Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 103: Chaos

Chapter 103: Chaos

The woman stood tall, her expression unreadable, as she adjusted the simple blouse draped over her shoulders. The long, wide sleeves swayed slightly as she moved. A tubular garment was wrapped tightly around her waist, cinching her figure. She hesitated for a brief moment, as if carefully choosing her next words, then lifted her chin defiantly.

"The fact that our town hall was burned while Northem soldiers were present is undeniable," she declared, her voice ringing across the two groups in a standoff. Her sharp gaze, burning with contempt, swept over the soldiers standing in the front row. "Since they were inside the building, then why didn’t they do anything to put out the fire?"

General Odin was speechless.

The jaws of the five hundred soldiers who were at the town hall when it was burnt dropped. Did she mean she wanted them to put out the fire while arrows were raining down?

A sudden chuckle broke the heavy silence. Agilus had stepped out of formation and was making his way toward Alaric, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Hey, woman, you are funny!" He said sarcastically.

The woman glared at him.

Lara, standing a few paces away, studied the woman with narrowed eyes, her sharp mind piecing together the puzzle. She had read extensively about psychological warfare, and the tactics employed by people standing opposite them were all too familiar. This wasn’t just an impassioned plea—this was deliberate provocation. Whoever was orchestrating from the shadows knew exactly what they were doing. The methods mirrored those used by modern-day terrorists.

The woman turned back to the gathered townspeople, her voice rising. "Women and Elders of Carles, do not listen to them! These soldiers are not here to protect us. They are here to make our lives miserable!" She thrust her fists into the air, riling up the crowd.

Lara stepped forward, her voice sharp as a blade. "Shut up. Where do you find the courage to speak such lies? You’re inciting rebellion."

The woman’s lips curled into a triumphant sneer. "See? He is threatening us. He is accusing us. These men are not our saviors—they are our oppressors!"

Lara was speechless.

The crowd stirred, a murmur of agreement rippling through the people. Some clenched their fists, their eyes dark with anger. Others exchanged nervous glances, uncertain. The woman’s voice climbed in volume, laced with venom, as she hurled insults at the soldiers, fueling the fire of dissent.

Then, amidst the rising tension, Lara caught something—a look of horror flashed across the faces of two women standing a few steps behind the speaker. Instinct screamed at her.

Spinning around, Lara’s eyes locked onto an arrow slicing through the sky, aimed directly at the defiant woman.

She moved without thinking. In one swift motion, her fingers closed around the hilt of her knife, strapped to her outer thigh. The silver blade gleamed in the early morning light as she sent it flying. It cut through the air in a perfect arc, striking the arrow when it was just a foot away from its target.

The impact sent the arrow spiraling off course, embedding itself harmlessly into the ground a few feet away. The woman, now deathly pale, staggered back, her defiance replaced with pure shock.

The soldiers in the front row were dumbfounded. How could he hit the arrow with such precision?

Alaric turned sharply, his gaze locking onto General Odin. His expression was ice—controlled, but seething beneath the surface.

General Odin shuddered.

"Who released that arrow?" Odin’s voice was a thunderous roar.

If that arrow had struck, the consequences would have been dire.

The woman staggered back, still pale from the shock of nearly being struck. But as the moment passed, her fear twisted into rage. Her sharp eyes scanned the ranks of Northern soldiers, her gaze brimming with hostility.

"Did you see that?" she shrieked, pointing an accusatory finger. "They really intend to kill us!"

Her voice cracked through the tense air like a whip, stirring the crowd. Then, to everyone’s surprise, she threw herself into a dramatic wail, her cries echoing through the plains of Gwamuros. Tears streamed down her face—though whether they were real or not was another question entirely. She clutched her chest, sobbing as though she had just escaped death itself.

"You murderers! Cruel beasts!" she howled, punctuating each word with a curse.

The crowd shifted uneasily, murmurs growing into shouts of outrage. The woman, sensing the rising anger, bent down and grabbed a rotten vegetable from the ground. Her fingers clenched around it, ready to hurl it at the soldiers.

But before she could throw, something struck her hand. Hard.

"Ahh!" she yelped as the vegetable slipped from her grasp, landing with a wet plop at her feet.

She clutched her hand as though she’d been gravely wounded, her face contorting in pain. "Ouch! See? See how they treat us? Come on, people of Carles! Are we going to let this cruel soldier strike a defenseless woman? Let us fight back!"

Jethru, watching from the sidelines, almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. He wanted to correct her—wanted to point out that it wasn’t a man who hit her, but Lara. But he held his tongue.

The woman’s cries became more frenzied, and then—she said something. Something that ignited the already simmering anger in the gathered townsfolk. A spark caught, and suddenly, the women surged forward, armed with brooms, iron ladles, and rolling pins.

Behind them, the elderly men and women followed, gripping their hoes and shovels with determination. The atmosphere was burgeoning with tension, ready to snap.

"Your Highness, General, what do we do?" a baffled commander asked the two highest officials in the camp.

But before either could answer, chaos erupted.

Screams rang out as, one by one, the charging women collapsed to the ground. Some tripped, others crashed into their neighbors, falling into a tangled mess of limbs and skirts. A few tumbled onto those already down, eliciting protests.

"Get off me! You’re too heavy!"

"You’re stepping on my hair!"

"Ow! Someone’s elbow just hit my ribs!"

"You! Get your face off my butt!"

The once-fearsome charge had turned into a comical pile of flailing arms and groaning bodies.

When the elder men saw that the women were down on the ground, they stopped moving and were at a loss of what to do.