Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 114: Escaped!

Chapter 114: Escaped!

Thud!

The soldier behind Jethru crumpled to the ground, unconscious. A dark crimson streak trickled from his forehead, pooling onto the polished floor.

Briella and the commander instinctively recoiled from Jethru, their eyes wide with uncertainty.

Laughter rang through the room, a low, mocking sound that sent a shiver up their spines.

"What’s so funny?" Mayor Roder Fuerte’s voice was laced with irritation, his gaze snapping toward General Turik. His fingers curled into a fist atop the grand mahogany desk.

’This General Turik, always making fun of me. I will make sure that you will face humiliation three-fold.’

Turik, unfazed by the mayor’s ire, plucked a hefty marble paperweight from the desk, its smooth surface glinting under the dim candlelight. He studied the engraving—Mayor Roder Fuerte—running a calloused finger over the deep etchings.

Without warning, he flung it toward Jethru.

The white-haired man barely moved. A subtle shift of his body was all it took for the projectile to miss him entirely, shattering a delicate porcelain vase on the shelf behind him. The shards scattered like fallen stars, glistening in the flickering lamplight.

Mayor Fuerte threw back his head and erupted into laughter. "Ha! Even the mighty General Turik cannot land a hit on this lowly old man!"

"You—!" Turik’s jaw tightened, his pride stinging. But he bit back his retort. What could he say? He had missed.

Something in Fuerte’s expression darkened. His competitive spirit flared to life like an unchecked wildfire. With reckless abandon, he began snatching up anything within reach—ink bottles, wooden carvings, even a bronze candlestick—and hurling them at Jethru.

Yet Jethru danced between the projectiles like a specter, effortlessly dodging every single one.

The others in the room, sensing the madness unfolding, wasted no time in retreating. They scrambled to the farthest corner, away from the chaos.

Finally, the Mayor stopped and he realized in horror what he had done. He had thrown a lot of things on the floor, and it was full of broken glasses, woods or marbles. He was panting and his right arm was aching and it felt heavy.

General Turik had remained still after his first attempt, arms crossed, silently observing. He would not embarrass himself again. This white-haired man is no ordinary fool, he mused. Perhaps it was worth considering how to recruit him instead.

"Damn It! Do you think you can escape even if you could dodge?" Mayor Fuerte bellowed, his voice filled with rage, echoing off the walls like thunder. His eyes blazed with an intensity that could sear through steel, and his fists clenched tightly at his sides, trembling with barely contained fury.

He took a step forward, eyes narrowing. "Again—who sent you?"

Jethru exhaled in mild exasperation. "Is the mayor going senile? I’ve already answered that no one sent me. How many times must I repeat myself?"

Fuerte’s patience snapped. His teeth clenched, and in one swift motion, he reached behind him, seizing the ornate sword mounted on the wall. The blade hissed as it was unsheathed, its edge catching the dim light ominously.

"Are you mocking me?" he hissed, his voice low and menacing, as he thrust the glinting blade forward, its sharp edge glimmering ominously in the dim light, pressing it against Jethru’s throat.

The white-haired man remained still, completely unbothered. His face was unreadable, his eyes half-lidded in quiet amusement. To him, the mayor’s sword was no more threatening than a child’s wooden toy.

General Turik’s eyes glinted with interest. The man was a treasure, a rare find. He looked like a martial arts master.

"One last time. Who sent you?" Mayor Fuerte’s veins on the forehead bulged, showing how angry he was.

Jethru chuckled.

"Since, the Mayor does not believe me when I say that no one sent me, then let me answer. I was sent by ..." his eyes darted around until it landed on someone. Jethru smiled mysteriously.

"Him!" he exclaimed, his lower lip protruding in a sulky pout as he pointed toward General Turik, who stood imposing and resolute behind the mahogany table.

Silence fell over the room.

All heads turned.

Mayor Fuerte’s face was full of disbelief, looking at Turik suspiciously.

At the receiving end of Jethru’s accusation stood General Turik, towering behind the desk, his expression unreadable.

The other people in the room gasped. Even Magus. How bold the man was. He did not fear death at all.

General Turik let out a mocking laugh that echoed through the room, a sound laced with contempt. His eyes glinted with amusement as he shook his head in disbelief. ’What a fool,’ he thought, reveling in the sheer absurdity of the situation.

Magus, sensing the rising tension, quickly interjected, his voice laced with urgency. "Mayor, I believe he’s telling the truth. He was never sent by anyone. You’re forcing him to say something, and now he’s just picking a scapegoat."

"Haist! Finally, there is someone who appears normal in this room."

Turik frowned. What did he mean by that? Did he imply that we are all abnormal?

Before he could say another word, Mayor Fuerte turned to the white-haired man and thrust with his sword.

Jethru shifted and bent his body backward.

Swoosh!

The rope on his body fell to the floor.

Before anybody could react, a shadow entered the room from the high window, gasps, and then cries of pain filled the room, as dart-like arrows flew in the air and hit their targets.

Even Mayor Fuerte was not spared. The arrow hit his shoulder.

At the same time, the heavy doors crashed open, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered figure who stormed inside.

Chaos erupted.

The shadow from the window moved like liquid darkness, reaching Jethru in an instant. Without hesitation, the figure seized him, pulling him toward the window.

The black-clad intruder who crashed the door hesitated only for a fraction of a second—then, with two swift strides, he leaped toward the window and vanished into the night.

For a moment, there was only stunned silence.

Then—

"ASSASSINS!"

Turik was the first to recover, his voice a sharp bark of command. "Hurry! Chase them! Capture them alive!"

Fuerte, still clutching his bleeding wound, seethed with rage.

Turik turned on him, eyes gleaming with scorn. "Damn it, Fuerte! You boasted that your mansion was impenetrable—yet tonight, assassins strolled in as if they owned the place!"

Fuerte’s nostrils flared. He glared at Turik, but beneath his fury, a terrible realization set in.

Someone powerful was moving in the shadows.

And tonight was only the beginning.

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