Chapter 825: Scarecrows?
Darius stirred slowly as the morning light filtered through the grand windows of his chamber.
The cheerful chirping of birds outside brought a rare moment of peace, washing away the exhaustion from the previous night’s chaos.
He stretched languidly, a relaxed smile spreading across his face. His mind, now clear and sharp, immediately began formulating plans for the day ahead.
Specifically, plans for dealing with that insufferable Cassius.
’The Holyfield estate will retaliate, of course.’ He mused, his smile turning cruel. ’There will be negotiations. Conflicts. Political maneuvering.’
’But in the gaps between all that, I’ll find my opportunity.’
He imagined it vividly: Cassius bound and helpless, forced to watch as Darius systematically destroyed everything he loved.
One by one, he would take those beautiful wives—the blonde maid, the lamia, the healer, all of them and bring them back to his estate.
He would make Cassius watch as he had his way with them, listen to their screams and pleas, and then kill them right before his eyes.
’They’ll squeal like pigs.’ Darius thought with dark satisfaction. ’And then I’ll take his head last. That’s what he deserves for speaking about my family.’
He shuddered with anticipation as he slowly sat up in bed, his body already tingling with excitement.
But then he noticed something strange.
The room was empty. Completely empty.
Normally, there would be a set of maids already waiting by his bedside, ready to assist him with everything—brushing his teeth, changing his clothes, preparing his morning bath.
And of course for some ’bed-side excercise’ with his maids.
But not just any maids. Disobedient maids specifically.
It was a peculiar quirk of his, one that his family had never understood.
Whenever his maids were particularly submissive, following his every command without resistance, he felt nothing but boredom.
There was no excitement, no thrill.
He much preferred hiring amateurs—young women pulled from the villages and towns within his estate, terrified girls who had never experienced such cruelty.
Dragging them to his chambers, forcing himself upon them, hearing their screams, feeling them fight against his overwhelming strength...
...that was what lit the fire in his twisted heart.
Recently, he’d acquired a new batch of such maids.
The memory of their terrified faces made him smile.
But this morning, those maids were nowhere to be seen.
Not only that, but his head maid, an old granny named Beatrice who had served him since childhood was also absent.
She was always in his room at this hour, assisting him with her efficient, no-nonsense manner.
But right now she was absent and a flicker of irritation crossed his face.
"Beatrice?" He called out, his voice carrying through the empty room. "Where are you? I’ve already woken up. Why aren’t you here?!"
Silence.
He tried again, his tone growing sharper.
"Beatrice! Answer me!"
Still nothing.
His irritation grew.
"Kevin!" He shouted, his tone turning into an angry bark. "Kevin, get your useless ass in here!"
Kevin was his personal butler, a man who knew better than anyone the price of neglecting his duties.
A few years ago, Kevin had made a minor mistake regarding Darius’s wardrobe, and Darius had personally watched as the man was lashed until the flesh on his back hung in bloody ribbons.
The scars on the butler’s back still hadn’t fully healed, a constant reminder of the price of negligence. He wouldn’t risk it again.
So, it was extremely strange for him not to be here.
Unless...
Darius shook his head, dismissing the unease. He swung his legs out of bed and dressed himself—a simple task, but one he hadn’t performed in years.
His fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, the fine embroidery suddenly feeling complicated.
"Probably some family gathering I forgot about." He muttered to himself. "Or a staff meeting. Father’s always calling those at the most inconvenient times."
But as he stepped out into the corridor, the silence deepened.
That was strange since the Valheim mansion was never silent.
Even at this early hour, there should have been maids dusting, servants polishing silver, cooks preparing breakfast in the distant kitchens.
Instead...nothing.
No footsteps. No whispered conversations. No clatter of dishes. No distant hum of activity.
Just... silence.
Darius felt a sense of unease, but he still walked down the grand hallway, his footsteps echoing unnaturally loud on the floor.
Portraits of his ancestors stared down at him from frames.
A stern-faced men and cold-eyed women who had built the Valheim legacy on blood and gold.
Normally, he found their gazes reassuring. Today, they felt accusatory.
"Hello?" He called, his voice bouncing off the walls. "Is anyone here?"
He checked the servant quarters—a bunch of small, clean rooms usually bustling with maids preparing for their duties.
Empty.
The kitchens—massive rooms with copper pots hanging from hooks.
But no bread rose in the ovens. No bacon sizzled in pans.
It was empty
The bathrooms—chambers with massive tubs and gold fixtures.
Empty.
The library—a vast room filled with thousands of books, many of them first editions, many more containing dark secrets bound in leather.
Empty.
The ballroom, ready for parties that never seemed to end.
Empty.
With each empty room, the flicker of unease in Darius’s chest grew into a steady flame of anxiety.
"Mother? Father?" He called, his voice taking on an edge of desperation. "This isn’t funny! Where are you?!"
He named his family, one by one, as if summoning spirits:
"Barbara! Matty!"
"Tiffany! Timothy!"
"Setadia! Tally!"
"Asmith! Uncle Marcus! Aunt Lydia! Grandmother?!"
No answer. Only the echo of his own voice, mocking him.
’This is ridiculous.’ He told himself, trying to calm his racing heart.
’Everyone must be gathered somewhere. There’s a logical explanation for all of this. I’m just being paranoid.
But even as he thought the words, the image of Cassius’s glowing crimson eyes flashed through his mind.
Those eyes, burning with an otherworldly intensity.
That voice, whispering promises of vengeance.
[Let me make your entire family hang above you instead]
Darius shook his head violently, as if trying to dislodge the thought. "No. That’s impossible. He was bluffing. Just a pathetic attempt to scare me."
But the unease wouldn’t go away.
He made his way to his father’s office and slammed the door open, expecting to find the old man hunched over his desk as always.
Empty.
He went to his grandmother’s private quarters, where she spent her mornings tending to her prized orchids.
Empty.
He checked his siblings rooms, his aunts and uncles quarters, even the distant guest wings where visiting relatives sometimes stayed.
Empty. Empty. Empty.
The silence was deafening now. The dread had become a physical presence, pressing down on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
His heart was hammering against his ribs, each beat a frantic plea for answers.
"Mother!" He screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. "Father! Please! This isn’t funny anymore! Stop playing games with me!"
But the only response was the echo of his own voice, mocking him.
Darius sank against a wall, his legs suddenly too weak to support him.
His mind was spiraling, running through impossible scenarios.
Kidnapping. Betrayal. Something far, far worse.
And then he heard it.
"Lord Darius. If I may have a moment of your attention."
Darius’s heart leaped. A voice! Finally, a voice!
He whirled around, a smile of relief spreading across his face.
"Finally! Finally someone answered! I thought for sure that you guys had—"
His words died in his throat.
The person standing behind him was not one of his maids. Not one of his servants. Not a family member
Even though he was wearing a butler’s outfit, the face was entirely unfamiliar.
It was a rather cute face, with sharp features and a calm, pleasant smile that seemed almost mocking.
Darius took a step back, his hand reaching unconsciously for the dagger he kept at his belt.
"W-Who are you!?" He demanded. "Who let you in? I don’t remember a servant like you."
But even as he spoke, something about the face seemed familiar. He studied it more closely, and then the realization hit him like a physical blow.
"You—!" He gasped, pointing a shaking finger at the butler. "You’re that butler! That bastard Cassius’s butler! The one I met yesterday!"
The butler’s smile didn’t waver. "My name is Lucius, my lord."
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" Darius’s voice rose to a shout. "WHO LET YOU IN?"
"GUARDS! GUARDS! SOMEONE GET THIS SERVANT AWAY FROM ME!"
He waited for the sound of running feet, for armored men to come charging down the corridor.
But nothing happened.
Lucius chuckled softly. "I apologize, my lord, but the guards have been taken care of."
Darius’s blood ran cold. "What do you mean, ’taken care of’? What have you done?!"
He lunged forward, trying to grab the butler by the collar.
But Lucius moved with surprising grace, sidestepping the clumsy grab and taking a step back.
"That is for Young Master Cassius to explain."
Lucius said smoothly, his smile never faltering.
"He is currently calling for a cup of tea. He would be glad if you came over and gave him the audience he desires."
Darius stared at him in disbelief. "Cassius? You mean that pathetic third son of the Holyfield estate?! He’s here? In MY home!?"
Lucius nodded, a look of pride crossing his features.
"Yes. He is waiting for you and I was tasked with bringing you to him."
Darius shook his head vehemently. "No! Why should I go see him? Why is he even here? How did he get in without anyone noticing?"
Darius’s thoughts were a chaotic whirl.
Why was Cassius here? What had happened to the guards? What had he meant by "taken care of"?
And most importantly, where was his family?!
"No." Darius said, shaking his head. "I’m not going anywhere. I demand you tell me what’s going on!"
"Where is my family? What have you done with them?!"
Lucius simply shook his head. "All your questions will be answered, Lord Darius. You have only to follow me."
He turned and began walking away, his footsteps echoing through the silent corridor.
Darius shouted after him. "Wait! Hold on! Stop right now! Do you know who I am?! I’m the third son of this mansion! I can have you stripped naked and flogged on the spot! Don’t you dare defy me!"
But Lucius didn’t even slow down. He just continued walking, his posture unconcerned.
Darius was furious. He was terrified. He wanted nothing more than to grab that insolent butler and beat the answers out of him.
But Lucius was his only connection to whatever was happening, the only person who might know where his family had gone.
With a growl of frustration, Darius hurried after him.
"What happened to my family!?" He demanded, his voice sharp with accusation. "Did Cassius do something? Did he take them? Speak, damn you!"
Lucius said nothing. He just walked.
"Is this some kind of game? Some pathetic revenge scheme? You tell that bastard Cassius that he can’t—"
Lucius remained silent.
Darius tried a different tactic, his voice becoming wheedling.
"If you just tell me where my family is, I’ll make it worth your while. Money, power, anything you want! I’m a Valheim—I can give you whatever you desire."
Lucius glanced back at him, his expression one of mild pity.
"I desire nothing from you, Lord Darius. My Young Master has already given me everything I could ever want."
Darius’s frustration was mounting. He continued pestering the butler with questions, threats, and promises.
But Lucius’s calm composure never wavered. It was as if Darius was speaking to a wall.
As they walked through the grand corridors of the Valheim mansion, Darius caught a glimpse through a window of the sprawling gardens outside.
And his attention was immediately drawn to the massive Grand Marrow Tree that had stood in the front courtyard for as long as he could remember.
The tree was enormous, nearly half the size of the mansion itself. Its sprawling roots ran deep into the earth, and its thick branches spread out like a massive umbrella, creating a canopy that blocked out the sun, the rain, and the hail.
It was so thick that even a fireball spell couldn’t burn through it.
But something was different about it today.
Darius squinted, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
Vines. Long, thin vines were hanging from the branches, swaying gently in the morning breeze.
But that was strange—the tree had never produced vines before. And why were there so many of them? At least a hundred, maybe more.
And at the end of each vine... was that a scarecrow? He could make out shapes dangling from the ends, swaying like grotesque ornaments.
’Strange.’ He thought. ’Maybe they’re putting up decorations for the anniversary celebration. It’s coming up next week, after all.’
The Valheims had always had a taste for the dramatic.
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