Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 122: Sacrificial Lambs 2

Chapter 122: Sacrificial Lambs 2

When Lara saw that Angus was there to cover for Alaric, she did not waste any more time and turned her horse toward the southeast, drawing arrows as she went along.

Her heart pounded as she urged her horse forward, the wind whipping at her face. She felt an arrow soar past her, felling an enemy in the distance who had an arrow trained at her. She looked back and saw that it was Angus giving not only Alaric the cover he needed but also hers as well. She trusted him and Alaric and the soldiers who were valiantly fighting — now her focus shifted to the villagers.

The ground stretched before her, a patchwork of green and brown. Rows of trees lined the horizon. Beyond them lay an expanse of emerald grass, dotted with palm trees that swayed gently under the sun’s warmth. In the distance, the sea glimmered, its surface a tapestry of blues and silvers, deceptively calm against the chaos unraveling inland.

What a beautiful day. If only it was a normal day.

As she looked down, the ground was streaked with dark crimson, still wet and glistening in the sunlight. Her horse’s hooves splashed through the stains, each thud against the earth echoing the heavy beat of her heart.

Aramis followed closely, his horse matching hers, his eyes scanning the trees for danger.

Then she heard it—a chorus of cries, women, children, and the elderly, their voices tangled with grief and exhaustion.

The villagers had taken shelter beneath the trees, their bodies slumped against the protruding roots, limbs trembling, chests heaving. Some clutched at their injuries, the older ones wrapping arms around the young in desperate attempts to comfort them.

The scene was pitiable. But Lara felt no sympathy, instead her heart was filled with anger. These mothers and elders do not deserve pity at all. Their ignorance was not an excuse for them to risk the lives of the little ones.

Amidst the crowd, Lara searched for only one thing — the three children who were hit by the arrows

The sound of a mother’s wail pierced the air like a dagger. "My son! My son! Wake up! Don’t scare me!"

Lara’s breath caught in her throat. She dismounted her horse in one fluid motion and gave the reins to Aramis, then raced toward the sound. The sight that met her made her heart clench — a boy lay limp in his mother’s arms, an arrow lodged deep into his small back. His skin was pale, his breath shallow. Lara feared she was too late.

"I’m a doctor. Let me see him."

The mother clutched her son tighter, shaking her head wildly, tears streaming down her face. Her grief had rendered her incoherent.

"Put him on your lap," Lara commanded, her voice sharp with urgency. The mother hesitated, eyes wide with fear, but the authority in Lara’s tone cut through the fog of panic. Slowly, she obeyed.

Lara’s fingers moved with practiced precision. The arrow hadn’t been removed — it was a good thing. Pulling it out too soon would have bled the boy dry. She steadied her hands, carefully sliding the shaft free. Blood welled from the wound, but Lara was ready. She packed the injury with a medicinal paste, pressing it firmly into place to staunch the bleeding, her touch was gentle.

She worked swiftly, finding the other two wounded children. They were lucky — their injuries were shallow, the arrows not having sunk too deep. As she bandaged the last child, her focus was solely on her task. She did not notice the footsteps behind her.

A shadow loomed. Silent. Deadly.

An Estalis soldier moved through the crowd, eyes locked on Lara’s unprotected back. His knife gleamed in the dappled sunlight as he crept closer. One step. Then another. His arm tensed, muscles coiling as he prepared to strike.

Thud!

The soldier crumpled to the ground. He touched his head and felt something sticky. Blood trickled from a fresh wound on his head, then his eyes rolled back and he slipped into unconsciousness.

Lara spun around, heart racing. Standing behind the fallen man was an old villager, chest heaving, a rock still gripped tightly in his weathered hand.

"Village chief?" Briella, who was sitting nearby, whispered in disbelief.

The old man stood tall, though his breath came in ragged gasps. His eyes burned with defiance. "That’s my grandson. And he was injured because of my stupidity." He spat on the ground. "I won’t let anyone steal his chance to survive."

He turned to face the villagers, his voice rising with a fury born of regret. "I really regretted it. We’ve been deceived!" His words rang through the trees, heavy with bitterness. "The mayor... he never cared about us. Not our families, not our lives. We were pawns in his game for power." His fists clenched. "We trusted him while he betrayed us, and led us to this slaughter."

Lara tightened the last bandage, standing slowly and prepared to leave. She met the chief’s eyes, her voice low and steady. "I need to go back. You should all go home. Remember that you are citizens of Northem, and the Northem soldiers swore to protect their people with their lives — and they will keep that oath. This is not your fight."

When the women and the old people heard her words, they could not help but cry. They were ashamed of what they did.

The villagers continued to weep quietly, shame coloring their faces. Women clutched their children, older men bowed their heads. Even the chief, who was proud and unyielding, lowered his gaze.

"We were wrong," he whispered, bowing deeply. "We believed the lies, and for that... we are ashamed. Please tell your generals that we are asking for forgiveness."

"You can seek them once the war is over." Lara said indifferently.

She strode toward her horse, swinging into the saddle with practiced ease. Her warhorse pawed the ground, eager to return to where the action was. She turned once more, looking at the faces of the ignorant villagers.

"Go. It isn’t safe here." Then, without another word, she spurred her horse back toward the battlefield, where the sound of steel and screams still filled the air.