Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 126: A Familiar Face

Chapter 126: A Familiar Face

"I need to tend to him. He needs urgent medical attention. You go ahead — we’ll carry him on horseback," Lara said firmly, glancing up at Bener. Her hands were already working, steady despite the urgency that thrummed through her veins. She was applying hemostatic powder to stop the bleeding.

Bener hesitated, eyes flicking over the wounded man.

He’d underestimated the situation. If it hadn’t been for the timely arrival of Prince Alaric and Kane, they could have suffered a devastating blow from enemies hidden in the mangrove forest. A chill danced down his spine, cold and unwelcome, as he realized just how close they had come to disaster.

His gaze lingered on the older soldier sprawled on the ground. Deep gashes marred his skin, dark streaks of blood trailing down his leg into the brown soil. Every ragged breath rattled from his chest, each one a struggle. His face, pale and gaunt, bore the weight of exhaustion and pain. Bener swallowed hard. The man might indeed lose his leg without urgent help.

"You can’t stay in this place. What if those enemy soldiers come back? You can go to our east campsite. There are soldiers there who can protect you, and the enemies could not do a sneak attack."

Lara nodded slowly, acknowledging his words. "You’re right. I’ll follow your arrangement."

As they made their way through the tangled roots and thick foliage toward the east campsite, Lara glanced back to see Alaric following silently. She expected him to return to the main camp with Bener, but he remained at her side, watchful and quiet.

She asked Aramis to carry the wounded soldier on his horse and headed to the east campsite.

Once at the campsite, she worked swiftly, her hands steady despite the fatigue from fighting. She knelt beside the wounded man, carefully cleaning the deep gash in his thigh. Blood pooled around the torn flesh, but her fingers moved with practiced ease, sprinkling hemostatic powder over the wound to stem the bleeding.

To her surprise, Alaric continued to stay with her in the east camp, his eyes scanning the shadows, bow in hand. Lara stole a glance at him, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

Her attention went back to the man she was attending to. After a moment, she broke the silence.

"Have we crossed paths in the past?" Lara inquired, her voice soft yet curious, as she carefully tended to his wounds.

"No! I haven’t met you before," The man winced as she pressed a clean cloth against the wound. Shadows danced across his rugged face, accentuating the thick, untamed beard that obscured his lower chin. There was a hint of weariness in his eyes, as if each word was a struggle, weighed down by worry.

"What is your name, Sir?" Lara inquired, her voice steady and professional. She carefully threaded a needle, preparing to stitch the wound.

The man shifted slightly, pain creasing his brow. "Lenard. Primo Lenard."

Lara’s hands paused. The name struck a chord, and realization dawned. She had seen those features before — not on him, but on someone else. A younger version.

Abel.

"Lenard! Then, are you the father of Abel, Barett, Darius, Cyrus, Eva and Flora?"

"Cough...cough...cough." Primo coughed violently, his body wracked with spasms. When he finally stilled, he looked at Lara, confusion and suspicion flickering in his eyes. "How do you know my children?"

"I met them," Lara said softly, "in the mountains of Ourea."

Primo stiffened. "Ourea?" he echoed, voice barely audible. His mind raced. Why would his children be in Ourea?

"They’re brave," Lara continued, her voice calm. "They went into the mountains to forage. They were looking for food — pheasants, rabbits, even medicinal herbs."

Primo’s breath caught in his throat. He clenched his jaw, fighting back the wave of emotions threatening to overtake him. Fear. Guilt. Anger. Had he failed them? Why were they forced into such peril?

"Are they... are they alright?" he asked, voice trembling, cracking under the weight of unspoken fear. Anxiety gripped him like a vice as he envisioned the wild animals of Mount Ourea. The thought of venturing there sent shivers down his spine; it was a realm fraught with danger, where nature’s fury could unleash at any moment. How could his children be there?

Something did not add up. He was sending his salary to them every month. Why would his children go to the mountains?

Lara thought for a while. She could not tell him that Cyrus was attacked by a tiger. He might have a heart attack.

Lara offered a soft, reassuring smile. "They’re fine. Don’t worry."

Primo let out a shuddering breath, relief washing over him like a tide. He watched Lara work, his eyes growing heavy with exhaustion.

"Your wound is quite deep. I need to stitch it as it will heal faster. I am sorry this one will hurt. I ran out of numbing powder." Lara apologized.

Primo nodded weakly, bracing himself.

She thought of something. She took a folded paper from the pocket of her backpack and handed it to him.

"This is a letter from Delia. You can read that later after I finish my stitches. I initially thought your wound was infected, but fortunately, it was not."

Primo’s breath hitched. He stared at the letter, hands trembling. His mind barely registered the sting of the needle piercing his flesh or the silk thread tugging through his skin. All he could see was that letter — proof that his wife was alive. That she was waiting for him.

Pain surged through his leg, sharp and unrelenting, but he bore with it. He pursed his lips, and his grip tightened around the letter before loosening again, fearful he might crumple it.

The camp grew quiet as Lara worked, each stitch precise and deliberate. The sun hung low in the west, casting long shadows flickering against the trees. Alaric and Aramis remained nearby, silent and watchful, their sharp eyes scanning the distance.

And through it all, Primo Lenard lay still, his thoughts a swirling storm of worry and hope, clutching the letter that tethered him to home.

...

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