Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 366

Chapter 366: The Truth of Blood

[Lavinia’s POV—Imperial Palace—Private Garden—The Next Day]

"...What—" Papa stopped mid-step. "...What kind of situation is this?"

His voice was flat. Too flat. The kind of flat that came right before kingdoms were erased from maps.

I sat serenely in my chair, porcelain teacup in hand, steam curling lazily upward. I looked calm. I was not calm. This was, without exaggeration, one of the most awkward mornings of my life.

In the center of the private garden—under the merciless sun—General Luke stood perfectly straight.

Opposite him, equally unmoving—Captain Haldor.

They stared at each other. Not shouting. Not speaking. Not blinking.

Just... staring.

Cold. Calm. Expressionless. Like two statues competing for dominance.

Papa followed my gaze. His eye twitched.

Theon peeked out from behind Papa’s shoulder, squinting. "They have the exact same facial expression..." he whispered. "... Should we just confirm it now and save time?"

Papa didn’t even look at him. "Don’t say a word, Theon."

Then he turned fully toward me, arms crossing, aura sharpening.

"I simply want to know," Papa said slowly, dangerously, "why two grown men are standing in the middle of my garden, under my sun, radiating hostility in the general direction of my daughter."

I gently patted the chair beside me.

"Papa," I said sweetly, "I’m fine. Please sit."

He hesitated.

Then sighed like a man who had lost several wars in a single breath and sat down heavily. "I swear," he muttered, "I leave the palace for one morning, and chaos begins breeding."

He looked at me. "Now. Explain."

I took a sip of tea.

"Today," I said calmly, "we’re going to find out whether they are actually father and son."

Papa blinked.

Once.

Twice.

"...Ah," he said. Then frowned. "Then why are they glaring at each other like they’re about to duel to the death?"

I glanced at the two men.

Haldor’s jaw was set like steel. Luke’s posture was rigid enough to defy gravity itself. The tension between them was so thick it could be sliced, seasoned, and served for breakfast.

"They’re bonding," I said.

Papa stared at me.

"That," he said slowly, "is not bonding. That is the exact posture men take right before one of them loses a limb."

Theon leaned in again. "Honestly, Your Majesty, if they’re related, this level of mutual irritation tracks."

Papa waved him off. "Not now."

Then Papa leaned closer to me, lowering his voice. "Lavinia... are you absolutely certain this ritual won’t explode?"

"Yes," I replied immediately.

"...Emotionally or magically?"

I paused. "...Magically."

Papa sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That’s not reassuring."

Right on cue, a breeze swept through the garden, rustling the leaves. Neither Luke nor Haldor moved. They continued their silent staredown.

Papa snapped his fingers sharply. "Alright. Enough."

Both men stiffened instantly.

"This is a garden," Papa continued. "Not a battlefield. If either of you intends to draw blood, do it after lunch."

Neither spoke.

Papa pointed at Luke. "You. Stop glaring like you’re about to interrogate the sun."

Then at Haldor. "And you—relax your shoulders. You look like you’re one sentence away from declaring war."

I hid my smile behind my teacup.

Papa leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. "Proceed," he said. "Let’s see if fate has a sense of humor—or if it’s just been mocking us this entire time."

I set my cup down gently.

"Yes," I murmured. "Let’s."

Because in the middle of my garden—under my sun—truth was about to surface.

And judging by the tension alone?

It was going to be spectacular.

"All right," I said calmly, setting my teacup down with deliberate care. "Let’s start."

At that exact moment—FWOOSH.

The air rippled.

Rey appeared like an uninvited thought, mid-step, then promptly froze.

He looked at Luke. Then at Haldor. Then very slowly at me.

"...Wow," he said, blinking once. "I leave you alone for one evening and come back to what looks like a generational trauma staring contest."

Papa’s eye twitched.

Rey cleared his throat, instantly straightening. "Ahem. Good morning, Your Majesty. Your Highness." Then, glancing between the two men again, he added lightly, "So. This is going to be very dramatic, isn’t it?"

"Focus," Papa snapped.

Rey smiled sheepishly and lifted a small crystal vial from within his cloak. Inside it swirled a silvery liquid—thick like mercury, glowing faintly, as if starlight had been poured into glass.

"We should begin the examination," Rey said, businesslike now. "I’ll need blood from both parties."

Haldor’s gaze sharpened. Luke’s jaw clenched.

Papa leaned forward. "Hold it."

Everyone paused.

Papa pointed at the vial. "You are not about to stab two of my soldiers with mysterious glowing liquid in my garden without explaining exactly how this works."

Rey sighed. "I knew this part was coming."

He turned, pacing slightly as if preparing for a lecture. "Very well. Allow me to enlighten everyone before accusations of sorcery, curses, or accidental explosions begin."

I folded my hands in my lap, amused. Theo leaned forward eagerly.

Rey held up the vial. "This is a blood-verification medium. Ancient. Pre-imperial. It reacts only to truth carried in blood—not names, not titles, not memory."

Papa narrowed his eyes. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," Rey continued, "you can lie with your mouth, your face, your soul—but blood doesn’t care. Blood remembers."

The garden went still.

It pulled together.

The truth had surfaced. And under my sun—In my garden—It had chosen now to be revealed.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify