Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!-Chapter 21: Live Of The Traveler

A full year had passed since Claude, Dalia, and Shawn began their journey north.

Without a flying daimon or any magical mounts, they had relied solely on their carriage, resting in a tent whenever needed.

Claude still remembered the day he had asked his mother about the man she had spoken to when they left Blackwood. Her answer had been vague.

"He is someone who has taken care of me... my savior. But I can't introduce you to him. Our relationship is meant to remain a secret."

At first, Claude had been curious, but as time passed, that mystery faded to the background.

Survival came first.

Adapting to their new life, avoiding the Church's grasp, and staying ahead of their pursuers took priority.

Now, after four grueling days on the road, they finally reached another town.

"Lord Claude," Shawn spoke from the driver's seat, his voice calm yet cautious.

"The town ahead is full of Photenosia's blind believers. It would be best not to linger."

Claude let out a sigh. "Damn, and here I thought I could finally sleep in a proper bed."

"Claude! Language," Dalia scolded, her hands still busy knitting a scarf.

She had been working on it for the past few days in preparation for the approaching winter.

Claude crossed his arms, then turned to Shawn. "Let's just buy some robes and other essentials. We'll leave as soon as the sun sets."

"As you wish." Shawn nodded, guiding the carriage toward the gates.

As they entered the town, Dalia quietly set her knitting aside.

She pulled the hood of her pristine white robe over her face, her fingers clutching the fabric as tension filled her posture.

Claude's eyes darkened—not toward his mother, but toward the world that had made her live like this.

Ever since they fled Blackwood, they had become wanted fugitives.

Their faces were plastered on every town square's wanted posters, labeled as criminals by the Everbright Church.

'We're lucky we live in a time without cameras, CCTV, or phones.'

Claude clicked his tongue. 'Damn, they could've at least hired a better artist. My face looks hideous in that poster.'

Ironically, the poor illustrations were part of why they hadn't been caught yet. That, and their constant movement.

Still, it pained him.

'Mother can't even show her face. She's always tense, always hiding.'

Her features were too striking—silver hair, a delicate face, and, most notably, the golden ring in her irises.

Claude had never seen anyone else with such eyes. It made her easy to remember. Easy to find.

Without a word, he reached across the carriage and gently took her hand.

"Don't worry, Mother. We'll be fine." He gave her a reassuring smile.

Dalia looked up, startled for a moment, before her expression softened.

Claude let go and grinned. "Want me to call Cheshire?"

At his words, a sudden white blur appeared. A fluffy, round cat with big green eyes floated into Dalia's lap, purring softly.

Cheshire was Claude's newest companion, a Cacodemon disguised as an adorable feline.

Originally, she had only been able to feed on happy dreams and positive emotions.

But now? She could devour nightmares, any emotions, instill fear, and implant terrifying visions and dreams into her enemies' minds.

A small but deadly weapon.

The moment Cheshire nestled against her, Dalia exhaled slowly. The tension in her shoulders melted away, replaced by a sense of warmth and peace.

She smiled. "Thank you, Claude."

Claude leaned back, satisfied. "Why don't you come shopping with me? We can get winter coats and maybe even some jewelry."

Dalia shook her head. "Oh no, darling. We should save our money for necessities. We don't know how long we'll be on the road."

Claude scoffed. "We have more than enough."

As exhausting as this journey had been, it had revealed something unexpected—many town chiefs, village lords, and even noble landowners were secretly Daemons.

Every time they passed through such territories, gifts and gold were discreetly sent his way, ensuring they never ran out of money or resources.

Their carriage was comfortable, their supplies well-stocked, and they even had an artifact that provided them with a secure resting realm.

But that fact forming questions into Claude's mind:

'Why the hell didn't Theo just knock up a witch in one of those safe towns ruled by Daemon nobility? Why Blackwood of all places?'

The thought nagged at him. It didn't make sense.

'He could just run away with Dalia and me when I was still a child too. But he didn't.'

But that was questions with no answer. Theo was dead.

Claude couldn't ask a corpse. And when he had questioned Shawn, the man had only shrugged, claiming to know nothing.

Shawn, who had been listening quietly, spoke up. "My Lord and Lady, I advise against using magic to disguise your appearances here."

"We are in enemy territory. Lady Dalia's choice is wise."

Claude rolled his eyes. "Fine. In that case, you can handle the shopping."

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Shawn groaned. "Can't we divide the tasks? Buying clothes is hard for me..."

Claude raised a brow. "Didn't you just warn me about being cautious? I trust you to do your job."

"Ugh... I apologize for my rudeness, My Lord," Shawn muttered dejectedly.

Dalia laughed softly. "Claude, be kinder to your subordinates."

Claude sighed. "Alright, alright."

Shawn immediately brightened. "Ah, Lady Dalia! You are the kindest woman in the world! I cannot thank you enough!"

Rolling his eyes again, Claude turned his gaze out the carriage window.

Shortly after, they arrived at a lodging house. While the horses were tended to, Dalia retired to her room for rest.

Claude and Shawn split up, with him heading into town to purchase necessities.

But as he walked through the streets, something in the town square caught his eye.

Women hung from wooden beams, their lifeless bodies swaying in the cold wind.

Claude's fingers clenched. 'A witch hunt.'

Lately, these executions have become more frequent, spreading across various regions like a disease.

It wasn't just the Church—it was humanity itself that drove these massacres forward.

His heart ached with fury.

'My mother is a witch. If we weren't constantly moving, this could have been her.'

The anger burning inside him only deepened his hatred. Hatred toward the Church. Hatred toward the world that allowed this to happen.

'Fucking hypocrites.'

As he turned away, a voice called out to him.

"Mister, please donate to the Church! We are constructing a new chapel."

A young woman with long black hair approached, holding out a small pouch for offerings. Her smile was wide and bright, but Claude barely spared her a glance.

Instead, he examined her aura, assessing her holy power. 'Lot of holy power, but not yet sharpened.'

His lips curled into a smile. 'Perfect sacrifice.'

He reached into his pocket and pulled out two gold coins, dropping them into her pouch.

Her eyes widened. "Oh my! What a generous and handsome gentleman! May Eunomia bless your life!"

Claude returned her smile.

'Bless my ass.'

One thing Claude knew for certain about Theo—he had been feeding him the blood of a holy person.

Blood infused with divine power, meant to suppress the darkness within him.

At the time, Claude hadn't questioned it. But lately, something has changed. The darkness inside him had begun to stir, no longer dormant.

It clawed at the edges of his control, growing more persistent. Some days, when he meditated or cast spells, it slipped through the cracks—wild, unchecked.

'This isn't normal. This could be a sign of something worse coming.'

He needed to act.

And there was only one solution: he had to kill more holy people. Stronger ones. Ones with greater mana.

And he already found his target.

***

Trapping the young woman had been as easy as Claude expected.

After finishing his shopping, he followed her through the streets, keeping a casual distance. When the moment was right, he 'accidentally' bumped into her, spilling wine onto her dress.

She gasped, irritated—until she saw his face.

Recognition flickered in her eyes. The generous donor who had given her two gold coins.

Her annoyance vanished, replaced by polite formality.

Claude apologized smoothly, offering to pay for the damage and leading her to a quieter spot. She followed without hesitation.

The moment they entered a narrow alley, he struck—swift and precise. A sharp blow to her neck, and she crumpled.

Wrapping her in dark cloth, he stuffed her into their travel supplies, unnoticed as they left the town.

Claude then brought her in the middle of the forest, silent under the moonlight.

Laying her across a smooth stone, he pressed a blade to her throat and slit it clean.

The young woman's eyes snapped open in horror. She tried to scream, but Claude had already severed her larynx.

All she could do was clutch at her bleeding throat, choking on silent gasps.

Claude crouched beside her, a hard container positioned beneath her neck to catch the streaming blood. He wrinkled his nose.

"Damn. You holy people always smell like corpses."

Her body trembled, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"I know, I know—you're angry that I killed you," he mused, watching the blood flow. "But don't be."

He tilted his head, as if offering comfort.

"At least you won't grow into another spiteful bitch serving that cursed church. I saved you from that hypocrite life—you should be grateful."

The container slowly filled. Claude sighed.

"Shame I can't drain you completely. As time goes by, the quality will drop." He glanced at her paling face, already slack with death.

"But still. You should be proud—your life was worth two gold coins. Most prostitutes would kill for that price."

The blood reached the brim. Claude sealed the container and slid it into his coat. Then, pulling two silver coins from his pocket, he pressed them gently onto her lifeless eyes.

"For your journey."

He turned—only to find Sun standing there, watching.

Claude raised a brow. "What?"

"My Lord, that slut finally gave birth! And this time, the children are alive!"