Too Lazy to be a Villainess - Chapter 308

Chapter 308: The March of the Empress — S3
[SEASON—3]

[Lavinia’s POV — Courtyard—Before Sunrise]

The air tasted of iron and coming storms.

What had been a marble garden of idle fountains now thrummed with the business of war. Rows of soldiers stood like a living wall beneath a bruised sky, armor catching the pale light and throwing it back as a thousand cold sparks.

Crimson and gold banners snapped overhead—Elorian stretched taut and ready, like a wound about to be opened.

Papa and I stood at the center of the upper balcony, the wind flaying my cloak into a flag of its own. From here I could see everything: men tightening straps, blacksmiths hammering red sparks bright as battle-flare, and riders jogging off with sealed orders. Messengers wove through the ranks like veins carrying heat to the heart of the army.

“Everything is in motion, Your Highness,” General Arwin said at my shoulder, voice steady with that odd mixture of awe and relief soldiers get when a plan finally leaves the paper. “The troops will move on your word.”

I didn’t answer at first. My gaze tracked the line of the horizon where Meren slept, mountains like teeth between us. Quiet now. Not for long.

“Good,” I said finally. The word was small but it landed like a command. “Then we leave as soon as I give the signal.”

I turned to Papa. “I’ll be leaving now.”

For a moment, the Emperor’s mask fell away, and only my father remained. His expression softened—lines of command melting into the warmth of a man who had already sent too many people he loved into battle.

“Then say it, my child,” he murmured, his tone lighter than his eyes. “Say you’ll come back soon.”

That simple plea struck deeper than any order ever could. I met his gaze and managed a faint smile. “I will, Papa. I’ll come back soon.”

He exhaled slowly, the hint of relief threading through the cold air. Then his hand came up, rough from the sword and the scepter alike, cupping my cheek. His thumb brushed across my skin the way it had when I was little—before war, before thrones, before crowns.

“Don’t forget,” he said quietly, “you have an old man waiting for you.”

A small laugh escaped me. “Old? You’re the strongest man I know.”

His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Strength doesn’t stop the waiting, Lavinia.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead, a rare, fragile thing. “Go,” he whispered. “Win. But remember something.”

I tilted my head. “What?”

“War,” he said, “is the place where rules die. Don’t follow them. Don’t let them chain you. The only thing worth keeping is tradition.”

“Tradition?” I asked, curious despite the weight in the air.

He nodded, gaze distant for a moment, as if remembering. “After every war, we build a tower. A memorial to the ones who never returned. Every soldier’s name is carved in stone so the wind remembers them even if the world forgets.”

He looked back at me, his voice soft but unwavering. “So when this war ends, my child, build that tower. Let it stand—not as a monument to victory, but as a promise. That Elorian never forgets its own.”

My throat tightened. I nodded slowly. “I will, Papa. I promise.”

He smiled, proud and sad all at once. “That’s my girl.”

And in that moment—before dawn broke, before blood was spilled—it wasn’t an emperor bidding farewell to his heir. It was just a father letting go of his daughter, one more time, and praying the world would give her back.

“Let’s go.”

I nodded.

And…

We descended the marble stairs together. The soldiers parted; the courtyard fell into a hush so complete I could hear leather creak and breath catch. When we reached the plaza, they dropped to one knee in unison—a measured, obedient thunder.

“Raise your heads,” I ordered.

They rose.

“You know what comes next,” I told them, my voice hard as the edge of a blade. “The Merens broke the treaty. They murdered our patrols. They spat on our banner and thought to get away with it.”

A ripple of controlled rage flowed through the ranks—no melee hysteria, only the steady burn of men who understand the cost.

“They expect us to bicker and delay,” I continued, stepping forward so every face was visible to me. “They think mercy makes us weak. Let them believe that mistake.”

I lifted my hand; the banners swelled above us like a beast inhaling. “Mercy ended the day their arrows found our men. Now—now the Empire answers.”

I felt the heat of my own words. The soldiers struck spears into the cobbles in a single, thunderous clang that made the banners quake.

“FOR ELORIA!” they roared.

“FOR ELORIA!!!”

My chest thrummed in time with them. The sound was an animal that walked on two legs and wore armor.

“For the Empire,” I murmured, not a speech but a vow. “For the people who will never bow.”

The shout rolled outward and died. Silence returned like a shield. A voice at my back—calm, steady, always present.

“Your Highness.”

Sir Haldor stood a pace behind me, armor burnished to a dull light, eyes the flat, honest blue that never betrayed anything until you earned it. He bowed the fraction soldiers afford a commander, not the servile bend of a courtier.

“Your horse is ready,” he said in the same plain voice he used for orders. “The vanguard awaits your signal.”

I turned to him and saw, in the space between duty and the man, something that small stones of allegiance build into walls: quiet certainty. The world narrowed to steel and intent.

“Good,” I said, stepping close enough that he could feel the breath of my cloak. “Then let’s make history, Captain.”

His mouth twitched—almost a smile. “As you command, Your Highness.”

Below, the army straightened. Above, the sky paled toward dawn. I set my hand on the pommel of my sword like a promise, and for a moment the wind carried the taste of it: cold, bright, unavoidable.

Then—

ROARRRRR!!

The ground trembled. A golden blur shot across the courtyard—Marshi, tail like a streak of flame, bounding toward me with a roar that echoed through the morning air. Above, the sky split open with the sweep of wings.

Solena descended in a flash of light, feathers scattering like sparks as she landed upon the battlement with impossible grace. Her eyes locked onto mine, fierce and unyielding.

If Solena was here… that could mean only one thing.

“Your Highness,” came a familiar voice.

I turned.

Osric stood a few paces away, Solena now perched on his armored shoulder like a guardian spirit. The dawn carved him in gold and shadow—his expression unreadable, but his eyes burning with resolve.

Then, without hesitation, he went down on one knee.

“I am ready to fight,” he said quietly. “For Eloria… and for you.”

The soldiers nearby stilled, watching the sight of their Grand Duke kneeling before their Crown Princess. The moment hung heavy, sacred in its simplicity.

I looked at him—this man who had once questioned me, who now bent his pride to stand beside me. My heart tightened, just enough to sting.

A small smile curved my lips. “Then fight with me, Grand Duke,” I said softly. “Not behind me. Not ahead of me. With me.”

His head lifted, eyes locking with mine, steady and wordless. He nodded once. “Always.”

Before the air could settle again, the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the moment.

“Your Highness!”

Sera came flying toward us—quite literally tripping over the edge of her cloak, clutching a stack of scrolls that looked far too heavy for someone that small.

“Your Highness!” she gasped again, cheeks flushed. “The war ledgers are ready, all correspondences sealed, the supply manifests signed, the border reports triple-checked—oh!” She froze, eyes widening as she took in the sight of me fastening the last piece of my armor.

“…You’re really doing it,” she whispered, almost reverently. “You’re actually going to war.”

Her voice wobbled between awe and panic.

I couldn’t help it—I grinned. “Relax, Sera. I won’t break before the battle even starts.”

She fidgeted with her sleeves, smiling nervously. “I don’t doubt that, Your Highness. It’s just that… that armor doesn’t look even remotely comfortable.”

“It’s not supposed to be,” I said, fastening the final clasp and feeling the familiar drag of its weight. “Armor is meant to remind you of responsibility. If it feels light—you’re not wearing it right.”

Her eyes softened with pride. “You sound just like the emperor when you say things like that.”

I chuckled. “That’s either a compliment or a warning.”

She hesitated, then straightened suddenly, as if gathering courage. “Your Highness… I’m coming with you.”

I blinked. “You’re what?”

“I’m your lady-in-waiting,” she said firmly, clutching her satchel like a weapon. “It’s my duty to stand by your side—whether it’s a ballroom or a battlefield.”

I stared at her. “Sera, we’re going to war, not a picnic.”

She smiled, all innocence and steel. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to bring the tea.”

That made me laugh—loud, unexpected, and far too human for the moment. “I should’ve fallen in love with you instead,” I said under my breath, still smiling.

Osric froze. His jaw tightened ever so slightly. “…What was that?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, waving a hand. “Just motivational humor, Grand Duke. Nothing you need to worry about.”

Marshi made a sound that was suspiciously like a snicker. Solena ruffled her wings in amused disapproval.

“All right, it’s time.”

The soldiers around us straightened as I mounted my horse. The saddle creaked beneath me, leather cool against the armor’s edge. Marshi padded to my left, golden fur rippling like fire under the rising sun. To my right, Sir Haldor swung into his own saddle, every movement measured, silent—his presence a wall between me and the chaos ahead.

Osric rode beside Marshi, his expression unreadable, eyes fixed on the horizon. The wind shifted—carrying the scent of steel, dust, and promise.

I looked once toward the palace balcony, where Papa stood—a dark silhouette against the bleeding sunrise. He didn’t wave. Neither did I.

We didn’t need to.

Everything that had to be said was already carved in blood and vow.

I gripped the reins tighter, feeling the horse’s heartbeat sync with mine. “Forward,” I commanded, my voice low but steady.

Sir Haldor raised his hand. “Form ranks!”

Hooves thundered. The banners of Eloria unfurled—gold and crimson streaming against the wind like fire unleashed.

And just like that— I turned my gaze forward and rode. Not as the daughter of an emperor.Not as a woman torn between love and crown.

But as the storm Eloria had been waiting for.

And we rode—To war.