Too Lazy to be a Villainess - Chapter 324

Chapter 324: The Tyrant Accepts the Throne’s Challenge
[Kaelren’s POV—Meren Capital—War Chamber, Present Night

A cup shattered against the floor.

Not because Kaelren threw it. Because the hand holding it squeezed hard enough to crack solid glass.

The royal messenger knelt before him—forehead glued to the icy floor, shaking so violently it was a miracle he could still speak. “R–Red Wall Castle has… f–fallen, Your Highness…”

Kaelren said nothing.

Not a word.

He just stared ahead—expression blank, eyes glowing gold like a beast cornered. The silence stretched long enough for the messenger’s breath to tremble with terror.

“…and the one who seized it was—” He didn’t finish.

Kaelren finished it for him. “—the Elorian Crown Princess.”

The words dripped from his tongue like poison. A child should not sound that calm. A child should not sound that deadly.

And yet… Kaelren smiled. A small, perfect smile. Cold and bloodless.

He whispered, very softly, “So… the spine of Meren was finally broken by that Elorian princess.”

The messenger flinched—not at the words, but at the tone. Because it wasn’t despair.

It was anticipation.

Kaelren stood slowly, stepping down from the throne. His bare feet made no sound against marble even as he crossed the room with terrifying grace. He crouched down in front of the trembling soldier.

“You saw her?”

“N–no, Your Highness… “B—but the reports say she marched through the gate herself—”

“That she led the attack?”

“Y—yes…”

Kaelren chuckled. “She’s bold. Brash. Hungry. Perfect.”

His fingers gently—too gently—patted the messenger’s trembling head. “Tell me everything she did.”

The messenger swallowed. “She… used starving villagers to riot. The guards hesitated to shoot, and her army stormed in behind the villagers. They… they never had a chance to fight back.”

Kaelren went still.

Then he laughed—not joyfully, not sanely, but with the pure fascination of someone watching a weapon evolve. “She used their own sins against them.”

His smile twisted—admiring and deranged all at once. “She is… magnificent.”

The messenger dared to hope—maybe praise meant mercy.

It didn’t.

SLASH.

A flash of steel—a single movement—and Kaelren’s dagger slit the man’s throat horizontally, clean and painless, as if gifting him relief. Blood sprayed across the polished floor.

Kaelren didn’t blink.

“I don’t need messengers,” he murmured, wiping the blade on the dead man’s sleeve. “I need killers.”

He stood, eyes glowing brighter with feral excitement.

“Summon General Luke,” he ordered the guards. “Tell him to prepare the capital.”

He lifted his dagger, admiring his warped reflection on steel. “And tell him to sharpen every soldier, every trap, every blade…”

His voice lowered into a whisper full of obsession—hunger—and thrill. “Because I want to meet her.”

A pause.

No softness. No hesitation.

Next words were a promise, “I want to kill her myself, but before that, let’s meet her personally.”

Kaelren, the twelve-year-old boy, sharpened his dagger. And whispered her name.

“Lavinia Devereux, It’s time to meet.”

***

[Lavinia’s POV—Red Wall Castle—The Next Morning]

I never thought victory could amaze me.

But standing in the secret basement of Red Wall Castle… I understood what real rot looked like.

I stared—frozen—at the mountains of wealth hidden beneath the castle.

Gold stacked to the ceiling. Silk dresses worth fortunes sealed in crates. Weapons forged from the best iron. Rare gems piled like gravel. And behind it all—crates upon crates of grain.

Enough to feed the villagers for years.

Sera’s voice trembled as she walked forward, touching none of it. “Your Highness… I can’t believe they hid this much luxury and food here. While the people starved outside.”

Rey ran his fingers through a chest of gold coins—not to admire, but to scoff. “So instead of feeding their towns and rebuilding their lands… the general was hoarding wealth for himself.”

My stomach twisted.

No wonder this region never rebuilt. No wonder villagers risked their lives for one bag of grain.No wonder the people here had nothing.

Because their rulers took everything.

Solena flew across the glittering piles like a queen in a treasure cave.Marshi leaped into the coins with a roar of joy, rolling around like a spoiled beast bathing in luxury.

For a moment, I almost laughed—but the amusement died quickly. Because this—all of this—was the reason those villagers nearly killed my soldiers and me.

Haldor stepped beside me, watching me more than the treasure. “What should we do now, Your Highness?”

Silence pulsed.

I inhaled—long and slow—letting the fury settle into clarity.

“Seize everything,” I said, voice sharp and calm. “Every coin, every gem, every supply.”

Haldor bowed his head. “And the grains?”

My jaw clenched. “Distribute them to the villagers first. Every single family gets food.”

Sera nodded immediately. “Of course.”

“And the rest of the treasure,” I continued, eyes fixed on the gleam of stolen diamonds, “will be used to rebuild what this regime destroyed. We rebuild Meren with their own greed.”

Rey smirked like I’d just threatened the earth itself. “That’s the most poetic revenge I’ve ever heard.”

I didn’t smile.

Because this wasn’t about revenge.

It was about justice.

I turned to leave—but glanced back once more. To the shimmering piles of gold that once represented power, status, and corruption.

Not anymore.

“From today onward,” I said quietly, “Meren’s wealth feeds Meren’s people.”

Then I walked out—and the basement, for the first time in decades, echoed with the sound of a righteous ruler rather than a selfish tyrant.

I barely took three steps into the main hall before a familiar voice called, “Your Highness.”

Osric.

I stopped. The air shifted.

He walked toward me slowly—posture perfectly formal, expression unreadable. But his eyes? For the briefest second, they flicked to Haldor with a coldness sharp enough to cut steel.

Then he looked back at me and bowed. “A messenger from the Meren capital has arrived.”

My brow arched. “From the capital?”

He straightened, jaw tight. “Yes. And… it appears the prince has sent a message personally.”

A ripple of adrenaline and irritation laced together inside my ribs.

Kaelren. The twelve-year-old serpent with a crown was waiting for him. I smirked—slow, sharp, and full of venomous amusement.

“So,” I murmured, “the prince finally decided to talk.”

Rey chuckled behind me. “Or he’s trembling.”

Arwin folded his arms. “Or planning something worse.”

Haldor shifted, instinctively stepping half a step closer to me—not touching, not blocking, just silently ready to move first if danger breathed wrong.

Osric noticed.

Of course he did.

A flash of hostility flickered behind his eyes—there and gone faster than a heartbeat.

But tonight was not about him.

I turned—my cloak snapping behind me like a banner—and strode down the corridor.

“Then let us hear,” I said, voice echoing off the stone, “what the little prince of Meren wishes to say.”

Even the torches seemed to bow as I passed. Footsteps followed—Haldor close at my right, Osric at my left, and Arwin and Rey behind us like a storm front.

We walked toward the war chamber—toward whatever message the prince dared to send after losing the Red Wall.

Whether it was threat or surrender or arrogance wrapped in silk… I was ready.

Because I had not come this far to be spoken to.

I had come to answer.

And the throne of Meren would feel that answer soon.

***

[War Chamber—Red Wall Castle]

The messenger stood in the center of the war chamber—young, pale, and shaking so hard the scroll in his hands rattled.

The moment I entered, he dropped to his knees. “Y–Your Highness of Eloria… t-the Crown Prince of Meren sends a message.”

I did not sit. I simply looked at him—a Meren soldier, shoulders shaking violently, knuckles white around the scroll.

He couldn’t hide it. The fear. The broken confidence. The kind of terror that doesn’t come from war… but from the man who sent him.

Just by looking at him, I understood everything. The Crown Prince of Meren didn’t rule his people with respect.

He ruled them like they were disposable. Like trash. And the trembling boy on the floor was living proof.

I stood at the head of the long table, arms crossed, eyes sharp enough to skin him alive. “Speak.”

He swallowed—loudly—and unrolled the scroll with trembling fingers. His voice quivered as he began reading:

“To the so-called Crown Princess of Eloria—who mistook a single victory for power.”

Rey snorted. Arwin’s smirk sharpened. Haldor’s expression did not move—but murder flickered in his eyes. Osric clenched his fist.

The messenger continued, voice cracking:

“I, Kaelren of Meren, invite you to a conversation—face to face. Not to negotiate, but to allow you the privilege of seeing the man who will bury your ambitions with his own hands.”

My brow lifted slightly.Privilege?

Osric clenched his jaw, fists tightening at his sides.

“Continue,” I said.

The messenger swallowed again and read the next line: “You have taken a wall. Congratulations. Now come to my castle—if you are not afraid—and see what it means to attack a kingdom that does not belong to you.”

The audacity.

The arrogance clung to the air like ash. The messenger’s voice broke as he continued reading:

“Step back now — and I will grant you the honor of kneeling before mebefore your pitiful empire collapses.”

The scroll ended.

The silence did not.

You could hear blood boiling.

Haldor spoke first — voice like a blade dragged across stone. “Give the order… and I will personally bring you his head. I swear it.”

Rey leaned back in his chair, grinning like a wolf who smelled a hunt. “Oh please, please tell me we’re killing that brat today.”

Arwin crossed his arms, expression cold. “He is taunting you because he is terrified. A cornered dog bares its teeth.”

Osric stepped forward — for once not poisonous, not jealous — but grave. “Your Highness… he wants you in the capital. It’s a trap.”

I finally moved.

I walked toward the throne at the far end of the war hall — and the moment I sat, my presence consumed the room. I crossed one leg over the other as if I owned this castle… and soon, the next one.

Haldor, Osric, Rey and Arwin shifted behind me, not speaking — but the fury in their eyes alone could kill.

I stared down at the trembling messenger.

“You,” I said.

He flinched. “Y-Yes… Your Highness.”

A slow smile curved on my lips — not amused, not kind.

“Tell your prince…” I began, voice smooth as silk and sharp as poison, “that I will visit him.”

Shock rippled through the room. I leaned back, throne fitting me like destiny.

“But when I visit,” I continued softly, “he will not be sitting on his throne. He will be kneeling on the floor,” I said, gaze unblinking, “while I sit on his throne… wearing his crown.”

The messenger stared, paralyzed with terror.

I smirked and continued, “Tell him — see you soon…kid.”

The messenger stumbled backward— desperate to escape the presence of the ruler who had already defeated him without lifting a sword.

The hall vibrated with fury, devotion, and anticipation. The war for the throne had officially begun. And I was the one walking toward the capital — not to negotiate…But to claim that brat’s throne.