Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 340

Chapter 340: The General Who Knows Too Much

[Haldor’s POV—Council Chamber Aftermath]

When Rey’s magic dimmed, the chamber slowly returned to its natural color—cool marble, golden lantern light, and dust floating in the air like tiny ghosts.

General Luke rose to his feet.

Metal clattered softly as the last physical chains were removed, replaced by Rey’s invisible noose of death.

But the moment he stood, he did something that froze the blood in my veins.

He looked at me.

Not at the Princess. Not at the magical shackles constricting his throat. Not at Osric’s glare burning a hole through him.

He looked at me.

Directly. Openly. As if I were the only person standing in this room. And the expression on his face—recognition.

Raw, disbelieving, painful recognition.

Like he was staring at a ghost he never expected to see again. His lips parted slightly. His eyes softened in a way I had only ever seen on dying soldiers who finally understood something too late.

I locked my posture immediately.

Back straight. Hands behind me. Expressionless, cold, and blank—a loyal soldier carved out of stone.

But inside?

A splinter lodged itself under my ribs.

Why is he looking at me like that? Why... why does it feel like he knows me?

Before the thought could spiral, Her Highness’ voice cut through the air like a sharpened blade.

"You serve Eloria now," she declared. Her voice echoed through the chamber, commanding every ear, every pulse, every breath. "The Imperial Palace claims you as its general."

Luke bowed low, eyes dropping to the floor—but not before they flicked toward me one last time.

"As you command... Your Highness."

Silence fell.

A silence that belonged only to her. She turned, her red cloak brushing the ground like sizzling fire.

"Meeting dismissed. Prepare the nobles who didn’t flee. I want them lined in the hall within the hour."

"Yes, Your Highness," Osric and I said together.

But she looked at me first.

Always at me first.

Her gaze lingered only a heartbeat, but it was enough to tighten something inside my chest.

"Haldor," she said softly—but with that tone that always wrapped around my spine like silk and iron. "Guide General Luke. Explain everything about Eloria to him."

I bowed, fist to heart. "As you command, Your Highness."

She stepped past me—Osric trailing at her side. Her shoulder brushed the faintest edge of my arm.

Even that tiny contact—my pulse slammed once, hard.

I kept my head bowed until her footsteps faded down the corridor. Only then did I exhale slowly, staring at the floor... and then at the hand I had used to shield her earlier—no.

The hand I used to touch her.

The image struck me like lightning.

Her hair slipped across her lips as she rambled about the sea. Her bright eyes fluttering with childlike excitement. Her soft breath brushed my fingers as I tucked the strand behind her ear.

I was lost in her.

My hand... My traitorous hand... It still remembered the warmth of her skin.

Soft, warm, silky—alive. More alive than anything I had touched in years.

"She doesn’t look like a tyrant at that time..." I murmured under my breath.

Not to me.

Never to me.

A tyrant doesn’t giggle about sea goggles. A tyrant doesn’t stare at the horizon with eyes full of dreams she was never allowed to have. A tyrant doesn’t smile so brightly that it punches the breath from my lungs.

So what is she? What is she to me? What is this feeling? Why do I feel lost in her whenever she speaks casually to me?

I don’t know.

But—it feels like chains breaking.

The ones I’ve worn since I was a boy. The ones forged in blood on a cold hill. The ones that trapped me beside my dying mother’s body as the world called me cursed, unwanted, and forgotten.

Since that day, I have stayed locked inside myself.

Silent. Obedient. Empty.

But nowadays—whenever she smiles and shares little things—when she lets me stand closer than anyone ever has—something cracks.

And now—now I feel something I cannot name.

Something terrifying. Something hopeful. Something warm and dangerous that coils tightly in my chest whenever she says my name.

Like it belongs to her.

It feels like I finally walked out of that hill.

Out of that grave of a childhood.Out of that memory of blood and silence and a mother who died infront of me.

Did she free me?

I don’t know.

But something in my chest tightened—painful, unfamiliar—when I watched her walk out with Osric. His presence at her side... it irritated me more than it should have.

A voice broke through my thoughts.

"Seems like you are very close to the Princess... Captain."

General Luke.

I turned my head slowly, expression as flat as stone. That man... there is something wrong with him.The way he keeps looking at me—like he knows something I don’t. Like he’s searching for pieces of a ghost in my face.

I stared at him coldly. "That is none of your business, General."

He didn’t flinch.He didn’t bow.He just smiled—soft, warm... disturbingly warm.

"Then," he said quietly, "allow me to get to know you better. Let’s get along, son."

Son.

The word slammed into me like a blade.

My entire body stiffened. My hand twitched toward my sword.

Son?

My jaw clenched so tight it hurt. "I AM NOT YOUR SON."

Sorrow.

Why?

"Do not call me that," I said, my voice colder than the marble beneath our feet. "Address me as Captain."

"I don’t have a family."

I took a step back from him, eyes narrowing. "And stop getting closer to me. I do not like people pretending to care."

"I hate it," I hissed. "So keep your distance."

Why grief?

Why the hell does he look at me like I’m someone he has already lost?

***

[Lavinia’s POV—Council Hall of the Fallen Kingdom]

Their voices rose in shaky unison: "Greetings to Her Highness, Crown Princess Lavinia."

SCRAAAAAPE—!!

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify