Too Lazy to be a Villainess - Chapter 332

Chapter 332: When Kingdoms Collide
[Lavinia’s POV—Western Border—Midnight]

The decoy war bought us exactly what we needed.

Time. Confusion. Fear.

Three things strong enough to break the spine of any army—even seventy-eight thousand soldiers. The first two flanks had fallen exactly as planned.

The third and fourth…were more stubborn.

I tightened my grip on the reins as hoofbeats thundered toward me. Osric’s horse surged to my side, dust swirling around him as he straightened in the saddle.

“Your Highness,” he reported, voice low but sharp, “as planned—two sides have collapsed. The decoy units lured them perfectly. Our archers eliminated the bulk of their chasers. The remaining soldiers fell by our blade.”

“And the other two?” I asked.

Osric exhaled, frustration tightening his jaw.

“General Luke,” he said, “is too sharp to fall for the same trick twice. The moment he realized we weren’t committing our real divisions… He ordered a retreat. His forces withdrew before our archers could strike.”

I sighed through my nose, a faint smirk forming.

“So he’s the smart one,” I murmured. “Good. Every kingdom has at least one.”

Osric frowned slightly. “Your Highness… What should we do next?”

I looked straight ahead—past the hills, past the scattered smoke, toward the faint shimmer of Meren’s main force regrouping.

Toward the place where Kaelren waited like a child clutching a toy crown. Then I turned to Osric, my voice smooth as steel sliding from its sheath.

“Tell me, Grand Duke… What is the prince of Meren so desperate for?”

He hesitated.

Just for a heartbeat.

Then answered, “He wants you dead, Your Highness.”

I hummed softly, tapping my finger on the reins. Not surprised. Not shaken. Simply thoughtful.

“…Of course he does.”

Silence pressed around us—tense, waiting. Finally, I spoke. “Then we give him exactly what he wants.”

Osric jerked his head toward me. “Your Highness—?”

I raised a hand, stopping him. “Not literally.”

His shoulders relaxed a fraction.

I continued, voice low and dark. “If the prince is desperate for me, he will chase me. And if he chases me, he will abandon formation.”

I met Osric’s eyes—crimson meeting brown. “And once he abandons formation… his army will split.”

Osric froze for one second.

Then whispered, “…You want to split their entire soldiers. Deliberately.”

“Yes,” I said. “Break them into fragments. Pull them apart like threads.”

“Your Highness,” he breathed, “that could topple the entire kingdom’s military line—”

“That,” I said, nudging my horse forward, “is the point.”

Wind whipped around us as I galloped toward the Elorian war camp—cloak flaring behind me like a blade slicing through smoke.

Osric rode beside me, voice raised over the thunder of hooves. “What orders, Your Highness?”

I didn’t slow down.

“Summon everyone,” I commanded. “Generals, captains, strategists—all of them. We need a new plan.”

Osric snapped the reins and surged ahead to carry the message. I looked toward the distant horizon—where Kaelren lurked behind the Iron Wall he didn’t deserve.

***

[Elorian Camp—Later That Night]

The war camp roared like a beast preparing to wake. Torches snapped in the wind. Metal clashed.Soldiers shouted, mounted, sharpened, and checked.

But inside the war council tent—Silence.

The kind that clings to skin. The kind before a storm. We all circled the war map. Candle flames trembled.

“Your Highness…” Colonel Zerith said carefully, “This plan—it places you in direct danger.”

“I agree,” Arwin added, stepping forward. “Using yourself as bait to lure General Luke… it could—”

“We need to divide their army, Arwin,” I cut sharply. “Our target is Luke. Not—”

“YOUR HIGHNESS!!!” A soldier burst through the entrance, breathless, panic-stricken, and with armor still half undone.

Every weapon in the tent turned toward him.

I straightened. “Come in.”

He stumbled in and dropped to one knee so fast the floor shook.

“Your Highness—urgent report!” he shouted. “General Luke—he has gathered ALL remaining soldiers—EVERY captain—and he is marching straight toward us—to ATTACK!”

The tent froze.

A ripple of shock tore through the commanders.

“What?” Arwin gasped.

Zerith stepped forward in panic. “He’s moving already?”

Osric’s eyes sharpened. “He changed tactics.”

The tent turned to me. My fingers tightened against the edge of the table until the wood cracked.

Then—I smirked. A low, annoyed, predatory smirk.

“Of course,” I hissed. “I underestimated him.”

I straightened, scarlet cloak shifting like a blade. “I assumed he’d wait for our strike. That he’d retreat and reform. But no… I was the fool who took him lightly.”

Haldor stepped forward. “Your Highness… What do you command?”

Rey wasn’t here. Ten thousand soldiers were scattered on the borders. Half of our speed unit was gone.

We were outnumbered.Cornered.Nearly exposed.

Perfect.

“What do we do?” Zerith asked urgently. “Rey and a portion of our forces are still away. We don’t have enough strength to face the remaining forty-eight thousand soldiers—”

“We are not weak,” I said.

My voice sliced the tent in half.

But I turned—eyes locking on a shadow perched in the rafters. “Solena.”

Solena screeched and dove down, landing on my arm. I pulled out a blank parchment, scribbled a message with brutal speed, and tied it to her leg with a firm tug.

“Fly to Rey,” I commanded. “Tell him to teleport here. Bring every soldier he has. NOW.”

Solena screeched—sharp and fierce—and shot through the tent flap like an arrow of shadow and ice.

The tent fell silent.

Everyone stared at me.

Waiting.

Haldor took a half step closer. “Your Highness…”

I inhaled once. Slowly. Deeply. Then I slammed my fist onto the table so loudly the candles flickered.

“The plan backfired,” I declared. “Fine.” I looked each commander in the eye—one by one. “But we are Eloria.”

My voice deepened.

“Until now, we have won every battle because of strategy.”

I stepped forward.

“But strategy alone does NOT win wars every time.” The commanders straightened. The air shifted. “We already killed thirty thousand of them with our decoy maneuver.”

I slammed another piece onto the map—the remaining enemy forces.

“Which leaves forty-eight thousand left.”

Arwin paled. “Your Highness… forty-eight thousand—”

I stepped forward, voice rising with a chilling certainty. “We fight every single one of them.”

Weapons trembled. Torches flickered. Even the air seemed to recoil.

“And…” I continued, “we change our target.”

Haldor stiffened. “Not General Luke?”

Slowly—deliberately—I reached toward the map. Pick up the puppet. The little carved figure representing the Prince of Meren.

I slammed it onto the center of the map so hard the entire table shook.

“No. We take him.”

Gasps broke across the room. I tapped the puppet, voice smooth and lethal. “We kill the prince. Because once he falls—”

“THE WAR ENDS RIGHT THERE.” Arwin finished, breath sharp, eyes wide.

A slow, wicked smirk curved across my lips.

“That’s right,” I said softly. “Cut off the head… and even the Iron General must kneel.”

Haldor inhaled sharply. Zerith straightened. Osric lowered his gaze, acknowledging the barbaric brilliance of the plan.

“Once the prince is dead,” I finished, voice dropping to a razor whisper, “Meren breaks. The soldiers scatter. The kingdom collapses.”

My fingertips slid off the puppet.

“And their empire,” I said, “becomes ours.”

Osric bowed his head. “Your Highness… as you command.”

Arwin slammed his fist against his chest. “For Eloria! We will not fall.”

Haldor’s eyes burned with something both protective and dangerous. “We stand with you. Always.”

I drew my sword, letting its silver edge catch the firelight.

“Prepare the troops,” I commanded. “Form the battle lines.”

I lifted my chin. “We stand. We bleed. We survive.”

My voice roared through the tent, through the camp, through the night: “WE FACE WHATEVER IS COMING—AND WE DO NOT BREAK.”

***

[Later—The War Ground—Dawn]

The sky wasn’t blue.

It was iron.

A cold, merciless grey stretched across the horizon as if the heavens themselves knew what was about to happen.

Our horses thundered across the fields—Elorian banners snapping violently in the wind. Armor clanked, weapons gleamed, and every heartbeat pounded in the same rhythm.

War.

Real war.

Osric rode on my right, Haldor on my left. Zerith and Arwin followed behind, leading the divisions in tight formation.

When we crested the final ridge—

—I saw them.

An ocean.

No… a tidal wave.

Meren’s remaining forty-eight thousand soldiers stood across the plains, row after row, shields raised, spears planted, banners whipping like blood-stained claws in the wind.

Drums pounded deep in their lines. Their screams shook the morning air. And at the very front—General Luke.

Cold. Unshakable. The Iron Wall himself.

I inhaled once.

The world exhaled with me. Haldor leaned forward, voice rough but steady. “Your Highness… this is it.”

Osric’s fingers tightened around his reins. “Waiting for your order, your highness.”

Behind us, tens of thousands of Elorian soldiers drew their breaths as if they could feel the same wildfire crawling under my skin.

I lifted my sword.

Sunlight slid across the blade—sharp and merciless. The plains went still. Even the wind held itself frozen.

My voice cut through the silence like thunder:

“ELORIA—! ADVANCE!!”

A single heartbeat.

A single breath.

Then—KRSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

The ground exploded with the sound of charging soldiers.

Spears lowered. Shields crashed forward. War cries ripped into the dawn like the sky itself had split open. And from the Meren side—a counter-roar shook the entire battlefield.

Two armies.

One line.

No more strategies left.No more distance.No more decoys or shadows or waiting.

Just blood.Steel.And the moment of truth.

And with a scream that tore through the entire war ground—THE BATTLE BEGAN.