Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 159

Chapter 159: The Beginning of Everything

Blood dripped from his fingers.

Warm. Thick. Still fresh.

It painted his knuckles, soaked into the torn silk of his cuffs, and clung to the hilt of the blade like it, too, was grieving.

Cassius stood motionless in the marble corridor—his breathing ragged and shallow. A gash slashed across his throat, not deep enough to kill, but far too close. His hand still trembled where the blade had nearly ended it all.

But he hadn’t done it.

Not yet.

He couldn’t.

Not while she still lay there—cold and alone. He staggered forward, dragging his feet through the empty hallway, until he reached the end.

A silver door. Carved with runes.

The air behind it was colder than any winter wind, but not as cold as the silence waiting inside.

Cassius pushed the door open and walked into the tomb. There, in the center of the room, on a slab of ice-glass, lay Lavinia.

Pale.

Still.

Gone.

Her lips were blue, her cheeks drained of life. She looked like porcelain. Like something sculpted by grief and frozen in time.

And yet—still beautiful.

Still his.

Cassius stepped forward on shaking legs. He sank to his knees beside her, the sound of metal hitting stone echoing like thunder in the quiet. He reached out with bloodstained fingers and brushed back a strand of her golden hair.

A smile—broken, soft, desperate—touched his face.

"I found it," he whispered. "I found the way, my little light..." His voice cracked. "...Papa found a way to bring you back."

A tear rolled down his cheek, falling onto the icy slab, hissing as it touched her frozen skin. The sword in his hand slipped from his grip and clattered to the ground. He bent over her, gathering her lifeless body in his arms like she was made of starlight and ash. His cloak spilled over her like a blanket of shadows.

"I will bring you back," he muttered again and again, his voice growing raw, frantic—dangerous.

"I will bring you back."

"Papa will bring you back."

His arms tightened around her as he stood, lifting her as if she were still a child asleep after a long night.

He turned and walked out of the chamber, past the dead guards who couldn’t move, past the aides who dropped to their knees at the sight of their bleeding, broken emperor.

He didn’t look at any of them. He only muttered one thing under his breath, eyes fixed on the night beyond the palace walls.

"To the Holy Temple."

The carriage door was flung open. The driver, already trembling from the sight of the blood, paled further. "Y-Your Majesty?"

Cassius didn’t look at him.

He climbed inside with Lavinia still in his arms, her head cradled against his chest like she might stir any moment.

His voice was low. Unforgiving.

"Drive. To the Holy Temple."

The driver swallowed hard. "Y-Yes, Your Majesty."

The horses galloped like they, too, could feel the weight of the emperor’s grief behind them. And when the carriage halted at the gates of the sacred mountain, the ground crunching under its wheels, a figure in white waited for him.

A man cloaked in purity.

Face hidden beneath a veil.

Eyes unreadable.

Cassius stepped out, his cloak drenched in blood, his arms still full of the daughter he had failed.

The robed figure bowed slightly.

"He is waiting for you."

Cassius didn’t respond. He simply walked forward—past the gates, past the prayers, past the holy symbols that should have burned a man with this much blood on his hands.

He walked into the temple.

Into the dark.

Toward a miracle.

Toward madness.

Toward the beginning of everything.

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[Cassius’s POV – Towards the Throne Room]

The pain. The memories.

No matter how fiercely I try to burn them away, they crawl back—clinging like ash to skin. Clawing through the cracks I’ve tried to seal.

Why?

Why does fate insist on dragging them back to me?

Why does it keep pulling her into the shadows of danger?

The fear of losing her... It never left. It just went quiet for a while—until tonight, when it roared back louder than anything.

As if waking itself were a punishment.

Pain throbbed behind my eyes, sharp and rhythmic, like something alive trying to claw its way out of my skull. I sat still, staring up at the carved ceiling of my throne room, ornate and grand—yet suffocatingly empty.

The ache in my head was nothing compared to the storm unraveling in my chest.

Memories.Uninvited.Unforgiving.

They flooded in the moment silence fell.

Her laughter—young, free, echoing through the palace halls. The softness of her voice when she used to whisper, "Papa, tell me another story."

The light in her eyes.

Gone.

I closed my eyes again.

But it was no better.

Now I sit here, on this throne of stone and iron, built with blood and sacrifice, and my daughter—my child—dares to slip past my walls as if she were made of mist and not imperial blood.

I narrowed my eyes, every ounce of me still and sharp. "What is that?"

I studied it for a moment longer. My voice dropped. "Alright, now tell me, why did my daughter leave the palace without authorization?"

"Osric," I said coldly, "I am not asking you as her father. I am commanding you as your emperor. Answer me now."

I stilled. My hand froze on the armrest of my throne. "She what? For what reason?"

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