Depraved Noble: Forced To Live The Debaucherous Life Of An Evil Noble!-Chapter 111: End It All

Rodrick understood.

From this moment forward, there was no way he could challenge Cassius—not in any meaningful sense.

The realization sank into him like a blade, cold and unyielding, as he stared at the blood-drenched figure of his son standing before him, Edmund's spine dangling from his hand like some grotesque trophy.

Why?

Because in a mere forty-minute gap, Cassius had accomplished the impossible. He'd traveled to the Wyvern Mountains—a journey that took half a day to and fro on horseback, even at a relentless gallop—and slaughtered over a hundred of the Spineless Bandits in what must have been a handful of minutes.

And not just killed them—butchered them, in the most brutal, inhuman way imaginable, tearing their spines from their bodies with his bare hands.

Then he'd returned, unscathed, without so much as a scratch on his back, looking as casual as if he'd gone for a stroll in the gardens instead of orchestrating a massacre.

No grandmaster on the continent could have pulled off such a feat—not the legendary swordsmen of the eastern plains, not the elemental mages of the southern towers, not even the most battle-hardened warlords Rodrick had ever known.

He was certain of it. Even if he summoned his most formidable forces—the Iron and Blood Legion, a unit renowned for its ferocity and aggressiveness—or the Sacred Guard, his elite warriors known for their efficiency to deal with any sort of efficiency, they couldn't have matched what Cassius had done.

Not in speed, not in brutality, not in sheer, terrifying efficiency. The numbers didn't lie, and the evidence—Wayne's shattered testimony, the sack of ears, Edmund's broken body, spoke louder than any denial Rodrick could muster.

In that moment, all Rodrick could think was that Cassius wasn't human—not of this world, not of flesh and blood as he knew it. He was a spawn of the devil, a creature dredged up from the deepest pits of hell, cloaked in a deceptively charming guise.

This demon could slip into the Holyfield mansion under the cover of night, slaughter every soul within its walls—his guards, his family, everyone he loved and walk away as if it were nothing, leaving behind only blood and silence.

That image seared itself into Rodrick's mind: Cassius standing over his lifeless body, crimson eyes glowing in the dark, the estate reduced to a tomb.

It was that thought the utter helplessness against a force so unstoppable that terrified him most, stripping away his years of pride and power in an instant.

Cassius was in charge now. There was no question, no contest. The devil held the reins.

But even as Rodrick's mind churned, grasping for some desperate solution, some way to kill this demon and end the nightmare before it consumed him, Cassius's voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, calm and casual as ever.

"Lucious..." He said, turning slightly to his butler, who still lingered near the door. "I've still got some work to finish here, so why don't you head back home and get some rest?"

Lucious sighed dramatically, his shoulders slumping as he adjusted his pristine cuffs, seemingly oblivious to the gore-streaked room around him. "Oh, come on, Young Master." He grumbled, his tone sulky. "I was hoping to see how this all plays out—bit of a climax, you know? It's quite the show after all."

He cast a sidelong glance at Rodrick and Wayne, as if they were mere spectators in some grisly theater. But then he caught the look in Cassius's eyes—sharp, unyielding, a silent command that brooked no argument and his pout deepened.

"Fine, fine." He muttered, relenting with a wave of his hand. "But when you come back, please, for the love of all that's decent, take a shower first. Wash that blood off your face and body—I don't want the mansion stinking of it when you walk in. It's bad enough I'll have to scrub this mess later."

Cassius chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed almost out of place amidst the carnage. "Fair enough." He said, his eyes glinting with mischief as he wiped a smear of blood from his cheek. "I'll clean up—wouldn't want to offend my adorable butler after all.."

With a final, exasperated huff, Lucious turned on his heel and strode out of the study, his footsteps echoing faintly down the hall as he left the room behind.

And the moment he did Cassius's gaze shifted, settling on his father, who knelt trembling on the blood-streaked floor, his once proud demeanor reduced to a shell of shock and dread.

And then slowly, deliberately, Cassius stepped forward, his boots leaving faint red prints as he closed the distance and then crouched down right in front of Rodrick, his blood-soaked form looming close enough that the Patriarch could smell the iron tang clinging to him.

His voice emerged calm, almost gentle, a stark contrast to the carnage he'd wrought. "You probably think you're staring at a monster right now, don't you, Father?"

Rodrick didn't respond couldn't. His lips parted, but no sound came out. But seeing the glowing red gaze, the casual ease of a man who'd just torn a spine from a living body—it was more than enough to scream demon, not human.

His silence was answer enough, and Cassius read it as clearly as if he'd spoken aloud.

A low chuckle rumbled from Cassius's chest, his head tilting as he studied his father's expression. "I see it in your eyes." He said, his tone laced with dark amusement. "But here's the thing, Father—even if you think of me that way, the true demon, the real monster—or whatever you want to call it isn't me..." He paused, letting the words sink in, then leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

"...It's you."

Rodrick flinched, the accusation striking him like a physical blow, his hands clenching into fists against the floor.

Cassius then straightened slightly, his smile fading as he continued, his words sharp and deliberate. "I mean, I could mention the sin of wanting to kill your newborn son—me, fresh into this world, innocent as any baby. A grudge so deep you'd snuff out your own blood. But I'll let that slide for now—water under the bridge, right?"

"...But abandoning the Sacred Guard on the other hand?"

He chuckled again, a cold, bitter sound.

"Your loyal knights, who've bled for your lands, defended your name for years—just tossed aside like garbage, all because of your petty vendetta?"

"...I can't think of anything more evil than that. Betraying those who trusted you with their lives...It's detestable."

Rodrick's teeth gritted audibly, his jaw tightening as Cassius's words cut deeper than any blade. Shame and fury warred in his chest, but he said nothing, his silence a brittle shield against the truth he couldn't deny.

Cassius's crimson eyes glinted as he pressed on, unrelenting. "And just so you know, I've already taken them under my wing...You know, the Sacred Guard."

"...And unlike you, who threw them away to die, I'm going to do the opposite. I'll save them all, Father..."

"...Show you that while you're the true demon here, I'm something else—a savior, even an angel, if you will."

The words hung in the air, absurd and provocative, and Rodrick's restraint shattered the moment he heard it.

A manic laugh burst from his throat, loud and unhinged, as he jabbed a trembling finger at Cassius.

"An angel?!" He roared, his voice cracking with disbelief. "A savior?! You, of all people, dare call yourself that?!" His laughter grew wilder, his eyes gleaming with a feverish intensity as he clutched at his sides. "If you're a savior, then the vilest murderer, the most depraved rapist, could call himself a saint!...You're delusional, boy—utterly mad!"

Cassius remained still, his expression unreadable as he let Rodrick's tirade wash over him, the Patriarch's laughter echoing off the study's walls. Wayne, still huddled on the floor, lifted his head slightly, his pale face etched with confusion and dread as he watched the exchange unfold.

Rodrick's laughter sharpened, his voice dripping with venom as he leaned forward, seizing the one advantage he could still wield.

"And how in the hells do you plan to save the Sacred Guard as their 'new master'?" He sneered, his tone mocking. "The only way to break their eternal vow—the only way to save their captain, Julie—is if you die."

"...Your head on a platter, delivered to me—that's their salvation!"

He grinned, a twisted, triumphant gleam in his eyes as he saw a chance to twist the knife.

"You've got ten minutes until midnight, boy. Ten minutes until the vow claims them all. And there's no way you can do it. You talk of saving them, but you've just given them false hope—dangled it in front of them only to let it crash down."

"...You're no better than me—worse, even!"

His laughter swelled again, a manic cackle that filled the room as he slapped his thigh, reveling in the perceived victory.

He couldn't match Cassius in raw power—that much was clear. But here, in this moment, he could wound him with words, make him feel the weight of his own failure.

But just as Rodrick's glee reached its peak, Cassius's voice cut through the noise, steady and unshaken, stopping the Patriarch cold.

"Then...What if I brought my head in myself?" He asked, his tone deceptively calm.

"...Wouldn't that save the Sacred Guard?"

Rodrick's laughter choked off mid-breath, his eyes widening as he stared at Cassius in disbelief. Wayne's head snapped up fully now, his mouth falling open as the words sank in.

The room fell silent, the absurdity of the statement hanging like a guillotine blade.

"What...?" Rodrick finally sputtered, his voice faltering as he searched Cassius's face for some sign of jest. "That's absurd! You're lying—there's no way you'd do that! You're just spouting nonsense to cover up that you can't save them!"

Wayne nodded faintly, his voice a hoarse whisper. "He's right, Young Master...It doesn't make sense. You can't mean that."

Cassius's lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile, his eyes glinting with a quiet, unshakable confidence. "I'm not lying." He said simply, his voice carrying a weight that silenced their doubts. "Unlike a certain someone who betrays the people who put their trust in him, I keep my promises to those who place their hope in me."

He straightened, his blood-soaked form towering over Rodrick as he met his father's stunned gaze. "You think I can't save them? That I'd let them down like you did?"

"...Watch me, Father. I'll show you exactly what I'm capable of."

Rodrick's breath stopped, his hands trembling as he stared up at Cassius, the manic energy draining from him as a cold dread took its place. Wayne's eyes darted between them, his mind reeling as he tried to grasp what Cassius could possibly mean.

Ten minutes until midnight—ten minutes until the vow's deadline—and Cassius stood there, unflinching, his smile a promise of something unthinkable yet inevitable.

The devil wasn't bluffing, and that realization chilled Rodrick to his core, leaving him grasping for a reality that was slipping further out of his control with every ticking second.

And while both Rodrick and Wayne were utterly confused, Cassius without a word turned, his blood-soaked boots leaving faint red marks on the floor as he walked over to the sword his father had thrown earlier.

It lay there, gleaming softly in the lamplight, and he picked it up with an easy, almost careless motion, the steel flashing as he held it loosely. Then he strolled back to Rodrick, who was still on his knees, shaking with a mix of fear and disbelief.

Rodrick and Wayne tensed up as he got closer, the sword in his hand looking dangerous and sharp.

Their hearts raced, expecting something awful—maybe a sudden attack or some crazy act of revenge. Wayne's hand twitched toward his own sword, ready to jump in and protect his lord, while Rodrick's eyes flicked nervously between the blade and Cassius's blank face, sure the demon was about to lash out.

But instead, Cassius stopped in front of his father and crouched down.

And to their shock, he reached out with a steady hand, grabbing Rodrick's shoulder gently as he helped him stand up.

Rodrick stiffened, his breath catching as Cassius helped him up, guiding him to his feet with a firm but kind touch.

The Patriarch wobbled a bit, his legs unsteady, his head spinning from the unexpected softness, while Wayne's mouth fell open, his hand dropping from his sword as he watched, totally thrown off.

Then came the real surprise.

Cassius held out the sword—not to threaten, but to offer it.

He pressed the hilt into Rodrick's shaky hands and stepped back, leaving it with him.

The room went quiet, tension buzzing in the air as Rodrick gripped the sword, his fingers curling around it without thinking. Wayne just stared, eyes wide, trying to figure out what was happening as confusion swallowed them both.

And then, as they stood there, grappling with the absurdity of the moment, Cassius smiled a wide, serene smile that seemed to light up his blood covered face and said something they never would've expected in a million years.

"Slash me with it, Father...Slash through me with that sword I gave you...Slice through my flesh like you've always wanted to do for all these years"

He said, his voice calm and clear, cutting through the tension like a knife and it was the most absurd, most shocking statement of the night, and it hung in the air like a thunderclap.

Rodrick's hands shook, the sword nearly slipping from his grip as his eyes widened in disbelief. Wayne let out a strangled gasp, his pale face twisting with incredulity.

But Cassius ignored their shock, his crimson gaze steady as he continued, his tone unwavering.

"I don't want you to just slash me or slice me." He said, his smile never faltering. "I want you to cut me up—hack me apart tear me apart piece to piece so badly that no one would even recognize me."

"...Take my life, right here, right now, with your own hands..."

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"...Do it like you've wanted to all these years—take your revenge for what I did, for killing your wife, for everything you've blamed me for..."

"...End it, Father, as I'm finally giving you what you've always dreamed of."