Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 165: Meeting Angus and Aramis

Chapter 165: Meeting Angus and Aramis

Estate of Baron Yanez, Calma

Prince Alaric and his soldiers had taken up temporary residence in one of the grandest mansions in the heart of Calma—a stately manor nestled among ivy-wrapped pillars and sloping courtyards, just a fifteen-minute walk from the bustling town center.

The estate belonged to Baron Yanez, who, upon hearing of Alaric’s arrival, had wasted no time offering his home to the prince. The Baron had long grown weary of the chaos that seemed to haunt the town of Calma and retreated to a quieter town several kilometers away. He had even begun liquidating some of his properties, claiming peace was far more valuable than land.

Alaric had accepted the offer without hesitation. The mansion was a far better alternative to the cramped inn rooms that smelled of damp straw and old ale. His company would remain in Calma until their mission was complete.

In the dim light of the study, Alaric stood near the window, opening a sealed envelope with practiced grace.

"Where is Aramis?" he asked, his voice cool and steady.

Angus, standing nearby, gave a slight bow. "He has yet to return, Your Highness. He was trailing the man who attempted to assassinate you at the House of Mendel earlier today."

On a leather couch across the room, Agilus sat with one boot on the armrest, flipping a dagger between his fingers. His brow furrowed in irritation. "Who would be so bold as to send someone to kill a prince?"

Alaric’s gaze didn’t leave the letter. "Should be the people from the Capital." He raised his head and looked at Angus. "Next time, don’t send Aramis on a mission like that. I specifically ordered him to keep watch over Lara. In secret."

"Lara?" Angus asked, visibly confused.

"Ahem!" Agilus cleared his throat.

"Lara... Kane, they are the same." He explained indifferently.

"Kane is..." Angus’s mouth formed a big letter O. "A woman?"

"U uhmm" Agilus answered in a muffled tone.

"No wonder Kane was so slender. Always thought she looked a bit delicate for a soldier. And her skin—flawless..." Angus trailed off as a sudden chill ran down his spine. Agilus was now eyeing him with a look that said tread carefully.

"You’re getting awfully chatty Angus. You are becoming like Aramais." Agilus muttered, then turned to Alaric. "Kane, Lara—whatever you want to call her—is with her master. She can handle herself."

Alaric paused and considered Agilus’ words. He was right, after all.

He folded the letter in his hands. "What did you find out from the mercenaries and the traffickers?"

"They are tight-lipped, no matter how they were tortured." Agilus spun the knife in his hand. "Another thing, the six men who were brought in the hospital were all dead. Their cause of death was loss of blood."

"They were abandoned, Your Highness," Angus said quietly. "No one treated their wounds."

Alaric just nodded. Of course he knew that those people were intentionally killed.

Alaric studied one of his most loyal guards who used to call him ’Master.’ After nearly dying to protect him, Alaric had insisted he use the same title as the other soldiers did: General or Your Highness. He had earned that right.

Angus had once been a slave, purchased at the borders of Estalis during Alaric’s first military campaign ten years ago. At just twelve years old, Alaric wasn’t expected to fight, only to learn, observe battles, spar with seasoned warriors, and witness the brutal cost of conflict.

After the war ended, Alaric had snuck away from camp with a few guards to explore the nearby market. He remembered the filth, the desperation—the way children fought over scraps like wild dogs. He had intentionally dropped a loaf of bread once, only to watch a frenzy of small, starving hands claw for it. In the end, he did more damage than help. That image would stay with him forever.

Those children begging for food- were their fathers killed during the war?

It was there, amid the cries of street vendors and the stench of blood and rot, that he saw them.

A commotion broke out near the slave pens. A boy no older than himself was being dragged by the collar, accused of stealing bread. He looked skeletal, but his eyes burned with fire.

"How dare you steal that bread?" A fat man asked harshly.

"I didn’t steal it!" the boy cried. "I paid for it!" the boy said defiantly.

The slave master, a fat, cruel man with a face like a swollen toad, raised a whip in response. Before the leather struck the boy, a tall, thin man threw himself over him, shielding him with his body.

"Angus, get out of the way." The young boy pushed the tall man, but he stayed there immobile like a sentinel protecting the boy.

Alaric was touched. If he has a younger brother by his mother, he would also protect him with his life.

"Ah, protecting your little brother, are you?" the slavemaster sneered. "Fine. Let’s see how much pain you can take for him."

"Stop him," young Alaric had said to his guard, his voice sharp with command.

The whip cracked again—but never landed.

Before the slave master could react, one of Alaric’s soldiers stepped in and caught the whip mid-air. No matter how the man pulled, he couldn’t free it.

The eighteen-year-old Angus waited, but the pain did not come.

The slavemaster looked up and when he saw someone caught the end of his whip, and he could not pull it back no matter how much effort he placed, he became angry.

"How dare you interfere in my business?" he shouted.

"I’ll buy them," Alaric said, stepping forward, his tone calm but dangerous. He was dressed plainly, but the nobility in his bearing was unmistakable. The slavemaster’s sneer turned into a greasy smile.

"Ah, Young Lord! You have excellent taste. These brothers are very tough... like mules"

"How much?" Alaric cut him off, disinterested in long-winded conversation.

The slavemaster tried to scam him. "One thousand gold coins."

Alaric’s gaze turned to ice. The man faltered, sweating beneath the weight of it.

"Ah, I apologize, Young Lord. I miscalculated. For the two of them, it is just two hundred gold coins, one hundred each." This time, the fat man told him about the fair market price.

Alaric raised his hand, and a servant stepped forward. "Settle the paperwork with him and take these two to my temporary residence," Alaric said.

That was the beginning.

He didn’t know then that the tall, protective brother would one day be the silent, loyal man willing to lay down his life for him, who now stood before him, eyes lowered, hands behind his back. Nor the boy he saved would become one of the fiercest swordsmen in his ranks.

A small smile tugged at Alaric’s lips. War had stolen much, but it had also given him people with undying loyalty.