Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!-Chapter 78: Personal Knight

"So, you want to reclaim your honor by becoming my personal knight?"

Claude raised an eyebrow, studying Wren, who knelt before him.

Wren nodded vigorously, his green eyes gleaming with determination. He had once been the Vice-Commander of the Dark Elysium Army, serving under Layla, but now he was here, seeking to start anew.

Claude had been brutally honest in his assessment of Wren—a trait his siblings would have considered degrading—but rather than being insulted, Wren had been captivated by his unfiltered words.

To mark his decision, Wren had cut his long brown hair, severing ties with his past. He had even wanted to discard his family name entirely, but his father had pleaded with him to keep it.

Layla sighed. "Honestly, I didn't mind Wren staying, but he and some of my uncles insisted that he be demoted."

Claude glanced at her. "His opponent was Ezra. That's hardly a fair fight."

Layla pinched the bridge of her nose. "Exactly. And now I'm losing one of my best subordinates because of it."

Claude studied her expression. "You seem troubled. Was he that useful?"

"Well…" Layla hesitated, rubbing the back of her head. "He's surprisingly good at handling documents, which is rare for a knight…" Her voice trailed off, clearly embarrassed about that fact.

Claude sighed, shifting his gaze back to Wren. "And what exactly do you hope to learn from serving me?"

"I'm a simple man. If someone stands in my way, I'll remove them. If they're my ally, I'll make sure they never regret it." he continues.

Wren clenched his fist, "It's Your Majesty's mindset that fascinates me."

"You're… shameless."

Claude blinked. "Excuse me?"

Wren immediately shook his head. "No, that's not the right word. More like… unconventional."

Claude turned to Layla, unimpressed. "Is he serious?"

Layla let out a tired sigh. "He's honest to a fault, Your Majesty. Please take care of him."

Claude smirked. "Well, I don't mi—"

Before he could even finish his sentence, Wren had already bowed his head. "Thank you, Your Majesty! I owe you my life! I swear, I'll become the best knight you've ever had!"

Claude exhaled through his nose. "We'll see about that."

Then, with a snap of his fingers, Sun stepped forward, already prepared with a set of commoner's clothing for him.

"Strip off your armor," Claude ordered. "We're heading into town."

***

The town was as bleak as ever, but at least Claude's policies had started to take effect. He had ensured thick robes and clothes were provided for the people—necessary measures in a land as eternally cold as Elysium.

Some construction work was already underway, with workers repairing potholes along the main roads.

The capital was the kingdom's face, and if an ally or an enemy ever visited, Claude refused to let them see it in such a sorry state. Infrastructure was crucial, after all.

"Your Majesty, you've been here for less than a month, yet the common folk already look better than before," Wren whispered, his tone laced with admiration.

Claude responded with confidence, "Of course. But it's still not enough. They need more to live comfortably."

Thanks to magic concealing their appearances, the commoners wouldn't recognize them, allowing them to observe freely.

Layla, who walked beside Claude, furrowed her brows. "Your Majesty, I don't understand why you go to such lengths for them. How does this benefit us in war?"

Claude didn't answer immediately. Instead, he glanced at Layla, noticing how she deliberately kept her distance.

Even the briefest accidental touch made her jerk away, moving almost a meter apart as a faint blush dusted her cheeks.

'A shy type, huh?' He smirked.

Layla was so different from Lilac. If it had been Lilac, she would have clung to him, teasing him relentlessly.

That woman always found an excuse to touch him, often leading to a heated make-out session in his office.

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'Oh well, I love all my harem equally… except for my mother. She's clearly the love of my life.'

Without warning, Claude reached out and took Layla's hand, his fingers curling around hers.

"Why are you so stiff around me? Aren't you my concubine?"

Layla stiffened instantly, her face turning scarlet. "Uh… Y-Your Majesty, I was asking about war preparation…" she mumbled, looking away.

Claude only chuckled. "Well, shy types are adorable too."

"I-It's not that—"

Before she could finish, a commotion erupted not far from them, drawing their attention.

Claude immediately recognized the source—Ezra.

'What is he up to now?'

Beside him, Wren clenched his fists, his expression darkening. "Your Majesty, should we intervene?"

Claude shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Let's watch and see how this unfolds."

With that, the three of them slipped into a concealed spot, positioning themselves perfectly to observe the drama without being noticed.

An elderly man stepped forward, holding out a thick woolen robe with both hands, his wrinkled fingers trembling slightly—not from fear, but from frustration.

"Take it back," the old man said, his voice trembling. "We don't want anything from you."

Ezra's jaw tightened. "What are you saying? The eternal winter is cruel, and these robes will keep you warm. Do you think rejecting them will change anything?"

Another woman stepped up, thrusting a sack of oat and wheat toward him. "We know this is your doing, Lord Ezra. But we don't need your charity."

"Your fallen house is the reason so many of our families are dead!"

"The plague killing many of us because of your House giving us medicine that makes the illness worsen!"

"This land was supposed to be free from the plague! Maybe your House was the one who spread it from the beginning!"

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.

Ezra's fingers twitched, and his emotions surged. "That wasn't true at all," he bit out, his voice sharp with irritation.

"My House is just trying to help all of you back then!"

The elderly man narrowed his eyes. "Does it matter? Our families died screaming in their beds while your kin feasted in their grand halls."

"And now you expect us to just… take your charity? As if that will make us forget?"

A younger man, no older than twenty, stepped forward and dropped his robe onto the ground.

"You can keep your pity, Lord Ezra. We'd rather suffer the cold than wear something tainted by your family's name."

The town hall was now full of someone who wanted to return the things the King or for them, Ezra had given.

'No, this... Does this mean I failed? After all of that, I still can't rebuild my House?'