Villainess X Villain: They are obsessed with each other!

Chapter 287: Chapter: 286 Thorne Patriarch.

The Thorne Family Estate, the vast capital city that had stood proudly beneath the family’s banner for generations, had become almost unrecognizable.

Grand stone buildings that once displayed the family’s wealth and authority had collapsed into heaps of broken masonry, while others stood barely upright with enormous cracks spreading across their walls.

The streets that had once bustled with merchants, knights, and noble carriages had transformed into fields of devastation.

Broken weapons, shattered armor, overturned wagons, and splintered wooden stalls lay scattered everywhere.

Corpses covered the roads without distinction.

Civilians who had been unfortunate enough to become caught in the chaos lay beside soldiers still clad in blood-soaked armor, their lifeless eyes forever staring toward the gray sky above.

The smell of smoke mixed with the thick metallic scent of blood lingered throughout the city, while frightened survivors remained hidden behind locked doors, too terrified to step outside.

In barely a single week, ever since the Patriarch of the Thorne Family, Cian Thorne, had been found murdered, the prosperous capital had descended into complete ruin.

It had happened only a week earlier.

After returning to his private chambers late that evening, Cian had retired alongside his seventh wife, intending to spend the remainder of the night in peace.

Instead, death had arrived before either of them realized someone had entered the room.

According to the seventh wife’s testimony, a woman had appeared without warning, as though she had materialized from thin air.

She had been unusually tall, her entire body concealed beneath a hooded cloak.

Although her face had remained hidden within the darkness of the hood, one feature could not be concealed.

Long, pointed ears protruded from beneath the fabric, making her identity unmistakable. She was a Zlycon.

Before Cian could even react, before he could draw his weapon or utter a single word, the woman struck.

The Patriarch of the mighty Thorne Family was killed instantly.

By the time the guards forced their way inside, the mysterious assassin had already vanished without leaving behind a single clue.

The following day, every one of Cian’s children gathered at the estate.

Yet not one of them shed tears for the father they had lost. The atmosphere that filled the family hall carried neither grief nor mourning.

Instead, heated arguments erupted almost immediately as every sibling focused upon a single question.

Who would become the next Patriarch of the Thorne Family?

Strength determined authority within the family, and among all the siblings, only two stood above the rest.

The eldest son, Patrick Thorne, and the youngest son, Crypian Thorne, had both reached the Third Stage of the Heavenly

Trial, having successfully overcome three heavenly trials.

Their strength far surpassed that of the remaining heirs, making them the obvious candidates to inherit the family.

However, the others refused to surrender their ambitions so easily.

Backed by influential branch families and numerous elders, each believed they possessed enough support to seize the position for themselves.

Pride overwhelmed reason, and negotiations quickly gave way to open conflict.

The struggle for succession consumed the entire estate as brother fought brother and sister fought sister, each believing they alone deserved to sit upon the Patriarch’s throne.

One after another, the siblings fell. None survived.

Their followers from the branch families and the elders were spared only after swearing absolute loyalty to the victor.

Though many had stood against him only hours earlier, they were granted their lives under one condition alone, they would serve the conqueror without question.

There were those who called them traitors for abandoning the children they had once supported, but few truly blamed them.

The Thorne Family had already suffered more than enough.

Only five years earlier, they had been dragged into devastating wars against both the Velentina Clan and the Holy Empire.

Although neither conflict had lasted long, the price of peace had been enormous.

Vast territories had been surrendered simply to preserve the life of the family’s most talented child.

Since then, the influence of the Thorne Family had steadily declined.

Their prestige had weakened, their military had suffered heavy losses, and now, with the death of their Patriarch and nearly every direct heir, they stood at their lowest point in generations.

Yet the man who had emerged victorious cared little for such concerns. He believed the family had merely reached the bottom.

From there, the only possible direction was upward. And with him at its head, he believed the Thorne Family could seize anything it desired.

****

Meanwhile, inside the castle that overlooked the ruined capital, the throne room had become a slaughterhouse.

The magnificent chamber, once reserved for ceremonies attended by nobles and honored guests, had been reduced to a scene that scarcely resembled a royal hall anymore.

Massive pillars were stained crimson from floor to ceiling.

Splashes of blood covered the walls like grotesque paintings, while shattered pieces of marble and broken furniture lay buried beneath countless bodies.

The polished floor had disappeared beneath an enormous pool of blood so deep that it spread across nearly the entire chamber, slowly flowing down the broad staircase leading toward the entrance like a crimson river.

Lifeless corpses floated within it, some face down, others staring upward with expressions forever frozen in terror, disbelief, or hatred.

The air itself felt unbearably heavy, carrying the overwhelming stench of fresh blood that clung to every corner of the room.

”P-Please... Brother... spare me... please...”

Patrick Thorne, the eldest son of the family and one of the strongest heirs, knelt helplessly in the middle of the blood-soaked floor.

His armor had long since been shattered, countless wounds covered his body, and blood continuously escaped from the corner of his trembling lips.

Fear had completely replaced the arrogance that once defined him.

His shaking eyes remained fixed upon the figure standing before him as he begged for the mercy that never came.

Thwack!

A bare hand pierced straight through his chest.

Patrick’s desperate plea ended abruptly as his body froze.

His eyes widened to their limit before slowly lowering toward the blood-covered arm protruding from his chest.

Warm blood poured from the gaping wound, splashing across the crimson pool beneath him.

”It’s a pity... I do not have the time, brother.”

The tall man spoke calmly, almost regretfully.

His upper body was completely bare, every inch of his skin drenched in blood until it was impossible to tell what belonged to him and what belonged to everyone else.

Long white hair flowed all the way to his waist, soaked by the endless slaughter until its ends had turned completely red.

His crimson eyes showed neither excitement nor remorse as they quietly watched the life fade from Patrick’s face.

”I would have enjoyed torturing you,” he continued with a faint smile. ”However... revenge is sweetest when hatred reaches its peak.”

With a wet sound, he withdrew his hand from Patrick’s chest.

The lifeless body collapsed backward into the sea of blood with a heavy splash before slowly drifting among the countless other corpses filling the throne room.

The man casually brushed his long hair back with blood-covered fingers, allowing the white strands to fall neatly behind him once again before slowly turning his gaze across the hall.

”Oh my...”A quiet chuckle escaped his lips.

”Quite the scene.”

Everywhere he looked were bodies.

His brothers, sisters, elders, guards. The servants unfortunate enough to stand in his path.

None remained alive.

His blood-red eyes eventually settled upon the throne standing at the end of the hall.

It stood empty.

Its golden surface had almost disappeared beneath layers of drying blood, while crimson droplets slowly trickled from the carved armrests before falling one by one into the growing pool beneath it.

A cruel smile slowly spread across his face.

Without the slightest hurry, he began walking forward.

His bare feet stepped into the thick blood, each movement sending ripples across the crimson surface.

Corpses shifted beneath his steps as though they were nothing more than discarded obstacles.

His long white hair dragged behind him, its blood-soaked ends leaving dark crimson trails across the floor as silence consumed the ruined throne room.

At last, he reached the throne.

His fingers slowly traced the blood-covered armrests, lingering there for several moments as though savoring the feeling before he turned around and lowered himself onto the seat.

He crossed one leg over the other.

His long white hair spilled over the throne and flowed down its steps like pale silk stained by endless slaughter.

Beneath him stretched a kingdom of corpses that would take an eternity to rot.

Before him lay a river of blood that would take decades to dry.

The throne room had become a monument built from death itself, and at its very center sat the sole survivor with a calm smile resting upon his face.

His crimson eyes gazed across the endless carnage without the slightest ripple of emotion, as though the countless lives extinguished around him were nothing more than an inevitable conclusion.

He was ....Crypian Thorne.

The new Patriarch of the Thorne Family.