Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 312

Chapter 312: The Hair Ruffle Incident

[Lavinia’s POV—Hours After the Victory—Inside the Black Wall Fortress]

Smoke clung to the air—thin, metallic, and laced with the bitter scent of extinguished fire and fresh blood. The Black Wall had fallen, but it was not silent. Not yet. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

Boots thudded along the stone corridors as Elorian soldiers swept the fortress, dragging out hidden Meren fighters, securing armories, and inspecting tunnels. The fortress groaned with the aftermath of battle—rustling banners, clattering equipment, and the occasional groan from wounded captives.

I walked through the main hall—my hall now—my footsteps echoing off stone carved centuries before my birth.

A messenger rushed to me, panting. "Your Highness... the prisoners have been secured. We found twenty-seven Meren soldiers hiding beneath the lower barracks."

"Good," I said. "Send them to the central courtyard. I’ll deal with them shortly."

The man huffed and saluted. "Y-Yes, Your Highness!"

Sir Haldor approached from the side corridor, his armor still stained but his posture as steady as always. "Your Highness, the northern wing is secure. No more hidden archers. Marshi... finished them."

I huffed a soft breath. "Of course he did."

Marshi strutted in behind Haldor, fur gleaming even under blood and dust, swaggering like he alone had conquered the fortress. His earlier roar still rang faintly in my ears—a divine declaration.

I reached down and ruffled his head. "Well done, Marshi."

He purred—a deep, rumbling sound that made the floor vibrate.

WHOOSH—!!

Solena swooped down from above and landed squarely on my shoulder, nudging my cheek with a smug chirp.

"Yes, yes, you did well too," I said.

She squeaked triumphantly and glared at Marshi like a queen asserting dominance. Marshi huffed. I rolled my eyes at both of them chuckling lightly—and that’s when I noticed it.

A dark, wet patch on Sir Haldor’s exposed arm. Right where the armor didn’t reach. I narrowed my eyes. "Sir Haldor... are you bleeding?"

He blinked, visibly confused. "Pardon?"

He looked down, finally noticing the trail of blood running along his forearm.

"Oh," he said mildly. "I... didn’t notice."

I stared at him. This man could get stabbed through the chest and still act like someone handed him a grocery list.

I sighed. "Follow me."

He stiffened. "Your Highness, with respect, we still have parts of the fortress to inspect—"

"Haldor." I turned to him, my expression turning dark, serious, and dramatic.

"Yes, Your Highness?" he said immediately, straightening.

"Do you know what happens," I began slowly, "if you get wounded by a sharp object... and you don’t clean it?"

He blinked. "No...? Your Highness?"

I stepped closer, lowering my voice like I was delivering the darkest truth of war. "Infections spread, Haldor."

His eyes widened a little. "W-what?"

"They crawl up your arm... inch by inch..." I traced a finger up his sleeve with exaggerated menace. "Turning the skin black."

Haldor swallowed.

"And then it weakens... stiffens... dies."

"What—dies?" he whispered.

I nodded gravely. "Yes."

His face paled.

"And do you know what happens next?" I leaned in.

He blinked, tiny panic beginning to appear. "N-no, Your Highness..."

I let a wicked glint spark in my eyes. "We have to chop your arm off."

He froze. Like fully, completely frozen.

"C... chop—?" he croaked.

Behind him, a knight passed by and inhaled sharply—from laughter or disbelief, I wasn’t sure.

I folded my arms. "Yes. Chop. Off."

I gestured dramatically. "Clean cut. No hesitation."

Haldor’s soul visibly left his body.

"I—I see," he said, voice trembling just a little, trying to salvage his composure. "Then... I understand the urgency, Your Highness."

"That’s why," I said with a smug smirk, "you’re coming with me so we can clean and bandage that wound before we end up performing medieval surgery."

He stared at me like I had just saved his life.

"Yes, Your Highness," he said quickly. "I will... obey."

I smirked.

Cute.

Even Solena let out a chirping sound that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

***

[Later—Inside the Command Tent]

Sir Haldor followed me inside like a soldier marching toward execution—straight-backed, stiff, and pale. I lit a small oil lamp on the table. Warm light spilled across the tent.

"Sit," I ordered.

He hesitated for exactly half a heartbeat before obeying, sinking onto the wooden stool with the guilt of a man who thinks he’s inconveniencing the universe.

"Show me the arm," I said, rolling up my sleeves.

He extended it—carefully, as though afraid it might fall off mid-motion.

The cut wasn’t deep, but it bled steadily, slicing across the muscle. A graze from an arrow, perhaps. I dipped a cloth into warm water and placed it over the wound.

He flinched.

"...Does it hurt?" I asked.

"No, Your Highness," he said too quickly, back stiff as a board.

I narrowed my eyes. "Haldor."

He froze. "Yes?"

"Blink."

He blinked.

"Good," I added, "because I would warn you first."

"Your Highness... why do you tend to this? There are healers. Medics. I can do it myself—"

And I—ruffled his hair.

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