Too Lazy to be a Villainess - Chapter 336
Chapter 336: Echoes of Astryeon
[Lavinia’s POV—Elorian Camp—Night]
The war ground still stank of blood.
Corpse smoke drifted through the air in gray ribbons, curling around tents, soaking into armor, and sinking into skin. The moon hung dull and uncaring above us, casting silver light over the battlefield that would rot by morning.
I sat outside my command tent—one leg crossed over the other, Marshi resting his massive head on my lap as I stroked him absently.
Behind me stood Haldor, Arwin, Zerith, and Osric—silent pillars of loyalty, their armor still caked in drying blood.
Before me, a man kneeled.
Chains bound his wrists, digging into skin already bruised from battle. He was battered, breathing hard… But his eyes were steady.
General Luke of Meren.
The Iron Wall.
No longer standing. Merely kneeling. Exactly where he belonged. I tilted my head, studying him like one studies a puzzle not worth solving.
“So,” I began softly—too softly, the kind of softness that made men tremble, “what do you say now, General?”
My fingers tapped Marshi’s skull rhythmically.
“How would you like to die?”
Luke lifted his head slowly. His lip was split. His armor shattered. Blood stained the chains around him.
Yet he smiled.
“A general,” he said calmly, “does not choose his death.”
He held my gaze without fear.
“You may kill me however you wish. The day the prince attacked your borders… I knew this end would come.”
Arwin shifted behind me with irritation. Zerith’s jaw clenched. But Luke’s eyes did not go to them.
They stayed on me.
Unwavering.
Cold.
Accepting.
I hummed lightly, stroking Marshi’s ear. “You pity your soldiers, then? Or yourself?”
“I pity,” Luke said, voice steady, “that I served fools.”
I smirked. “Good. You should.”
His gaze flickered—not with defiance, but with something else.
Regret.
“And I pity,” he added, “that I met you as an enemy…”
“Hmmm…” I leaned forward, the firelight catching on my blood-streaked cheek. “But I am curious.”
I rose slowly to my feet, brushing my cloak aside. Marshi growled, feeling the shift in my posture. I stepped close enough that Luke had to tilt his chin up to keep my eyes.
“You are not from Meren,” I said. “Your aura, your discipline, your swordsmanship… they do not belong to this chaotic kingdom.”
Luke lowered his gaze, but only slightly.
“I heard,” I continued, voice dropping into a dangerous purr, “that you come from the Sanctum of Astryeon.”
A faint murmur rippled among my commanders. I watched Luke closely—and I saw it.
The flicker.
The twitch.
The shift.
So small anyone else would miss it.
But not me.
“So tell me, General,” I said, circling him slowly, my steps echoing around his chains. “Why would a man from a holy kingdom of blessed warriors… fall so low as to serve a child prince of Meren?”
His shoulders tightened. His breath slipped—barely a sound but unmistakably shaken.
Luke didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze slid—slowly, almost unwillingly—toward Haldor.
Then down.
Avoiding my eyes entirely.
I stopped walking.
My voice sharpened—soft, but lethal.
“I see.” I stepped closer until my shadow swallowed him. “You did not leave Astryeon willingly, am I right?”
His breath hitched.
A tiny reaction. A crack in the Iron Wall. He raised his head and met my gaze—not defiant, not broken…something else.
“Princess…” he said quietly. “I apologize, but…”
His eyes flicked toward Haldor again. And then he held my stare.
“…it is not your concern.”
The air shifted.
Haldor’s fist clenched so hard I heard his gauntlet creak. He stepped forward, voice dangerously calm—but trembling at the edges.
“Princess,” Haldor said, bowing his head slightly but never looking away from Luke. “Give me the order, and I will kill him immediately.”
His tone was ice.Protective.Possessive.Threatening.
Luke’s lips curled into a faint, faint smile—as if Haldor’s reaction confirmed something he already suspected.
I crouched down to his level, eyes inches from his.
“And you,” I said, rising, letting my shadow fall over him, “will tell me why a man of Astryeon kneels in chains on my soil—”
My gaze slid to Haldor for a heartbeat. Just enough to watch both of them flinch.
“—and why you chose to abandon the holy kingdom of Astryeon.”
Luke’s eyes dropped.His jaw clenched.Silence wrapped around his throat like a blade.
A flinch.
A refusal.
An answer in itself.
I straightened fully, red cloak brushing the ground like spilled blood.
“Put him behind the cage,” I ordered coldly, turning away. “Until I sit on the Meren throne and kill the emperor.”
Arwin bowed sharply. “Understood, Your Highness.”
Chains rattled as soldiers pulled Luke to his feet. He didn’t resist. He merely cast one last, unreadable glance at Haldor—a glance heavy enough to make even the night air tighten.
Osric stepped forward to speak, but—Haldor reached me first.
Fast.
Quiet.
Like instinct.
“Your Highness,” he said, suddenly at my side, his voice low and strained, “I’ve already called Rey. You need healing immediately.”
I walked toward my tent, blood dripping down my arm, leaving a trail of dark crimson in the dirt.
“Yes, Sir Haldor…” I murmured without looking back. “You worry too much.”
His footsteps followed mine, close enough that I felt the heat of him at my back.
“It doesn’t hurt,” I added lightly.
His voice sharpened. “Still.”
That one word held too much—fear, frustration, and devotion he refused to name. Osric froze outside the tent flap, expression caught between shock and suspicion as Haldor ignored everyone and stepped inside after me.
The flap fell closed behind us.
Silence.
Thick.Warm.Crowded with unspoken things.
Haldor moved closer, just enough to touch my shadow with his.
“You’re bleeding too much,” he said quietly, eyes locked on my wounded shoulder. “You lost more blood than you realize, Princess.”
I tilted my head, smirking faintly.
“Are you scolding me?”
His jaw tightened.
“I’m… worried,” he admitted, the word cracking against his tongue like it didn’t belong there.
I turned fully to him—close enough that our breaths mingled.
“And why,” I asked softly, “are you worried, Haldor?”
He froze.
For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe. Then—voice barely above a whisper:
“Because… I cannot afford to lose you too.”
My eyes widened—just slightly—but enough for him to see.
“…What?”
The tent shrank around us.
The air thickened.
Hotter.Tighter.As if the very walls leaned in to listen.
Haldor’s gaze didn’t waver.
His pupils trembled like something caged inside him had slipped free for a heartbeat—fear, devotion, longing, and something deeper, older—something warm.
Something I was not ready to hold.
Before either of us could speak again—
“Ahem.” A deliberately loud, annoyingly amused throat-clear. “May I come in?”
Rey stood at the entrance, smirking like he had just walked into the best gossip of his life. Beside him, Sera blinked innocently—her eyes flitting between us and clearly not understanding why Rey looked like he wanted popcorn.
Haldor immediately stepped back—too fast, too stiff—as if Rey had thrown a bucket of cold water over him.
I turned away, smoothing my expression back into steel.
“Enter,” I said.
Rey swaggered inside, twirling his fingers dramatically. “So~, where did the mighty princess get injured this time?”
I raised my arm.
Blood still soaked down from my shoulder to my fingers, dried in streaks of red across my skin. Rey’s smirk faded into a frown of focus as he placed his hands on the wound.
Warm golden light pressed into my flesh, the holy magic humming like soft bells.
It stung—but only for a moment. Healed skin replaced torn muscle, blood evaporated from my skin, and the pain faded like a dissolving shadow.
“There.” Rey dusted his hands theatrically. “All done. Try not to fight thirty thousand soldiers next time, please.”
I nodded. “Thank you. And Rey—check Haldor as well.”
Rey blinked.
Smirked.
Leeeeaaaaned in closer to whisper, “Don’t you think you care too much about your captain—?”
I shot him a glare sharp enough to silence gods.
Rey straightened instantly. “—which is GOOD. Very good. Caring for your captain is important. Very important.”
He hurried past me to examine Haldor.
Haldor tried to wave him off. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s everything when it’s MY job,” Rey snapped, pressing glowing hands against a cut on Haldor’s side. “Hold still, Captain Broody.”
Sera stepped forward timidly, eyes big. “Your Highness… are you certain you’re alright now?”
“Yes,” I said, adjusting my cloak. “We leave before sunrise. Pack everything.”
Sera brightened. “Oh! I already packed your belongings, Your Highness.”
I nodded approvingly. “Good. You’re efficient.”
She blushed at the praise.
Rey finished healing Haldor and stretched his arms. “Alright. Princess is patched up. Captain is no longer bleeding like an overachiever. We can all relax before—”
“No,” I cut in.
Their heads turned toward me—Rey, Haldor, and Sera.
I lifted my chin, voice low and commanding. “We have a palace to seize.”
The tent fell into silence.
A dangerous one.
A thrilling one.
The night outside shifted, as if the world itself braced for taking over the throne of Meren.