Too Lazy to be a Villainess - Chapter 337

Chapter 337: THE RED PRINCESS CLAIMS THE THRONE
[Lavinia’s POV—March to the Imperial City]

We didn’t waste a heartbeat at the border. The moment Kaelren’s blood cooled on my blade, we marched—straight toward the Imperial City of Meren.

No.

Ex-Meren.

Now it belonged to Eloria.

My Eloria.

My remaining army moved in perfect formation—silent, disciplined, deadly. Not even armor dared to clatter. The only sound was the wind dragging cold fingers through the ruins behind us.

And ahead of us…Meren.

A kingdom still trembling. Still smoking from war. Still watching its doom ride closer with every step of my horse. As we descended the ridge, civilians trickled into the streets—hesitant shapes dragged out by fear stronger than sense.

Farmers with dirt-stained hands. Merchants clutching their coin pouches. Mothers shielding their children with trembling arms.

All staring at me. Not with curiosity. Not with hope. With pure, choking fear.

Of course they would be afraid. I killed their prince. I crushed their armies. I marched through their lands with blood still drying on my armor.

Why would any citizen trust the ruler who arrived drenched in the ruin of their kingdom?

Whispers cracked through the crowd like sparks skittering across dry wood:

“Is that… her?”

“That’s her—the one who killed the prince—”

“No… she killed the front army too—she destroyed everything—”

“She’s… the Red Princess…”

“THE RED PRINCESS IS HERE—!”

“Mom… is—is that beast beside her?”

“Shh… keep quiet, keep your head down…”

I heard everything. Every gasp. Every prayer. Every terrified whisper begging the gods that I didn’t glance in their direction.

But I didn’t slow down.

Haldor rode slightly closer, voice low. “Your Highness… shall we intervene? Intimidation may escalate panic.”

I shook my head once.

“No, Captain. Let them tremble. Fear keeps people alive. We are not here to slaughter them.” My tone softened—not with mercy, but certainty. “We ride straight to the Imperial Palace. Nothing more.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

I kept riding—spine straight, chin raised, gaze cold as forged steel.

My cloak dragged behind me like a river of dried blood. Marshi padded at my side, his enormous form casting a shadow darker than night. His fur was still clumped with battle gore, each step heavy and territorial.

Solena circled above us, screeching sharply—marking my presence like a death omen painted across the sky.

The citizens recoiled.

Men stumbled back. Women pulled their children away. Some fell to their knees without meaning to—as if their bodies bowed to me before their minds could catch up.

And still I moved forward. Not with cruelty. Not with sympathy. With inevitable authority.

A conqueror claiming what was already hers. Meren had not fallen because I wanted it. Meren had fallen because it was too weak to stand.

And now, its people watched their new ruler pass through their shattered streets—Their Red Princess.

The one who ended a kingdom in a single day.

***

[Lavinia’s POV—Imperial Palace of Ex-Meren—Later]

The Imperial Palace rose ahead of us like a wounded beast—grand, towering, but trembling beneath the weight of defeat. And standing at its massive gates—a line of Meren knights.

Armor dented.

Hands shaking.

Swords raised—not in courage, but in desperation.

One stepped forward, voice cracking as he shouted, “D-Don’t come any closer! Step back where you came from!”

I blinked at him slowly. Then my lips curled into a cold, amused smirk.

“Aww…” I hummed. “So there are still men foolish enough to stand for the emperor.”

I took one step forward—just one.

Their formation stumbled backward.

I tilted my head, eyes gleaming.

“I suppose you didn’t hear,” I said softly… venomously, “—that we already won the war.”

Silence.

Then every knight flinched.

And then—they crumpled to their knees as if gravity itself forced them down. Not even a fight. Not even a swing.

Just fear.

I approached them with slow, steady steps. The kind a predator uses to approach prey that already knows it’s dead.

Behind me, Marshi’s growl shook the earth.

“ROARRRRRRRR!!”

The knights screamed, scrambling back in terror. I placed a hand on Marshi’s head, stroking him calmly.

“It’s alright, boy,” I murmured. “I can handle them.”

My soldiers dismounted in one synchronized movement—dozens of boots hitting the earth at once.

A declaration.

A warning.

A promise.

I stared down at the remaining Meren knights—barely ten, all trembling, all clinging to their swords like drowning men clinging to broken wood.

“So?” I asked, voice low. “Do you wish to die for Ex-Meren too?”

Their shoulders shook. One stuttered, “Y-You haven’t conquered Meren yet… our—our flag is still raised on the palace—”

Ah.

The flag.

Of course.

My smirk sharpened into something wicked.

“Oh… right. The flag.” My eyes narrowed. “How utterly blinding.”

I lifted my chin.

“ARWIN!”

Arwin stepped forward immediately. “Yes, Princess?”

“Rip that damn flag,” I commanded. My voice cracked like a whip. “It irritates my eyes.”

Arwin bowed sharply. “As you command.”

He and a squad of Elorian soldiers stormed toward the palace with our banner—Eloria’s golden flag blazing like fire in the sun.

The Meren knights panicked. One lurched forward—Haldor’s voice tore through the air like a blade dipped in thunder.

“MOVE AN INCH—AND I WILL BURY YOU WHERE YOU STAND.”

Silence.

Every knight froze as if death had gripped their throats.

I chuckled softly.

“It’s alright,” I said. “I know you served this land with loyalty—even though your prince and emperor treated you like dogs.”

Shame flickered across their faces.

Truth always stings.

“But,” I continued, stepping closer until my shadow swallowed them, “a smart man knows when to lower his sword… and live.”

I let the silence grow heavy, choking, undeniable.

“So…?” I asked. “I hope you all are smart enough to understand the situation.”

They exchanged frantic glances.

Then—one by one…they dropped their swords. Bent their knees. Bow their heads.

“We apologize… Your Highness.”

I smirked and reached out, lightly patting the head of the knight closest to me.

“Good boy.”

Behind me, Haldor stiffened. His jaw clenched. His glare locked onto the man I had just touched—dark, burning, possessive.

But I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. The palace gates loomed ahead.

Arwin’s shout echoed from the rooftop—”THE FLAG HAS FALLEN! THE ELORIAN BANNER RISES!!!”

Cheers erupted from the Elorian soldiers.

Gasps from the Meren civilians.

A new era had begun. I raised my sword toward the palace.

My voice thundered across the courtyard, “LET’S GO—!! THE THRONE IS WAITING FOR ITS NEW RULER!”

My army roared in unison.

The gates swung open.

And I entered the palace like a storm wearing a crown of blood.

***

[Imperial Palace Throne Room—Moments Later]

The palace doors slammed open under the weight of my soldiers’ boots.

BANG—!!

The sound echoed through the marble halls like thunder ripping through a cathedral. Silence followed. Dead, breathless silence.

My footsteps were slow.

Deliberate.

Every step I took sank into the trembling air like a blade being driven deeper into flesh. Red-stained cloak trailing behind, Marshi stalking beside me with fangs dripping, Solena perched on a shattered pillar above like a demon perched on a throne.

Haldor, Osric, Arwin, and Zerith flanked me—four shadows, four blades, four storms.

And ahead—the throne room.

Massive doors carved with golden serpents stood half-open, guards already unconscious on the floor, their weapons scattered. I pushed the doors wider with one hand—

SSSSKRRRRR—

The heavy creak echoed like a death knell.

Inside—Chaos.

Servants scrambled across the floor. Nobles tripped over their own robes. Advisors hid behind pillars. Everyone scattered like insects fleeing fire.

I walked through them as if they were smoke.

Not a single one dared block my path. Not a single one dared breathe loudly. And sitting at the end of the crimson carpet, upon the raised golden dais—the Emperor.

Old.

Bent.

Hands trembling on the armrest. Eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief, terror, and pitiful pride.

His crown was too big for his frail skull. His robe hung like faded curtains. His kingdom had already fallen, but his shaking fingers still clutched at dignity.

Pathetic.

I stopped at the foot of the staircase leading up to the throne. The emperor swallowed—loud enough that I heard it echo in the hollow, terrified hall.

“You…” he croaked. “You are… the Princess of Eloria…”

I tilted my head slightly. “You speak as if you only realize that now.”

He stared. His throat bobbed. Then—”I thought… at least General Luke would bring us—”

“Oh, shut up,” I snapped, voice rising like a whip. “JUST GET THE HELL DOWN FROM THAT THRONE. It’s pissing me off.”

The court gasped.

He didn’t flinch.

Instead, the old man smiled.

“So the rumors were true…” he whispered. “Cassius Devereux’s daughter is exactly like him.”

I gave no reaction.

He didn’t deserve one.

“Are you going to kill me?” he asked, almost amused.

I smirked—slow, sharp, venomous.

“No. Killing you would be too quick. I’m going to let you rot in prison. Watching you decay will be entertaining.”

He scoffed. “Entertaining? People’s lives are not—”

“Oh, STOP the pathetic moral lecture,” I snapped, cutting him off again. “The old man who raised eleven children only to watch them slaughter each other for a throne… wants to talk about morals?”

His smile died.

I took one deliberate step up the stairs.

“What you did with your kids,” I said softly, “is called entertainment. Mine is just a play. Now move.”

He didn’t.

He just stared at me, eyes narrowing.

“…Why don’t you want to kill me?” he asked slowly. “Is it because I am your father’s ag—”

SLASH!!!!

My dagger flew before he finished the sentence. It buried itself deep into his neck. His eyes bulged.Blood poured down the front of his robes in thick, wet streams.

I stepped closer—not in shock, not in haste—but with deliberate calm.

“My papa,” I whispered, grabbing his chin so he looked at me as he bled out, “is far more handsome and young than you…you bastard.”

He gurgled.Collapsed.

Dead.

The nobles screamed. Servants fell to their knees. Haldor’s expression tightened—but only with pride. Arwin exhaled sharply. Zerith smirked. Osric bowed his head in satisfaction.

I sighed.

“Tch. Drag his corpse away.”

Two soldiers rushed forward, hauling the body like a sack of trash.

My gaze snapped to the trembling servant hiding behind a pillar.

“You.”

He yelped.

“Clean. The. Throne.”

He scrambled forward, using his own cloak to wipe the emperor’s blood off the Golden Seat of Meren. His hands shook violently, but he didn’t dare stop until the metal shone clean.

“It’s… it’s clean, Your Highness…”

I smirked and walked past him—steps echoing through the room like the promise of a new era. Near the throne lay a fallen crown—its jewels cracked, its gold dented from the chaos.

I picked it up.

Turned it between my fingers.

Then placed it on my head.

PLOP.

The sound echoed like destiny sealing itself shut.

Silence.

Then—Every soldier, noble, servant, and frightened soul in the throne room dropped to their knees like a wave crashing onto the shore.

Helmets bowed. Foreheads pressed to the floor.

Voices trembled—but united: “CONGRATULATIONS, YOUR HIGHNESS!!!!”

The Red Princess.

Now the ruler of Meren.

No—the ruler of a kingdom freshly carved into Eloria by my own sword.

This throne was mine.

This land was mine.

This era was mine.