3~9

Julian's gaze immediately snapped to Xiya, his ears picking up on the ragged quality of her breathing. A flicker of concern – quickly masked by his usual stoicism – crossed his face. Without a word, he moved to her side of the bed, his movements swift and purposeful. He knelt beside her, his hand hovering over her swollen belly before gently resting on her forehead, checking for a fever. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the brutality of moments earlier.

"Xiya?"

He murmured, his voice low and cautious.

"Are you alright?"

He watched her closely, waiting for a response, his brow furrowed in a rare display of worry.

"Sounds like labor, m'lord."

Roheline murmured, her voice strained as she struggled to sit up, despite the discomfort radiating through her own body. She leaned forward, bracing herself with one hand, and attempted to help check on Xiya, her experienced eyes scanning for signs of distress.

"Her water may have broken. The contractions seem… rapid."

She reached out to gently feel Xiya’s abdomen, her touch professional and assessing.

“We need to prepare. It will be… difficult for her, especially with multiple births.” She glanced at Julian, her expression conveying a sense of urgency.

“Do you have any potions that might ease the pain, your Grace?”

Julian’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. Multiple births. Of course. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of complications. He quickly scanned his mental inventory, recalling the various potions and remedies he had acquired since becoming Duke.

“Dohva’s milk… it has restorative properties. And I have a pain-relieving draught, though it’s… potent. It might induce drowsiness.”

He paused, considering the options. He didn’t want to risk harming the children, but Xiya clearly needed assistance.

A wave of power surged through Julian, not his own, but Lilith’s. Her voice, cool and commanding, resonated within his mind, eclipsing his own thoughts.

“Foolish little mortal. Do you think birthing elves is as simple as human whelps? I will grant you the knowledge you lack.”

Suddenly, centuries of midwifery knowledge flooded his consciousness – the delicate art of guiding a child into the world, the subtle signs of distress, the ancient remedies used by succubi for generations. He understood the precise pressure points to soothe pain, the herbs to stimulate contractions, the rituals to protect both mother and child. It was overwhelming, yet exhilarating.

“Every child of yours must survive, Julian. Do not fail me.”

Lilith’s voice held a possessive edge, a fierce determination to ensure the continuation of her husbands strong lineage.

“Yes, my beloved… thank you, dear.”

Julian murmured, his voice barely a whisper. He barely registered the words leaving his lips, his mind already racing with the newly acquired knowledge. He felt a surge of gratitude towards Lilith, a feeling that was quickly followed by a promise of lavish praise and affection to be delivered at a later, more private time. For now, his focus was entirely on Xiya, and the imminent arrival of her children. He turned back to Roheline, his eyes now filled with a newfound confidence.

"Have the spare maids prepare warm water and clean cloths."

He commanded, his voice now firm and authoritative.

"And bring me the Dittany of Styx – it will help to strengthen her contractions.”

He began to issue instructions with a precision and understanding that would have been impossible just moments before. The transformation was remarkable – the hesitant Duke replaced by a capable, if somewhat green healer.

Xiya’s cry tore through the room, raw and primal. Her knees trembled violently beneath the sheets, her body arching in response to the escalating pain. Julian moved with a surprising gentleness, positioning himself between her thighs, his movements precise and deliberate. He murmured soothing words, though they seemed lost in the intensity of the moment. With a flick of his wrist, he cast a cleansing spell, a soft azure light washing over his hands before carefully beginning his examination.

“Ten centimeters.”

Julian announced, his voice calm despite the frantic energy in the room. He felt a surge of… something. Not pleasure, not exactly. A primal connection to the life within Xiya, a responsibility he hadn't anticipated. He could feel the tension radiating from her, the **** urge to push.

“...uhhhhhh... my lord!”

Xiya gasped, her voice ragged and laced with pain. The unbearable urge to push crashed over her, a tidal wave of sensation. Her hands clenched the bedsheets, knuckles white, and a sheen of sweat coated her forehead.

"Push, Xiya."

Julian commanded, his voice firm yet encouraging. He placed a reassuring hand on her knee, guiding her.

"Breathe with me. Deep breaths in… and push with everything you have."

He watched her intently, his expression focused and determined. He could feel the subtle shifts in her body, the immense strain she was under. He instinctively knew when to encourage her, when to offer words of support, and when to simply remain silent, allowing her to focus on the task at hand. The knowledge Lilith had bestowed upon him was proving invaluable, guiding his actions with an almost preternatural instinct.

A slick rush, and then – a small, silent form emerged. Unlike human infants, this child didn't wail in protest at being thrust into the world. Instead, a strange stillness settled over him as Julian swiftly cleaned him, his hands moving with practiced efficiency. Before their eyes, the baby began to grow. Not in the gradual way of human children, but with accelerated speed, maturing into a strapping young elven soldier within mere moments.

The young soldier, barely a moment old yet already possessing the physique of a seasoned warrior, bowed his head in respectful acknowledgement.

"Father."

He stated, his voice clear and surprisingly deep for his apparent age. He accepted a clean towel offered by a gaping, wide-eyed butler – a testament to the sheer strangeness of the event – wrapping it around his waist for a semblance of modesty.

“What can I do to help?”

The young soldier asked, his intelligent gaze fixed on Julian. He stood at attention, a good start to the disciplined army Julian was striving to rebuild. It was beautifully unsettling.

“Keep an eye on the others, if they begin giving birth to your siblings, assist them.”

Julian instructed, his voice calm and measured despite the chaotic scene unfolding around him. He barely glanced at his newly-born son, already consumed by the urgency of the situation. He turned his attention back to Xiya, just as another agonizing cry ripped through the room. He could see it now – the second baby, already beginning to crown. The process was repeating, almost mechanically, a testament to the potent magic at play. He braced himself, preparing to deliver another life into this strange, new world.

Another slick rush, another cry stifled before it could fully form. A second boy emerged, mirroring the first in his swift maturation. Julian, his movements now fluid and efficient, cleaned the infant with practiced hands. Just as before, the baby began to grow at an unnatural rate, blossoming into a young elven soldier within moments. Two sons, born within minutes of each other, already prepared for war. The scene was both miraculous and deeply unsettling. The air thrummed with magical energy, the scent of blood and birthing herbs mingling in a heady mix.

The second-born, mirroring his brother’s swift adaptation, quickly wrapped a clean towel around his waist, a gesture of modesty that seemed oddly incongruous given his rapid growth and warrior’s build. He settled beside Xiya, his presence surprisingly comforting despite his recent arrival.

“All is well, mother – you are positively radiant.”

He said, his voice surprisingly gentle and soothing. He took Xiya’s hand, his grip firm yet careful, offering a silent reassurance. His words, though simple, seemed to ease some of the tension in her face, a small smile gracing her lips. The two young soldiers, barely born and already exhibiting the stoicism and discipline of seasoned warriors, remained by Xiya's side, a silent testament to the power of Julian’s breeding program and the strange magic that permeated this chamber.

Xiya’s eyes squeezed shut, her face contorted in a grimace of pain. Another contraction seized her, tightening around her abdomen like a vise. She curled inward, her body instinctively seeking to alleviate the agony. Her grip on her second son’s hand tightened, her knuckles white as she clung to him for support. A low moan escaped her lips, a raw and primal sound that echoed through the room. Despite the unnatural speed of the births, the pain remained undeniably real, a testament to the physical toll of bearing children, even for an elf enhanced by magic.

“Another boy.”

Julian praised, a fleeting smile gracing his lips. It wasn't affection, not precisely. It was… satisfaction. Each birth was a victory, another soldier added to his growing army. He observed the infant as he, too, rapidly matured, noting the striking resemblance to himself – the sharp angles of his face, the determined set of his jaw. Yet, the child also inherited the delicate elvish features of his mother: her flowing blue hair, her piercing icy blue eyes, and the gracefully pointed ears. A perfect blend of strength and grace, a warrior born of two powerful lineages.

Xiya gasped, her breath coming in ragged, shallow bursts. She lay exhausted against the pillows, her body trembling from the exertion of three rapid births. Three strapping sons now stood vigil by her side, a testament to Julian's potent seed and the elven magic accelerating their growth. But even as she caught her breath, a strange awareness settled over her. A subtle, yet undeniable movement within her womb. Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she let out a shaky exhale.

"My lord... why can't it be over yet..."

Julian’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of calculating interest crossing his face. He leaned closer, placing a hand gently on Xiya’s swollen abdomen. He could feel it too – a distinct, rhythmic movement. It wasn't impossible, yet undeniably present. This breeding magic honestly did yield quite a strong sum of offspring.

The cycle continued, relentless and efficient. Xiya's body, pushed to its limits, yielded two more children in quick succession. First, another robust boy, mirroring his brothers in his swift maturation and warrior’s build. Then, finally, a girl. She too underwent the accelerated growth, blossoming into a young elven warrior, though possessing a delicate grace that distinguished her from her male siblings. Five children, born within what felt like a fleeting moment, a testament to the potent magic at play. The chamber was now filled with the silent, watchful presence of these newly-born soldiers, their eyes fixed on Julian with a mixture of respect and anticipation...

A wave of magical energy pulsed through the chamber as Roheline followed Xiya’s lead, giving birth to five daughters, each inheriting the striking elven beauty of their mother and the nascent strength of their father. Cory’s labor was shorter, yielding three sons, their features already hinting at a future as formidable warriors. But it was Pyrrha who truly astonished. Her body strained and contorted, and then, one by one, seven children emerged – four daughters and three sons. The sheer number was staggering, a testament to the potency of the runes Julian had inscribed upon her belly, and the fertility magic that coursed through their veins.

Julian surveyed the scene with a detached, calculating gaze. Twenty young elven soldiers stood before him, their eyes bright with nascent power and unwavering loyalty. He couldn't afford sentimentality. They weren't 'his' children, not in any meaningful sense. They were weapons, meticulously crafted and deployed. Tools to rebuild his dukedom, to reclaim his power.

“All of you, go with the butler to be dressed properly.”

Julian commanded, his voice ringing with authority.

“Your mothers will be given time to rest. Birthing you has been a strenuous ordeal on their bodies. Be grateful for their loving sacrifice to give you life.”

He addressed his offspring firmly, his tone brooking no argument. The young soldiers, disciplined and obedient, inclined their heads in unison. A moment later, a stern-faced butler entered the chamber, gesturing for them to follow. They moved as one, a silent, disciplined formation, leaving behind the exhausted forms of their mothers and the lingering scent of magic and birth.