Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!-Chapter 24: Unnatainable Desire

Steam curled into the crisp night air, swirling around Claude as he leaned back against the stone edge of the hot spring.

The water's warmth seeped into his muscles, making the cold night almost unnoticeable.

Above him, the stars stretched endlessly, a glittering canvas that should have been the most breathtaking sight of the evening.

But it wasn't.

The true beauty before him was Dalia.

Bathed in moonlight, her pale skin gleamed softly against the water's reflection, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders like silk.

Fortunately, she was sitting with her back turned to him.

Unfortunately, his damn sharp eyes caught more details than he wanted.

Claude gritted his teeth. 'Curse these instincts.

Calm down. She's your mother. You drank milk from her breasts, for god's sake.'

Forcing himself to focus, he picked up the small glass from the floating tray before him.

The liquor inside—called Dragon's Breath by the locals—burned like fire as it slid down his throat, warming him from the inside.

"This kingdom has some fine alcohol, doesn't it?"

Dalia's voice broke his thoughts, making his shoulders tense.

He swallowed hard before answering, "Ah, yeah, Mother. It's definitely better than that dirt-flavored beer from Inochyreth."

She chuckled, shifting her hair over one shoulder.

And that was when he saw them.

Scars.

Long, jagged whip marks crisscrossing her back, remnants of unimaginable pain.

Claude's grip on his glass tightened, his fingers turning white. Crack. The glass nearly shattered in his grasp. His blood roared in his ears.

"What the hell happened to your back?"

His voice was sharp, his body rigid with barely restrained fury.

"Who did this to you? Was it Enzo?!"

Dalia jolted at his sudden outburst, "N-no, Claude... these wounds are from when I was a slave."

His heart nearly stopped.

"Slave?"

A violent energy pulsed through him, his aura darkening as rage bubbled to the surface.

He could feel the suffocating weight of his magic seeping out, threatening to explode at any moment.

But before he could lose himself in fury, Dalia spoke again.

"It was when I was still a child..." she murmured, lowering her gaze.

"But someone bought me and set me free. That man... was the one you saw speaking to me before we left Blackwood."

Claude inhaled sharply, exhaling slowly to calm himself. He leaned back against the stone, his fingers digging into the surface.

"...I see."

He struggled for words, but nothing felt right.

After a long pause, he finally asked, "Was it because you're a witch?"

Dalia was silent for a moment before answering, "Yes and no."

Claude frowned but let her continue.

"I was born when my homeland was already colonized. Many of my people either became slaves or fled as far as they could."

"Your people...?" He hesitated, recalling something. "You mean the ones with those golden rings in their eyes?"

Dalia turned slightly, surprised. "How did you know?"

Claude shrugged. It had been a guess, but her reaction confirmed it.

Dalia sighed, her expression distant, almost wistful. "My mother told me that our people once lived in vast grasslands on a hill near the sea."

Her golden-ringed eyes reflected the night sky, lost in memories of a place she had never seen, yet somehow longed for.

"We were known for our silver hair and immense mana reserves," she continued. "We lived longer than most humans, and the golden rings in our eyes marked our heritage."

A small smile touched her lips, fragile yet full of reverence. "My mother called our people Solariel."

Claude remained silent.

He could see it—the longing, the sorrow buried deep in her gaze.

Dalia exhaled softly before speaking again.

"That's why... I had so few choices in life. I made mistakes. Many of them." Her voice trembled, but she steadied herself.

"Claude, I just hope you can choose your own path. I hope no one ever forces you into a life you don't want."

She turned to him fully now, her golden eyes filled with nothing but sincerity. A mother's silent prayer for her son's future.

But Claude... had already made his choice.

His lips curled, his voice firm with conviction.

"Mother, I want to create a world where Daemons and witches can live in peace. A world where no one dares to oppress us."

Dalia's gaze softened, but before she could respond, he added in his mind:

'Of course... I'll turn this world upside down.'

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'I'll trample those church believers beneath my feet... to make sure we can be happy.'

A slow, dark smile spread across his face, his resolve absolute.

"Aww~ Claude, my baby, you're so sweet!"

Before he could react, Dalia threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace.

'Shit! I can feel her soft boobs!' his thought was somewhere else, 'Calm down my junior! Calm down! Hold ittt!!! For fuck sake!!!'

His determination cursed through as she could feel her soft and jiggly breast pressing into his body.

"M-Mother... c-calm down," he stammered, his body stiff as a board.

Dalia pulled back slightly, tilting her head as she flashed him a teasing smile. "Oh? Are you embarrassed because I hugged you?"

She chuckled, her fingers lightly pressing against his chest.

"But no matter how big you get, you're still my baby."

Claude swallowed hard, his grip tightening around her slender wrists. "I'm a man now, Mother... and you—"

"You should know... I have needs too," he murmured, his voice husky with something he couldn't quite name.

Dalia's breath hitched, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. But then she frowned and took a step back, shaking her head.

"Claude... I'm sorry."

She let out a soft sigh before flashing him another playful smile, trying to brush away the tension.

"Still, no matter what, you'll always be my cute little boy." With that, she pinched his cheek, making him sigh in defeat.

'In the next life, I hope you are my hot sexy neighbor mommy instead,' he thought as he prayed at the night sky full of stars.

***

"What does this mean, Your Majesty?!"

Aether's voice echoed through the grand throne room, laced with frustration. Behind him was Nadia, always following behind.

Standing before him on the elevated throne was Emmalise Lacarria, the Queen of Cortinvar—the absolute ruler of this frozen land.

The Queen exhaled, resting her chin on her palm as she regarded him with bored indifference.

"Saint," she addressed him lazily, "do you know the punishment for a man who dares to oppose the Queen? His tongue is cut out."

She was a striking woman—long, dark wavy hair framing sharp gray eyes, her regal form wrapped in a flowing black robe.

"Be careful with your words," her tone carried a hint of warning.

"You are not welcome in my kingdom. I am being generous by even granting you an audience."

Aether clenched his fists. "Your Majesty, there is a possibility that the descendant of the King of Calamity is hiding in this very town!"

His voice was urgent, his golden eyes burning with conviction.

"Do you not care? Do you not wish to protect your people and contribute to the safety of the world?!"

But Emmalise merely chuckled, a slow, mocking sound. "Contribute? To what? When my kingdom was swallowed by eternal snow, the other nations abandoned us."

"We have learned to fend for ourselves. We owe nothing to anyone."

Her gray eyes glinted with amusement. "And as for your so-called King of Calamity... he is nothing more than a legend spun by your religion."

Aether's patience snapped. "A legend?!" he seethed.

"For a hundred years, our Saints waged war against the Daemon! We bled, we suffered, and we fought to bring peace! It is all written in history!"

He scoffed. "Or is Cortinvar so backwards that it lacks even history books?!"

The knights standing behind Emmalise bristled at his insult. At a silent command, they unsheathed their swords and advanced.

"Your Majesty, please!" Nadia interjected, stepping forward with desperation in her voice.

"We came here peacefully! We only ask for your permission to investigate the town."

But Emmalise remained unmoved.

Then, she raised her hand. The knights halted instantly, returning to their posts.

She leaned back into her throne. "Saint, in our faith, we value balance. Light and darkness must coexist."

Her voice was calm, "Has it ever occurred to you that your relentless crusade to purge darkness is precisely what births calamity? That the world is merely trying to correct itself?"

Aether and Nadia stiffened, caught off guard by her words.

But Aether quickly recovered, his expression hardening. "In our faith, eradicating evil is the duty of all believers. To turn a blind eye is a sin, Your Majesty."

His voice was firm—tinged with anger, exasperation, and self-righteous certainty.

Emmalise let out a slow sigh, resting her cheek against her knuckles. "Eradicating evil, hmm?" Her lips curled into a bitter smile.

"Tell me, Saint... does that justify killing women and children?"

Aether bristled. "Your Majesty, you may sit upon a throne, but be mindful of your words. That is blasphemy!"

He straightened his posture, his voice unwavering. "We do not kill women and children. We kill witches and Daemon."

Emmalise chuckled, her amusement returning. "Ah, so you do not even consider them human anymore?"

With a flick of her wrist, she turned to her knight captain. "Clinton, escort the Saint and his follower out. They are not welcome here."

"However, if they wish to search for their so-called 'evil' beyond the kingdom's borders, they may do as they please."

The knight captain nodded and approached Aether and Nadia with his men.

Aether slapped away their hands. "Don't you dare touch me," he hissed. "We will leave on our own."

Before stepping away, he turned back to Emmalise, his golden eyes locking onto her cold gray ones.

"Mark my words, Queen of Cortinvar—your arrogance will be your downfall."

For the first time, her smirk faded. A small frown creased her brow, though she said nothing.

With that, Aether turned on his heel and left the throne room, Nadia following closely behind.

As they stepped into the snow-covered streets, Aether watched the flakes drift onto his robes.

Their spies had reported a troubling pattern—the Daemon always fled north, with their final destination said to be Malgrave Mountain.

Most believed it was a place of death, where those who ventured in were never seen again.

The rumors claimed the Daemon sought solitude, choosing to perish in the mountain's depths.

But Aether didn't buy it. 'No one hides in a place like that unless they have something to protect.'

"Tch. Another dead end." His voice was quiet, but his frustration was palpable.

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling gnawing at his chest—time was running out. He had to find the Daemon and his mother soon.