Chapter 824: Rotten To The Core
The terrain changed as they raced through the countryside.
Forests giving way to valleys, then highlands.
The two-hour journey seemed to take an eternity until finally, they arrived at the Valheim estate.
Dominating the landscape before the mansion was an enormous ancient tree.
Its trunk was so massive that it would take over a dozen people holding hands to encircle it, while its sprawling branches, stretching more than a hundred meters wide, were adorned with lush emerald leaves.
This sacred tree was the very reason the Valheim family still existed today.
When their ancestors first settled these lands, a devastating storm struck before they could build shelter.
Finding refuge beneath the tree’s vast canopy, they survived what would have otherwise been certain death.
Since that day, the tree had become the symbol of the Valheim family’s perseverance and prosperity.
It was revered as their greatest treasure, and even the Valheim family crest proudly bore its image.
—
The moment the carriage stopped, all four horses collapsed dead on the ground.
The butler looked at them with a mixture of sorrow and regret. He had cared for those horses and raised them from when they were fouls.
But Darius didn’t care. He burst out of the carriage, his face wild with panic, and ran toward the manor.
"MOTHER! FATHER!" He shouted, his voice echoing through the halls.
"WHERE ARE YOU? WHERE IS EVERYONE?"
The maids who approached him were startled by his appearance.
"Young master, what are you—"
"WHERE ARE MY PARENTS?" He grabbed one by the shoulders, digging his fingers into her flesh until she cried out in pain.
"WHERE ARE MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS? WHERE IS MY GRANDMOTHER?"
"I—I don’t know!" the maid sobbed. "Please, you’re hurting me!"
SMACK!
"KYAAA—!"
Darius slapped her so hard that teeth went flying across the floor.
"USELESS! ABSOLUTELY USELESS!"
He ran through the manor, slamming doors open and calling out for his family.
"MOTHER! FATHER! ZACHARY! LEOTA! GREGORY! TIMOTHY! WHERE ARE YOU?"
No one answered. The manor felt empty, abandoned, a tomb filled with ghosts.
Darius’s panic grew with every empty room he found. His family was gone. All of them.
His mother. His father. His brothers. His sisters. His aunts and uncles.
What had happened to them? Had Cassius already—
No. It was impossible. He’d only been gone for a few hours. There was no way Cassius could have—
"Grandma?" He called out, his voice cracking. "GRANDMA!"
He searched desperately, his mind racing with nightmare scenarios.
And then, just as despair was about to consume him, he heard voices coming from the garden behind the mansion.
Laughter. Cheerful chatter.
With renewed hope, Darius ran toward the garden, his heart pounding in his chest. And the moment he stepped out, he let out a massive sigh of relief.
A part of his family was there.
They were gathered around a carriage that had been brought to the back garden, talking and laughing as if nothing was wrong.
His mother. His father. His grandmother. His brothers and sisters. His aunts and uncles.
Darius felt a wave of relief wash over him, so powerful that it almost made him dizzy.
’Of course nothing has happened.’ He thought, mocking himself. ’I can’t believe I got scared by that bastard’s words.’
’I should slap myself for being so foolish.’
He started walking toward his family, ready to join their conversation.
But then he stopped.
Something was wrong.
The carriage was a mess of blood and gore.
Pieces of organs were scattered across the ground.
The wheel was completely crimson, stained with viscera.
And pinned beneath the wheel, her body crushed and broken, was a young girl.
She was barely alive. Her face was pale and lifeless, her eyes glassy with pain.
Her stomach had been torn open, her intestines spilling out onto the ground. She was whimpering, her voice barely audible.
"Please...help me...please..."
But no one was helping her. No one was even looking at her with any hint of concern.
Instead, the Valheim family stood around her like vultures circling a dying animal and were complaining about the mess,
"Auntie Lettie, your dress is going to be ruined!"
"Ugh, this is going to take forever to clean up!"
"Can’t we just burn the whole thing and be done with it?"
At the center of the circle stood the Matriarch of the house, Veronica Valheim.
Her cold, ancient eyes looked down at her two youngest grandchildren, both of whom possessed the signature vibrant purple eyes of their lineage.
"Now, children." She said in her measured, aristocratic tone. "Explain to your grandmother what exactly happened."
"And why you brought this...filth...back to our home."
Timothy, a boy of no more than ten years, immediately pointed an accusing finger at his sister.
"It was Tiffany’s fault! She said I was a baby who couldn’t ride a carriage without a driver!"
"You are a baby!" Tiffany shot back, her purple eyes flashing with childish malice. "You can’t even ride a pony without crying! How were you supposed to control two high-bred stallions?"
"That’s why I took the reins!" Timothy shouted proudly, puffing out his chest. "And I did really well! I drove us all the way down the hill!"
"Until you turned the wrong way and slammed right into this peasant!" Tiffany sneered. "She got caught in the spokes and dragged for fifty yards!"
"Only because you were tickling me!" Timothy argued.
"Was not!"
"Were too!"
They devolved into bickering, their voices rising until Veronica raised a hand.
"Enough. Both of you are Valheims. We do not bicker over small matters like common children."
The words had an immediate effect. Both children straightened, assuming the haughty postures they’d been taught since birth.
Veronica placed a hand on each of their heads, her touch gentle.
"I’m just glad both of you are alright. It could have gone very wrong."
The children’s faces softened. "We love you, Grandmother." they chorused, the perfect picture of familial affection.
Veronica smiled, a cold, thin thing that didn’t reach her eyes.
Then she turned to her son, Alistair Valheim, Darius’s father and the current family patriarch.
Alistair was a tall man with a stiff posture and a mustache so perfectly groomed it looked painted on.
His purple eyes held no warmth, only calculation.
"Deal with the driver who allowed this." Veronica said. "And his family. They should know what happens when they endanger Valheim blood."
Alistair nodded once. "It will be done."
One of Darius’s uncles, gestured at the dying girl.
"What about her? She’s still breathing. It would have been cleaner if she’d died quickly. I can’t believe the children brought her back."
Timothy’s eyes lit up. "Let me do it! Let me finish her off!"
He pulled out a dagger, his expression eager.
Tiffany immediately followed suit, pulling out her own blade.
"Me too! Me too!"
They were like murderous little psychopaths, their eyes gleaming with cruel excitement.
For a moment, it seemed the children would murder the girl right there.
But then their mother, Darius’s mother stepped forward.
Genevieve Valheim was a thin woman who wore her wealth like armor.
Crystals glittered at her throat, her dress was worth more than a commoner’s lifetime earnings, and her makeup was applied with such precision it looked like a porcelain mask.
"No, darlings." She said, her voice sweet. "You mustn’t."
For a heartbeat, Darius felt a flicker of surprise.
Was his mother actually showing mercy?
Then Genevieve continued: "If you use a dagger, the blood will get all over you. Commoner blood is practically acid—it will ruin your skin. You shouldn’t use a dagger at all."
The children looked disappointed, but Genevieve wasn’t finished.
She turned to the soldiers standing guard.
"You should use a spear instead. That way, you can keep your distance."
Timothy and Tiffany cheered. "Mother is the smartest! Mother is the best!"
Two of the soldiers, men named Roland and Garret, who still remembered they were once commoners themselves hesitated. Roland stepped forward.
"My lady." He said carefully. "We don’t need to...that is, if we pull her out carefully, we might still save her. The healers—"
Genevieve’s expression transformed. The sweet mask shattered, replaced by something cold and terrifying.
"Are you disobeying my orders, peasent?"
Roland paled. "N-No, my lady, I just—"
"Just what?" Genevieve’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Just thought your judgment superior to mine? Just felt sympathy for this...thing?"
Another soldier, a man named Viktor who had long ago surrendered his conscience to the Valheim gold stepped forward.
He presented his spear with a bow.
"Take mine, my lady. It’s sharp."
Genevieve looked at him with approval, then at Roland and Garret with disdain. The message was clear: their lives would be difficult from now on.
She took the spear and handed it to Timothy and Tiffany.
"Now, darlings. Both of you hold it. Aim for the heart. A quick, clean thrust, and it will be over."
The children, their small hands struggling with the weight of the full-sized spear tried to follow their mother’s instructions.
But they were children, uncoordinated, playing at murder like it was a game.
The first thrust missed the heart entirely, plunging into the girl’s stomach instead.
"AGH! Please...no..." the girl moaned, her voice weaker now. "My mother...she’s sick...I need to...get her medicine..."
Tiffany giggled. "You missed, Timmy!"
"I did not! You pushed it!"
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
Genevieve tutted. "Aim properly, darlings. See? Right under her chest. That’s where the heart is."
Another thrust. This one caught the girl’s leg, opening a deep gash.
"OHHHHHH, PLEASE! IT HURTS!" She screamed, the sound raw and desperate. "IT HURTS SO MUCH!"
But the children kept poking. The spear point jabbed into her shoulder, her arm, her cheek.
SHLICK! SHLICK! SHLICK!
One thrust took out her left eye, and she screamed again—
"ARGHHHHHHHH—!"
—a sound that would haunt Roland and Garret for the rest of their lives.
Finally, Timothy grew frustrated. "I’ll do it myself!"
He pushed Tiffany aside, raised the spear with all his strength, and brought it down.
This time, it found its mark.
"Argh!"
The spearpoint plunged into the girl’s chest, through ribs, through lung, through heart.
Her body convulsed once, then went still. Her remaining eye stared blankly at the stars.
The Valheim family erupted into applause.
"Bravo, darling! Bravo!" The grandmother clapped, her face beaming with pride. "That’s my little Valheim!"
The other relatives joined in, showering the child with praise.
"Well done, Timothy!"
"Your first kill!"
"What a strong young man!"
"I want to try next time!" Tiffany whined. "It’s not fair! I want to kill someone too!"
"You will, my darling." Her mother assured her. "You’ll have plenty of chances."
The father remained silent, but there was a satisfied gleam in his eyes.
This was the core of House Valheim, an ancient, rotting tree of pure, systemic evil that viewed the rest of humanity as nothing more than insects to be crushed for their personal amusement.
It was then that Veronica noticed Darius standing at the edge of the garden. Her expression shifted to one of surprise.
"Darius darling! What are you doing back so soon? I thought you were attending that...festival at the Holyfield estate." She said "festival" the way one might say "dog excrement."
Darius opened his mouth to speak, but his father cut him off.
"He probably couldn’t stand being in that place any longer." The patriarch sneered. "The Holyfields think they’re so impressive with their new wealth, but they’ll never be true nobles! My son’s refined taste could only tolerate so much peasantry."
Darius forced a smile onto his face. "It’s nothing, Father. I just...didn’t feel like staying anymore. Some unpleasant things happened."
The family immediately tensed.
"What happened, dear? Tell us!"
"Whoever offended you, we’ll chop them into pieces!"
"Yes! Tell us who, and we’ll make them pay!"
The children chimed in too. "Yes, brother! Tell us!"
"We’ll get our spears and help you!"
But Darius shook his head. The memory of Cassius’s crimson eyes, that devilish smile, the whispered threat—it all felt too raw, too immediate.
"I’ll talk about it later. I’m just...tired."
Genevieve patted his cheek.
"Of course, dear. Go rest. Your bed is ready."
—
Darius made his way to his chambers, a suite of rooms larger than some commoners’ entire houses.
He didn’t bother undressing, just collapsed onto the massive bed.
The exhaustion, emotional, physical, psychological finally caught up with him.
But even as sleep pulled at his consciousness, his mind kept circling back to Cassius.
’I’ll make sure your entire family hangs above you instead.’
The words played on a loop, each repetition feeding his anger.
"He dares..." Darius muttered into his pillow. "He dares to threaten my family. He should be dead."
"He will be dead!"
A plan began to form in his sleep-addled mind. A cruel, vicious plan that brought a smile to his lips.
"I’ll make him watch." He whispered. "I’ll have two men hold him down as I ruin each of his wives, one by one. Right in front of him. And then I’ll kill them."
"And then...then I’ll take his head."
The thought comforted him. The image of Cassius’s despair, his helplessness, his ruin—it was a balm to the lingering fear.
"Just a pathetic third son." Darius murmured as sleep finally claimed him. "Just a pathetic...third..."
His breathing evened out.
—
In the garden below, servants finished cleaning the blood from the carriage wheel.
The dead girl’s body was loaded onto a cart to be disposed of—not buried, just thrown into a pit with other ’unfortunates.’
In another part of the estate, Roland and Garret stood guard duty, their faces grim.
They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. Both were thinking the same thing.
’How long can this go on? How long before the Valheims evil consumes everything?’
But little did they know that the Devil was already on his way, ready to reap the sins of the entire Valheim family in blood.
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