Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!

"Rhys, are you here?"

A tall knight with golden hair stepped forward, his voice casual, unaware of the tension in the room.

He didn't even notice Aurelia, whose face had gone pale the moment she opened the door.

"Richard, look what you've done… You scared the girl," said the cleric beside him—a woman with light blue hair and a gentle tone.

"Ah… Sorry," Richard muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

He knelt down and extended his hand toward Aurelia, oblivious to the fear in her eyes.

But before Aurelia could even move, a hand slapped his away.

Rhys.

He stood protectively in front of her, his body shielding her completely, voice cold and sharp.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Richard let out a sigh. "Looking for you, obviously. Some High Priest has been asking questions—they said you retired or something?"

The blue-haired cleric, Anne, stepped forward with worry etched into her features.

"We didn't believe it since we are in the middle of witch hunting... You could be their victim. We were worried, so the three of us came to find you."

The third knight, Hans—taller than the rest, with jet-black hair and sharp eyes—narrowed his gaze, trying to get a better look at Aurelia behind Rhys.

"You morons. I am retired. I submitted my resignation properly. Now get the hell out—" Rhys moved to slam the door.

But Hans caught it with one hand, holding it firm.

"Isn't she a witch?"

Richard and Anne both gasped. Rhys clicked his tongue in irritation.

"What kind of bullshit is that?" he growled. "She's just a normal girl."

Hans wasn't convinced. "You expect us to believe that? After all, you were close to them in the past."

"Priest Rhys is right," Richard tried to laugh it off, hoping to ease the tension.

"There's no way he'd live with a witch—he was a witch hunter, after all."

"Use Appraisal, Anne," Hans said, his voice hard and cold. "Let's settle this. After all… Rhys' mother and sister were witches."

Anne hesitated, her lips parted to respond—but before she could say a word, the door slammed shut in their faces and locked.

Rhys leaned his full weight against it, holding it closed as fists and boots began hammering against the wood.

"Aurelia," he said, his voice dead serious. "You need to run. Now."

"B-but what about you?" she whispered, her legs trembling as she forced herself to stand.

"Stop babbling nonsense and run! I can't hold them off for long!"

"Priest Rhys! Surrender the witch!" Richard's voice thundered outside.

"She's not just a witch—she bewitched him!" Hans shouted, his voice venomous. "Hiding her is a death sentence!"

"Anyone who helps a witch will be hanged!"

Anne's voice trembled, but she still pushed against the door with all her strength. "So please hand over her to us, we don't want to fight you!"

"I can't run without you!" Aurelia shouted, her body shaking. "You're injured—your leg—how will you survive?!"

Rhys grits his teeth. "That's exactly why you have to go! I'll only slow you down!"

The weight of guilt crushed her chest like a stone. How many times had she run away? How many people had she left behind?

But this time… she didn't want to run.

She clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into her skin and blood trickled down.

"RUN, AURELIA! OR BOTH OF US WILL DIE!"

His shout broke through the storm inside her. Her breath hitched. Her heart dropped.

"…Rhys," she whispered, eyes glassy.

"Please stay alive. I'll wait for you… on the hill near the village. So you have to survive. Promise me."

Rhys gave a small, pained chuckle. "Don't cry. You haven't cried in weeks, have you?"

He smiled—soft, reassuring, the kind of smile that made her believe.

"Let's meet again, Aurelia. That's why you have to live."

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she nodded. But this time, she turned to run—braver than before.

Yet, just before reaching the back door, she spun around and rushed to the kitchen. She grabbed Rhys' sword, ran back, and shoved it into his hands.

"I don't want us to meet in another life! It has to be this one!" she said, her bright blue eyes fierce and full of hope.

Rhys grinned as he took the blade, his grip firm. "You really know how to read my mind… Alright. Let's meet again."

Her heart lighter with his promise, Aurelia turned and fled through the back door.

She didn't stop—not even when the villagers cried out in confusion, or when the sound of splintering wood and clashing steel rang out from behind her.

Because she believed in him.

Rhys would survive.

And they would continue their journey—together—to find her mother.

***

Hans, his patience worn thin, drew his sword with a sharp hiss of metal.

"Move aside. I'll tear this door down myself."

Richard and Anne hesitated for a moment, then stepped back as ordered.

Without wasting another second, Hans slashed forward—his blade cleaving through the wooden door in a single strike, shattering it into splinters.

But Rhys had expected that.

In a flash, he ran toward him, sword raised, intercepting Hans' blade with his own.

The clash rang out through the village, and their duel spilled into the open yard, away from the ruined doorway.

"What are you doing, Rhys?!"

Hans snarled between clenched teeth as their swords locked. "Why are you betraying the Church?!"

"Betraying?" Rhys scoffed, his grip steady.

"You've known me for years, Hans. You should know better. It was the Church that betrayed me first."

Their blades separated with a screech, the force pushing both of them back. They circled each other.

"The Church only did what it had to do!" Hans barked.

"Your mother and sister—they would've brought disaster upon us! The Dark Mages would've taken them, impregnated them!"

"They would've raised daemons! Helped destroy everything we've fought to protect!"

"Shut up!" Rhys roared, fury bursting from his chest.

"My mother and sister were kind! They were pure-hearted! They would never betray humanity!"

"You blind fool!" Hans spat. "The Church knows what's best! For us! For the world! For everyone!"

His voice rose to a fever pitch, his grip on the sword tightening. "Your very existence led to their deaths! You were the one who told us about them! You handed them over—and now you're blaming the Church?!"

Rhys froze for a split second. The words struck deep, like a knife in old wounds as he remembered the past.

*

*

*

"Why are you punishing them, Your Holiness?! You promised me you would protect them if I told you the truth!"

Little Rhys sobbed uncontrollably, kneeling in the soot and rubble as he clutched the warm ashes of his mother and sister.

His small arms trembled, desperately holding on to what was left of them—what little he had managed to save.

The cardinal stood over him, expression devoid of warmth.

"Rhys," he said, his voice calm but cruel, "they were witches."

"Their very existence was a curse upon this world. You should be grateful—you helped save humanity from doom. You are one of the holy now."

But to Rhys, the man looked like a devil in disguise. No light shone from him—only rot. A presence so vile it suffocated the boy's soul.

"But they never hurt anyone!" Rhys cried, his voice cracking.

"They never used their powers to do anything wrong! And according to the Church's laws—!"

SLAP.

The cardinal's hand struck him hard across the cheek.

Rhys recoiled in shock, clutching his reddening face. The sting wasn't just on his skin—it reached into his heart, laced with betrayal.

"What do you know about the rules?" the cardinal hissed, shaking his head in disdain.

"Or perhaps... you were already bewitched by the witches?"

Rhys stunned. He had no experience with pain like this—no way to process the betrayal, the rage, the sorrow. All he could do was cry.

"I am not!" he screamed, forcing himself to his feet.

"They were my family! My mother and sister! I want justice!"

His young eyes burned—not with tears now, but with rage, hate, and something deeper: resolve.

"Justice?" the cardinal laughed, his voice like poison.

"Justice is for humans, Rhys. And your mother and sister were not. Remember this well—it was you who brought them to me. If there is anyone to hate, it's yourself."

The cardinal then turned around and left him.

That was the moment something inside Rhys snapped.

Without thinking, without pause, he dashed toward one of the guards, grabbed the hilt of a sheathed blade, and pulled it free.

Before anyone could stop him, he drove the sword across the back of the cardinal. The old man screamed, stumbling—blood and shock mixing on his lips.

Rhys was subdued quickly. He didn't resist.

That day, his fate was sealed.

Branded as a sinner and chained to the Church he once trusted, he was sentenced to serve as a witch hunter.

Trained from a young age, not as a boy, but as a tool. A weapon. A thing meant to kill without feeling.

He lived in that hell for years—until the day the cardinal he had wounded collapsed and died of a heart attack.

That was the day Rhys was finally freed from his chains.

But by then, he no longer knew what freedom meant. So he kept hunting witches—wandering, empty—until the day he met her.

Aurelia.

She gave him something he hadn't had since that day—a purpose.

And now, because of that purpose, he knew—

He had to survive.