's trembling hand softly.

"Please, Mom. Let me do this. I don't want to live under your wings forever."

Aubree's lips quivered, guilt gnawing at her heart. It was, after all, her own teachings coming back to challenge her.

Finally, after a long pause, she nodded slowly.

"...But I will accompany you to Cortinvar," she decided firmly, "And no one can stop me!"