Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 115: The Chase

Chapter 115: The Chase

Lara and Jethru dropped to the ground beside Angus and Aramis with a muffled thud, the impact causing a slight indentation on the grassy patch. Their breaths came fast, but they wasted no time — eyes scanning the darkness for signs of pursuit.

Moments later, another black-clad figure descended soundlessly from the shadows, landing with the grace of a panther.

Finally, Alaric slid down from Lara’s rope, his boots hitting the earth with a dull crunch. The group barely had a chance to catch their breath before the distant clamor of boots and shouts echoed through the estate.

Guards.

And they were closing in fast.

Without a word, the group bolted toward the thick line of trees behind the mansion. The night wrapped around them like a cloak, shadows curling at their heels as they moved.

Aramis paused only once, fingers moving in a blur as he nocked an arrow. The bowstring sang softly in the dark, and the arrow whispered through the air, followed quickly by another. He didn’t wait to see if they hit their mark — he was already running, blending into the darkness.

The guards were fast, but the intruders were faster. They slipped through like fleeting shadows, moving as if the night itself bent to their will. The darkness was no hindrance — every step was sure, every movement swift.

Behind them, the guards stumbled and cursed, their torches bobbing clumsily through the dark.

Only once they’d cleared the outskirts of the Sentro and reached the safety of the periphery of the mountain base did the group finally slow down. Alaric turned, his eyes narrowing at the mysterious figure who had joined them. Recognition dawned.

"General Odin... it is you!" Alaric exclaimed, his voice hushed but incredulous. "Why were you spying on the mayor’s mansion?" Alaric asked, amazed at the boldness of the general. He did not even have a guard accompanying him.

The general’s smirk was barely visible beneath his hood. "I could ask you the same, Your Highness." He folded his arms. "I saw Master Jethru and Kane sneaking out of the camp. Then you three slipped after them, so I followed. Seemed like something interesting was happening."

Jethru scowled. "I was on a mission with my disciple. Why did you all follow us?"

"We are also on a mission," Alaric shot back.

Lara shifted uneasily, sensing the air grow heavier with unspoken accusations. She stepped forward, forcing a lightness into her voice. "Master, why were you careless enough to get caught?"

Jethru’s head snapped toward her, eyes narrowing. "You brat," he barked. "I wasn’t caught. I let myself get captured — intentionally." He huffed, crossing his arms. "There’s a difference between being caught and handing yourself over."

Lara raised a skeptical brow. "But Master... what happened to your cap?"

Jethru blinked, caught off guard by the question. Lara had noticed it right away back in the study — the glint of his white hair catching the candlelight, unmistakable in the dim room.

The older man sighed and settled onto a nearby stump, resting his elbows on his knees. After a long pause, he chuckled softly, shaking his head. "It was too loose," he admitted, sounding almost sheepish. "You should not have given me something that did not fit. I was under a bush, and when I crawled out, it was gone. Didn’t even notice." He scowled, though whether at the cap or himself was unclear.

Lara pressed her lips together, trying to hide a grin. Even in the dark, she could see her master’s pride was bruised. But at least the tension had eased — for now.

"Here, you could use this." General Odin extended a black bonnet toward Jethru. The fabric was dark and tightly woven, meant to blend seamlessly into the night. "It’ll fit your head."

Jethru hesitated, eyeing the bonnet warily. With a grunt, he reached out and took it. Sliding the bonnet over his head, he found that Odin was right — the fit was snug and comfortable, unlike the loose cap that had cost him his cover.

Lara’s gaze lingered on her master, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Master, I’m still curious... Why did you let yourself get caught?"

Jethru drew in a slow breath, the cool night air filling his lungs. His disciple really knew how to dig in, didn’t she?

Could he admit the truth — that he’d been caught because of something as foolish as losing his cap? The memory stung: crouching beneath a bush, carefully plotting his infiltration, only to rise and find himself surrounded by guards before he could take three steps. He could’ve fought his way out — easily — but in that brief moment, an idea had struck him.

He shifted slightly, his expression hardening. "I let myself get caught," he said at last, voice low and edged with disdain, "to meet the person behind the despicable act of using civilians as shields."

His words hung in the air, heavy and bitter.

Angus and Aramis, who had been quietly standing watch, tensed at once. Their keen eyes swept the darkened forest, their senses sharpening. The shadows pressed in close, silent and watchful. Though deep in the trees, a predator—or worse, a pursuer—could stumble upon them.

From afar, a set of eyes watched warily. Their group was little more than a cluster of dark shapes beneath the sprawling branches, indistinct in the moonlight. To an untrained eye, they could be shadows, the dappled light playing tricks through the trees. But somehow, the guards that pursued knew it was them.

A group of guards from the Fuerte mansion crouched behind a ridge, their breaths ragged from the chase. One of them peered through the darkness, trying to make out the figures beneath the tree. "Commander... do we pursue them?" His voice was low, almost trembling.

"Are you tired of living? Didn’t you see that all of them are so skilled? The one who shot the arrow earlier seemed to be drawing his bow in random directions, but all his arrows hit our people squarely."

"Then, what are we doing here, commander?"

Before the commander could answer — swoosh!

An arrow hissed through the night, close enough to graze the man’s cheek. The sharp sting of pain made him yelp, and he dropped to the ground, clutching his face. Blood welled beneath his fingers, warm and slick.

"Damn it!" the commander hissed, eyes darting wildly into the darkness. "Let’s go. We’ll tell the Mayor they got away."

"But..."

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