Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 163: The Conspiracy

Chapter 163: The Conspiracy

Later, when Jethru discovered the thin, bloodied line across Ivy’s neck—just a shallow cut, but enough to mar her porcelain skin—something inside him snapped. His fury was silent but absolute. Without a word, he dragged the bandit leader away, far from the others, to the edge of the riverbank.

There, beneath the shadow of an ancient tree, Jethru raised his sword high—and with a single, precise strike, severed the man’s head from his body.

Lara followed at a distance, unseen but not unseeing. She had never witnessed her master lose control. But even when he did, he remained calm, cold... merciless. He seemed transformed—less like the teacher who had trained her in swordplay and more like the legends whispered in wartime barracks. But she understood. Ivy and Ivan were the last of his family. If she were in his place, she might have done the same.

With an expressionless face, Jetrhu threw the man’s body into the river. The water swallowed it with a splash, and streaks of crimson merged with the ripples. It was no longer clear whether the water was tinted with blood or it was a distorted reflection of the reddening sky.

"Come out." Jethru’s voice remained calm, but Lara sensed a slight tremor. She was no longer surprised that her master knew that she followed him.

He turned slowly to face her, the fading light outlining his silhouette like a ghost.

"Do you think I’m ruthless?" he asked, his voice low and stripped of emotion. "Would you hate me for it?"

Lara faced her master, her back against the fading afternoon light, making her hair glow like copper instead of the soft sheen of brown.

"No, Master. I don’t think you’re ruthless. And I could never hate you. I would do the same if it was me." She paused. "But I do blame you."

His brows furrowed. He tilted his head, confusion darkening his face. Blame?But she said she didn’t hate him..

"Blame me for what?"

"What took you so long to come back?" she shot back, her lips twitching with a mock scowl. "Don’t you know my arms and legs are aching from fighting so many of them?"

For a moment, Jethru stared at her in stunned silence. Then he let out a breath and cleared his throat, a small, reluctant smile breaking through the tension.

"I’m sorry. The herbs were farther than expected." He glanced up at the sinking sun. "Let’s go. We still have to hand over the traffickers to the authorities.

...

By the time they returned, Percival had calmed the abducted children—thirty in total—now huddled quietly in three covered carriages. The remaining carriages, grimly loaded with unconscious or injured bandits, creaked as they began the slow journey back to town.

Jethru led two carriages. Lara did the same, while Percival did the other three.

When they reached the town center, it was already dark. Jethru was still humane enough to drop the seriously injured ones off at the town’s only hospital, and then they proceeded to the magistrate’s office. Lara had anticipated it would already be closed, and she was right.

Only Jethru entered the building.

"The magistrate office is already closed, Sir. You can come back tomorrow, " a young guard about the same age as Gideon said respectfully.

"So, what do we do with the human traffickers we caught today?"

When the young guard heard about this, his eyes widened, and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. His small gestures did not escape the keen eyes of the master who brought the human traffickers.

"Then, I will tell my superior about this. Please wait a while. Take your seat over there." The young guard led him to wooden benches in the magistrate’s office’s receiving area.

As Jethru waited, a cloaked man entered, feigning interest in a land dispute but keeping his attention subtly fixed on Jethru. Outside, Lara sensed something—eyes watching them from the shadows. She wasn’t sure if Percival had noticed too, but when their eyes met, she knew he had.

Then came footsteps. A group of men approached, clad in the town guards’ official uniform. The leader—a burly man with unkempt hair—addressed them politely.

"Sirs, we were sent by the magistrate to escort the traffickers and children to the central compound."

Percival stepped forward, his voice firm and commanding. "Where is the magistrate? Isn’t he coming here? This is s huge human trafficking case." He spoke with the authority similar to that of Galahad.

Lara gave him a thumbs up in her heart. As expected of the General Odin’s son. He was well-trained and not easily swayed.

"Sir?" The man feigned surprise and confusion.

Muffled groans were heard from inside the two carriages, and some of the men who approached them appeared agitated.

The officer’s eyes flicked nervously. "The magistrate is... occupied with family matters. He instructed us to secure the prisoners. He’ll handle the case tomorrow."

Before Lara and Percival could answer, Jethru spoke. "Fine, but we will keep the children first. We will bring back tomorrow morning."

"Sir?" The man hesitated, something flashing in his eyes—a subtle flicker of frustration masked quickly by a forced smile. But Jethru, Lara, and even Percival have seen it.

"The children are traumatized," Jethru said calmly. "Sending them off with strangers will only worsen it. We just live nearby. It is not like we are going to flee."

The man opened his mouth to object, but the rhythmic clop-clop of approaching hooves swallowed his words.

A tall figure on horseback emerged from the dark, cloaked and hooded, accompanied by a few more soldiers. The guards turned toward him, squinting.

"Sir, I apologize, but we cannot let the children come with you. You are only a civilian, while we are authorized to handle them."

Jethru pursed his lips. He knew that the officer was right, and he could not insist. But he was worried about the children. He felt that there was something wrong about these men in uniform.

"I’ll take responsibility for the children," the man atop the horse said, his voice rich with command, "and the prisoners."

"And by what authority?" the officer asked, trying to maintain composure.

The rider reached into his cloak and produced a heavy, engraved seal—the emblem of the Ministry of Civil Affairs.

Gasps rose from the guards. The leader stepped back, his composure crumbling. What was a high-ranking official doing in this remote town of Calma?

Lara, Percival, and Jethru exchanged looks of quiet relief.

The children were safe—for now.