Too Lazy to be a Villainess - Chapter 313

Chapter 313: A Scar He Chose to Keep
[Lavinia’s POV — Black Wall Fortress—One Week Later]

A week had passed since we tore the Black Wall from Meren’s hands.

Seven days of hammering, sweeping, tending, and rebuilding—until the fortress finally felt more Elorian than enemy. A week, and not a single Meren soldier dared approach.

Their silence was the loudest message of all.

General Arwin placed a stack of parchments on my desk. “Your Highness, relief supplies have arrived from the Imperial Palace and from the Eastern Region Duke—Duke Halveth.”

I nodded. “Good. Distribute them exactly as planned.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Half for the army, half for the villagers.”

“Perfect.”

Osric stepped forward, his posture straight but his tone unusually heavy. “There is… something else we must address, Your Highness.”

I looked up. “What is it?”

“The villagers,” he said. “During inspections, we found them sick and injured. Severely.”

My brows knitted. “Sick?”

“Yes,” Osric continued. “Their homes abandoned. Their wells are dry. Many were left without wood, food, or shelter. Meren troops cleared their own borders and left the people to rot.”

My jaw tightened. “Of course they did. They treat power like treasure and lives like dirt.”

The room fell silent for a beat.

Then I exhaled slowly. “Provide whatever they need. Food, supplies, healers. No one around our territory should starve.”

General Arwin bowed deeply. “As you command, Your Highness.”

He straightened again. “Next matter—the repairs of the Black Wall. Shall we begin immediately?”

“Yes,” I said. “Begin now. I’ll send a letter to Papa for extra funds. Reinforce the west wing first; the stone there is weakest.”

Arwin nodded and left to relay orders.

I leaned back in my chair and glanced at Osric. “Any movement from Meren?”

“None,” he said. “No messengers, no scouts, no runners. They’re… quiet.”

I shook my head. “No. They’re planning.”

His jaw flexed at my tone.

“Keep the scouts alert. If Meren doesn’t strike in two days…” I tapped the map spread across my desk. “…we move forward. We won’t give them time to breathe.”

Osric nodded, but he didn’t leave.

Instead, he stepped closer. Close enough that the shadow of his armor brushed my knee.

“Lavi,” he said softly.

I looked up.

His expression wasn’t the one he showed the field or the court. It held warmth—gentle, steady, like a hand extended in the middle of a storm.

“Should we have lunch together today?” he asked. Not as a duke. Not as a Knight. But as the man who loved me.

I arched a brow. “Why? Is the esteemed Grand Duke not eating with his soldiers today?”

Osric leaned down just enough to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers grazed my skin—warm, careful, lingering half a second longer than they should.

“I can,” he murmured. “But… I’d rather not keep distance from the woman I love.”

My heart stilled for a beat.

Smooth. Too smooth.

I smirked, looking away just long enough to hide the curve of my lips. “So this is the new Osric? Flirting instead of arguing?”

“Only when I’m winning,” he said, his voice low with a playful edge.

“Tch.” I stood, brushing past him. “Fine. Lunch it is.”

His smile—small, victorious, almost boyish—told me he had waited a long time to hear that.

“Then shall we, Crown Princess?” he asked, offering his arm.

I took it.

“Lead the way, Grand Duke.”

***

[Black Wall Fortress—Midday]

The “dining hall” of the conquered fortress was really just a repurposed war room—cracked stone walls, a long wooden table that had probably seen more blood than meals, and sunlight spilling through a broken archway where a window once stood.

But somehow… it felt warm.

Not because of the room.

Because Osric was already there, sleeves rolled, arranging plates brought by soldiers as though he personally intended to make sure I ate.

When he saw me enter, he straightened—not formally, not like a duke. More like… a man trying very hard not to smile too quickly.

“Your seat,” he said, pulling the chair out for me.

I arched a brow. “Someone is trying too hard.”

“I’m simply being polite.”

I clicked my tongue and sat. “Polite? Or terrified?”

His lips twitched. “Both.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

Osric moved before I could process it—stepping closer, taking my hand gently, and lowering his head. His lips brushed the back of my hand.

A familiar gesture.

“Lavi,” he said quietly, voice dipped in sincerity, “these days we’ve had too many misunderstandings. Too many things twisted between us. I don’t want it to continue.”

I smiled faintly. “So you finally realized your mistake?”

He lifted his eyes—steady, stubborn. “I still stand by my words, Lavinia.”

My smile died. “What?”

“You take reckless decisions in anger sometimes—”

I cut him off. “And which reckless decision are you talking about, Osric? Promoting Sir Haldor?”

He flinched. “You cannot carelessly rearrange hierarchy for a mere—”

I cut him again, voice cold. “Insulting my soldier is the same as insulting me, Osric. So choose your next words very carefully.”

Silence fell like a blade. Sharp. Heavy. Uncomfortable. The warmth from earlier… vanished. Even the fire crackling in the corner felt cold.

He exhaled slowly. “You keep getting too close to him. And I don’t… I don’t like that.”

There it was.

The quiet truth he kept swallowing until it found the cracks.

I rubbed my temples. “Osric, let’s just eat. We have a meeting in a few hours.”

He nodded stiffly.

We sat. And it was—awkward. Painfully awkward. Forks and plates clicked against the quiet, filling the spaces where conversation used to be. Not long ago, Osric and I could sit in silence comfortably. But lately… We couldn’t breathe in the same room without friction sparking.

I didn’t know why.

Or maybe I did.

He questioned every decision I made. Every order. Every action.

Especially after the coronation.

Maybe the weight of war was twisting both of us tighter. Maybe the past life’s scars were bleeding into this one. Or maybe—

Maybe Osric didn’t love me. He is attached to me because of the guilt of a past life where he regret not choosing me.

Not the woman I am now.

Not the Empress I was becoming.

I glanced sideways. Osric was quietly placing food on my plate—gentle, careful, affectionate. But his eyes… There was something in them I had seen before.

Not love.

Not entirely.

A shadow. A guilt. A “what if.”

And a fear of losing me again—not because he saw me as his equal, but because he had once failed me.

My stomach tightened.

I lowered my gaze to the plate.

Warm food.Cold silence.

“…Osric,” I said finally.

He looked up. “Yes?”

I hesitated—just a second.

Then I looked away.

“Never mind.”

Because for the first time since this war began… I wasn’t sure if Osric loved Lavinia—Or if he simply feared losing the ghost of the girl I used to be in the last life.

***

[Midnight, Black Wall Fortress]

The stone corridor felt colder at night.

I rubbed my arms, exhaling a long breath. “I cannot sleep…” I muttered. “Osric is giving me too much stress these days.”

He acted like some grumpy old noble whose blood pressure spiked whenever things didn’t follow his script. And I was not in the mood to be anyone’s script.

I stepped out onto the outer balcony.

Then—

SLASH—!!CRACK—!!!

My head snapped toward the lower field.

A shadow moved. Sharp. Fast. Unmistakable.

“…Who’s that?” I whispered.

Without hesitation, I descended the winding stairs. Halfway down, I crossed paths with General Arwin, heading to his quarters.

He stopped and bowed. “Your Highness. Why are you still awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I murmured. Then I tilted my head toward the field. “But—who is training at this hour? In this cold?”

Arwin followed my gaze, then smiled faintly. “That would be Captain Haldor, Your Highness.”

“…Haldor?” I blinked.

He nodded. “He trains every night. Says a captain must never sleep deeply in enemy territory. He keeps himself awake. Sharp.” A pause. “He’s… dedicated.”

Dedicated.

That was one word for it.

“I see,” I murmured. “You may go, General.”

“Rest well, Your Highness.” He bowed and left.

I continued down.

The cold intensified with each step. And there—in the moonlit field, surrounded by broken training dummies—He stood.

Captain Haldor.

Half-naked. In the freezing wind. Sweat gleaming across his scars as he sliced through the night with fluid, lethal precision.

His sword carved arcs of silver light, each strike controlled yet merciless.

SLASH—!SWIFT—!CRACK—!

Dummies fell apart like they weren’t even made of wood.

I stopped a few paces behind him before calling out, “Don’t you feel cold, Sir Haldor?”

He stiffened—just for a fraction—then spun around instantly, posture snapping into perfect attention.

His eyes widened as he realized who it was.

“Y-Your Highness?” He bowed deeply, breath still heavy from training. “Why are you awake at this hour?”

I raised a brow, arms crossing. The wind tugged at my cloak. “I could ask you the same thing, Captain.”

The moonlight draped over him—over the scars, the muscle, and the discipline carved into every inch of him. His bandaged arm caught my eye.

My brows knitted. “Why is that bandage still on? Did Rey not heal you?”

“He wanted to.”

I stepped closer. “Then why is it still wrapped?”

His jaw tightened ever so slightly. His eyes drifted away—just for a moment. “I… didn’t want anyone to heal it.”

I stared. “What?”

He finally looked at me then—blue eyes steady, unguarded in a way I’d never seen from him.

“I don’t want it to vanish,” he said quietly. “Not yet.”

My breath stilled.

“That’s ridiculous,” I said—too fast. “It could scar.”

His answer came without hesitation. “I don’t mind, Your Highness.”

The wind cut sharply between us, carrying the scent of cold stone and iron. It howled across the empty field, but somehow… everything felt too warm.

He stood there, half-lit by the moon, half-shadowed by the night—silent, unshakeable, and impossibly steady. And for the first time since arriving at Black Wall…I wasn’t thinking about Osric.

Not even a little.