Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!

Orson slammed his hand against the table, the sharp crack echoing through the chamber.

"What did you say?!"

The young cleric before him flinched, trembling under the high priest's fiery gaze. Her name was Marie—barely past her first rites—but her voice was steady, even as fear gripped her limbs.

"I-I saw the girl who healed Her Majesty… And she's a witch, Your Holiness," Marie stammered.

Orson's brows furrowed deeply as he laced his fingers, leaning forward in thought. What in Eunomia's name was the Queen thinking?

"Perhaps Her Majesty is unaware," said Jake, an older man clad in polished holy knight armor.

His tone was calm but stern. "This kingdom does not forbid witches, after all."

"You're right, Jake," Orson muttered, rising to his feet.

"And as Eunomia's faithful, we must inform the Queen before she's fully deceived by that witch!"

With determined steps, the three of them marched through the palace halls, seeking an audience with the Queen. But her royal butler stood in their way, delivering news that only deepened the mystery.

"Her Majesty is currently occupied. You will need to wait at least a week for an audience," the butler informed them coolly.

"A week?!" Orson barked. "She's still sick, isn't she?"

The butler shook his head. "Her Majesty has made a full recovery, High Priest. The physician introduced by her royal guard cured her completely."

Orson's face paled. "You mean… that witch healed the Queen?!"

His two subordinates exchanged anxious glances while the butler simply blinked at them, confused. Shouldn't they be rejoicing that the Queen had been cured?

"How could this be?" Orson muttered, then stepped forward, voice rising with urgency.

"Tell Her Majesty this is a matter of grave importance! She has been deceived by witches—and that medicine might be a tool to brainwash her!"

The butler's expression darkened. He adjusted his glasses that didn't even loose.

"High Priest," he said coldly, "I have tried to maintain civility. But you are treading dangerously close to defamation of the Crown."

He narrowed his eyes. "Such baseless accusations are punishable offenses. This time, I will let it pass. But you will keep this matter to yourself for now."

"I will inform the Queen of your request for an audience."

Orson took a breath, calming himself, though the heat in his chest still burned. "I apologize. That wasn't my intention. But this is a serious concern. Please… inform Her Majesty as soon as you can."

The butler gave a small bow and turned away, leaving Orson and his men standing in the corridor, tense and troubled.

***

While Aurelia distributed instructions and handed out the pills to each temporary hospital, she also ensured the kitchens were informed of the updated meal plans for patients.

Every meal, she emphasized, should include bone broth and meat whenever possible.

Vegetables were harder to procure than meat in these conditions, so her focus shifted toward foods rich in vitamin A—liver, dairy like milk if available, and fish such as salmon or mackerel.

As Claude had instructed, she worked side by side with the medical staff, assisting in administering the capsules to patients. She even visited the noble houses, personally tending to the ill among the higher class.

Despite the exhaustion, Aurelia felt a growing sense of relief. The crisis might not be over yet, but they were turning the tide. Healing rates rose with each passing day.

The infection rate finally slowed, even dropping compared to the previous week—thanks to efforts to isolate the sick, limit movement, and close the kingdom's gates.

By the end of the fifth week, the infected count had peaked at 3,500. The death toll stood at around 875. Another 1,625 had recovered, and the remaining patients were still under treatment.

Those numbers were more favorable than Claude's initial predictions, especially considering the shortage of volunteers and the limited access to nutritious food for the poor.

Yet Aurelia didn't feel the happiness she thought she would.

A young man had cried as he thanked her for saving his mother. Mothers grasped her hands with teary smiles, whispering heartfelt gratitude.

"Thank you so much! Because of you, my child is better now," said a woman gently squeezing her fingers. "I owe you my life."

Aurelia offered a gentle smile in return, but her heart felt hollow.

They praised her as a hero—but inside, she felt like a fraud.

She hadn't created the medicine. She hadn't discovered the cure. She was simply following Claude's orders. And worse, she knew this plague wasn't natural. It had been orchestrated.

How could she be proud of that?

Even though Claude had told her—truthfully—that the capsules weren't a cure, not in the traditional sense, they still helped. They gave the body a fighting chance.

And for that, at least… she was grateful.

She might not feel like a hero.

But if people were healing—if lives were being saved—then maybe… maybe it was enough.

***

In the Holy Land, the long-awaited envoy from Cortinvar finally arrived—via the rare and highly regulated teleportation gate.

These gates were powerful magical tools, accessible only to nobles, wealthy mercenaries, and those blessed by the Church, all requiring express permission from the Main Everbright Chruch.

Though the gates drastically shortened travel, the journey still took them three exhausting weeks—and not without cost.

What should have been a simple diplomatic passage turned into a nightmare. One by one, the knights and clerics who traveled with the envoy began dying gruesome deaths.

By the time they emerged on the Holy Land's side, only three knights remained—one near death, the others pale and burning with fever.

"What happened here?" gasped one of the knights guarding the gate, rushing forward to catch a man who collapsed in his arms.

The others slumped nearby, their skin flushed and covered in red blotches. One of them coughed violently—blood spilling from his nose.

"Cleric! Fetch the clerics, now!" the guard shouted.

Moments later, a priest rushed in. He knelt beside the fallen and pressed a glowing hand to one of the knight's chests.

As the golden light flickered under his palm, his expression paled with dread.

"Move them to the isolation wing!" he barked. "This is Red Slumber!"

The guards exchanged alarmed glances before springing into action, carrying the knights away—but it was already too late.

The gate guards were infected as they didn't isolate the guard who brought the sick.

And in the days that followed, Red Slumber began to spread through the Holy Land like wildfire.

Within a week, over 300 cases had been confirmed. No deaths yet—but the disease's terrifying presence sent waves of panic through the temple.

Saint Theresia, known across the continent for her healing powers, was summoned to the Promised Land immediately. A gathering of cardinals awaited her.

"What do we do, Your Holiness? Have you developed a cure yet?" one of the cardinals asked urgently.

Theresia shook her head, her expression weary. "Unfortunately… no. No cure has been found. For now, all we can do is try our best to isolate the sick and treat them with a fever medicine and any available medicine for flu."

"As the Red Slumber gets worse, the sick will be bleeding all over their body, so we need to prepare the medicine for stopping the bleeding."

Saint Theresia gave many instructions to the cardinals so they could treat the sick fast and slow down the spreading rate.

However, as they discussed, the chamber doors suddenly burst open. Saint Regulus stormed in, his boots echoing through the sacred hall.

"This disease was intentionally spread!" he declared, voice thunderous.

Theresia stood, unsettled. "What are you saying, Regulus?"

"The knights who were first infected—weren't they under High Priest Orson's command?" Regulus said, eyes narrowing.

"He's in Cortinvar now. And isn't he suspiciously close to the Daemon Sanctuary? This isn't an accident. It's a plot—to destroy us!"

Gasps echoed throughout the chamber. The cardinals exchanged nervous glances as what the Saint had been saying made sense.

"What should we do then, Your Holiness?" one of them finally asked.

Regulus's eyes burned with fervor. "We retaliate. If Cortinvar won't cooperate, we invade. While the Lord of Calamity is still gathering power, we strike."

But the room remained silent.

Saint Theresia shook her head solemnly. "I must object. It is not the time, Regulus."

"We've received word from Orson—the situation in Cortinvar is dire. Even their Queen has been infected. They're struggling. Attacking now would be nothing more than exploiting their suffering," she said quietly.

"And let me remind you—Red Slumber is not dark magic. It is a natural affliction, one holy power cannot touch. That is why we're vulnerable to it. That's why we can't cure it."

Regulus's eyes narrowed. "So you believe the Lord of Calamity isn't behind this? You're either a fool… or naive."

"Call me what you will," Theresia replied, unshaken.

"But I speak the truth. Our powers are useless against this sickness. Right now, our duty is to care for our people."

She turned to the Cardinals. "If word spreads that even the holiest among us can't cure this illness, there will be chaos."

"Fear and even loss of faith. So I suggest we close the Promised Gate and declare we are entering a sacred period of prayer—to purge the darkness from our land."