Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!-Chapter 66: Offering To The King

Claude had been waiting for Ezra's response for three days.

Not a single reply.

Not that he actually cared. The letter wasn't even his, to begin with—it had come from William. Claude himself couldn't give a damn about that old man.

'As expected, he backed down.' He tapped his fingers idly against the armrest.

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'I have no use for a coward who only knows how to wallow in self-pity.'

If Ezra was too spineless to accept the position, then so be it. Claude was the King. He could appoint himself as Minister of Welfare if he wanted. No one could stop him.

However, that didn't mean problems wouldn't arise.

Today, he sat on his throne, enduring Eldrich's endless rambling about his family's issues.

"Your Majesty! You must act! It's been three days, and two heads of my Olvon branch family have been murdered in such a cruel way!"

"They have all lost their head!"

Claude sighed. 'Why the hell should I care about your damn house when you've opposed every single one of my policies?'

He wanted to say it aloud, but Llyold Xalvach had recently approached him with a clear proposition—to serve as Grand Advisor.

Claude didn't mind. William, as his counselor, had a different role—he focused on his mental and physical well-being, his image as a ruler, and palace diplomacy.

Meanwhile, the position of Grand Advisor was more strategic, and Llyold was more than capable of taking it.

Unlike William, Llyold didn't sugarcoat his words. He had been bluntly drilling into Claude's head that, as a new king, he needed to be more… considerate.

Claude had listened—until now.

"You!" Eldrich's voice rang out again, accusatory and shaking with outrage.

"You're behind this! You did this just to get rid of me and my house, didn't you?!"

Llyold rubbed his temple, already sensing where this was heading. He knew all too well that Claude wouldn't let such an accusation slide.

True to form, Claude didn't respond with words.

Instead, his hand rose, shadows coiling around his fingers like living entities. The darkness surged forward, wrapping around Eldrich's throat and hoisting him into the air.

His legs kicked helplessly, his hands clawing at an invisible force that refused to yield.

Claude's fingers curled slightly, and the pressure tightened.

"Your Majesty!" Llyold interjected, voice firm but calm. "There is no benefit in killing him."

Claude chuckled. "Of course, there is—to satisfy my bloodlust."

Eldrich gagged, his face turning a sickly shade of blue. "Y-your Ma-jesty… for…give me…"

Claude tilted his head, watching the man struggle.

"If I truly wanted to wipe out you and your house, I'd do it in broad daylight for all to see." His voice was eerily casual.

"I'm no schemer, Eldrich. You should've known that before opening your damn mouth."

His grip tightened, and Eldrich's choked gasps grew weaker.

Llyold remained composed. "Your Majesty, don't let your anger consume you," he advised his voice level.

"Not everything can be solved with violence."

He met Claude's gaze unwaveringly. "And as a King, the death of Eldrich's branch family is a valid concern. You cannot allow your people to be slaughtered without taking action."

Claude exhaled slowly.

Llyold's reasoning was sound.

As much as he could rule through sheer power and make everyone bow down to him, a kingdom was not built on fear alone.

He needed loyal subjects—ones who followed him not just out of terror, but trust.

With a flick of his wrist, the shadows dissipated. Eldrich dropped like a dead weight, collapsing to the ground as he gasped desperately for air, clutching his bruised throat.

"Fine," Claude said, leaning back against his throne.

"I'll investigate it. Now get out of my sight. And bring me a living witness who saw what happened."

"Y-yes! Your Majesty!" Eldrich scrambled to his feet, bowing deeply before scurrying out.

Claude watched him go.

A stubborn old fool. Corrupt, self-serving… yet he did care about his family. And that much, at least, was real.

Claude leaned back against his throne, fingers drumming lazily against the armrest. His gaze flickered toward Llyold, sharp with curiosity.

"Who do you think it is, Llyold?" he asked.

Llyold exhaled, his expression unreadable. "I have a guess, but it would be a blind accusation."

Llyold met his gaze, his eyes filled with meaning. "If I told you, what would you do?"

Claude's brow furrowed. "Stop speaking in riddles and just tell me—"

Before he could finish, the heavy doors of the throne room swung open with a deep, resonant creak.

A lone figure strode in.

His armor clanked with each step, the sound of metal echoing ominously across the vast chamber.

He was clad in full plate, his face obscured by a battle-worn helmet.

Over the gleaming steel, a white and gold surcoat bore the crest of House Algrin—a lily in full bloom, an emblem of nobility and honor.

Yet, honor was the last thing on anyone's mind.

All eyes were drawn to the gruesome sight in his hands—three severed daemon heads, their expressions frozen in agony, dark blood still dripping from their necks.

He held them effortlessly by the hair, their lifeless gazes staring blankly into the air.

Gasps rippled through the room.

Eldrich, who had been moments away from leaving, stopped dead in his tracks. His face paled as recognition dawned. He knew those heads.

These were his people, his blood. He opened his mouth but no words came out—only stunned silence.

Claude, on the other hand, grinned. Wide.

"Ah..." His voice hummed with delight. "Finally, something interesting."

He sat up straighter, his crimson eyes glinting with amusement. "I was getting bored to death with all these damn papers."

Llyold, standing at his side, remained composed but was clearly caught off guard. His gaze flickered between the bloodied knight and the severed heads at his feet.

"Is this the daemon you meant?" Claude asked, his grin never faltering.

Llyold hesitated before nodding. "Ye-yeah... I thought he had already lost his spine."

Claude chuckled. "Seems like he grew it back." He propped his chin on his palm, eyes alight with intrigue.

The knight reached the foot of the throne and, with an effortless motion, let the severed heads drop onto the marble floor.

The wet thud echoed through the chamber like an offering, staining the pristine white stone with dark crimson.

A charged silence settled over the room.

Then, at last, the knight removed his helmet.

Long, gray hair spilled down his back, slightly damp with sweat. His sharp, regal features were unmarred by hesitation, and his piercing violet eyes locked onto Claude's.

He smiled. Not like a man who had just brought death, but as if he had simply returned home from an errand.

"Your Majesty," his voice was calm, almost amused, "I have returned from reclaiming my dignity and I give you offerings as your loyal servant."