Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 110

Chapter 110: The Sword, the Sighs, and My Swift Death Tomorrow

[Lavinia’s POV—Royal Training Grounds, Morning of My Immediate Regret]

There are a few moments in life where you realize—with great clarity and zero dignity—that you’ve made a terrible, horrible, deeply regretful mistake.

For me, that moment came exactly four seconds into my next sword lesson.

"Princess," Ravick said with the utmost seriousness, "this is your sword."

He presented it like it was Excalibur.

I, meanwhile, stared at it like it was a freshly sharpened murder stick with betrayal written all over it.

"Are you sure this isn’t too sharp?" I asked suspiciously, squinting at the gleaming blade. "What if it slips? What if it cuts off someone’s ear? What if that someone is me?!"

"It’s a practice sword," Ravick said patiently, although a vein on his temple twitched. "It’s dull. You’re more likely to bonk than bleed."

"Oh." I nodded wisely, then held the sword upside down like a bouquet.

Ravick stared. "Princess... that’s the wrong way."

"It is?" I looked down. "Oh."

I flipped it around.

Then promptly dropped it.

It hit the ground with a solid thunk and nearly took my toe with it.

"Ghost," I muttered, hopping backward.

Ravick let out a long sigh that sounded like he was already drafting a resignation letter. "Let us begin with stance, then. Feet apart. Bend your knees. Raise your arms. No—bend the elbows, not the wrist—you are not summoning thunder—"

"Are you sure?" I grinned, flailing the sword above my head dramatically. "Because I feel very thunder goddess right now."

"You look like you’re about to swat a fly the size of a dragon."

I pouted.

Osric, training a few feet away, snorted loudly and pretended to cough.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Don’t mock me. I’m very dangerous."

"Extremely," Ravick said, deadpan. "You’ve almost taken out yourself twice."

"Third time’s the charm."

"Third time, you’ll sprain your royal spleen."

He adjusted my stance again, this time kneeling in front of me with the patience of a monk and the visible exhaustion of a man who regretted all his life choices.

"You must treat the sword as an extension of your body," he said solemnly. "You must respect it. Feel it. Become one with it."

"I’d rather become one with a croissant," I muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Sir Ravick. I live for the blade."

I lifted the wooden practice sword again with dramatic flair — like a tiny warrior who’d just sworn vengeance for a fallen pastry.

Ravick, ever patient and probably re-evaluating his life choices, exhaled for the ninth time and moved behind me.

"All right," he said, gently nudging my elbows into something that resembled alignment. "Let’s try again. First position — high guard. Now move into—"

CLACK.

My sword smacked his knee again.

"Ghosts preserve us," Ravick muttered under his breath. "Your sword is possessed."

"It’s spirited," I corrected proudly, holding it like it was Excalibur reborn.

"Like its wielder," Osric called out from the side, barely hiding a grin.

I squinted at him. "Didn’t you have your own training today?"

He shrugged, lounging on a bench like he was born there. "I felt yours might be... educational."

Right. Educational. He meant hilarious. I turned back, swinging my sword with every ounce of enthusiasm and precisely zero accuracy.

And then... the atmosphere changed.

You know that moment in horror novels—where the forest goes silent, birds flee the trees, and a distant bell tolls for someone’s doom?

Yeah.

That moment.

The temperature dropped ten degrees. The breeze stiffened—then stopped altogether. Even the sun looked like it noped out of the sky.

Ravick stiffened mid-step. Osric sat up straight like a cat who just saw a ghost. A servant dropped his broom and ran.

And me?

I felt it.

That deeply cursed aura.

That very specific brand of imperial doom.

And then, with the precision of a thousand nightmares and the drama of a thousand more—

He arrived.

Papa.

The Emperor of Elorian.

The Scourge of the Southern Campaign.

And, incidentally, my bedtime storyteller.

He strode across the training field in flowing obsidian robes trimmed in gold, looking like the final boss in a villain origin story.

I blinked. "Papa?"

"Why are you here?" I asked, more curious than surprised. (The man did have a flair for dramatic entrances.)

"I was informed," he said, voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous, "that my dearest daughter has taken up the sword."

"...But it’s a wooden sword."

His eyes glinted—the kind of glint that made ministers sweat and ambassadors question their citizenship—and I knew this broody, overly dramatic man had absolutely abandoned all state matters, probably dumped them on poor Theon’s desk, just to come here and supervise my sword practice like it was a national crisis.

"A sword," he said, "is still a sword when wielded by a princess. That makes it dangerous."

Oh no.

Oh no.

Why do I feel a chill around me?

Ravick bowed deeply. "Your Majesty... I was guiding the Princess through the basics—"

Papa turned to him.

Then turned to me.

Then back to Ravick.

"I shall take over."

And the world paused.

Cue the floating red letters in my brain: ABORT MISSION. NOW.

"Ahaha—Papa, it’s okay! Really! Ravick’s doing great! I’m barely bleeding!"

Papa ignored me. He was already unfastening his cape with the same deadly elegance as someone preparing for a duel over land taxes. "Let me see what my daughter has learned and is capable of."

"BUT PAPA, I HAVEN’T LEARNED ANYTHING YET," I practically bounced in panic.

I was now on the training field... With a sword in hand... Facing the actual Emperor...not my papa.

He raised his own sword—long, silver-edged, forged in the fires of war, probably whispering in Latin—and said simply: "Attack."

I swallowed hard. My palms were sweating like I owed them money. But I lifted my wooden sword with all the poise I could muster and lunged.

The blood of warriors.

THWACK!

My sword flew out of my hands with glorious force and smacked Papa in the leg.

The Emperor. Of Elorian.

IN. THE. LEG.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify