Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 169: The Other Him

Chapter 169: The Other Him

Prince Alaric’s body went rigid the moment he felt a soft presence press gently against his back. The faintest whisper of a voice reached him—tender and familiar.

"Ari," she called.

He blinked.

Once.Twice.

Then, the world around him came rushing in like a cold wind.

He was outside. His knuckles throbbed, pulsing with pain, raw and bloody. Splinters clung to the torn skin. He stared at his trembling hand, confusion knitting his brows. He had blacked out again—lost time, lost control.

The haze that had swallowed him up was now gone, but the aftermath stung like fire.

The hand really hurt.

A delicate scent drifted through the air—a mix of wildflowers, the fragrance was so gentle, so familiar, that it wrapped around him like a memory, soft and sweet. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Each breath felt like an anchor pulling him back from the storm inside his head.

For a fleeting moment, he wished he could stay there—suspended in that stillness, held by the scent and the warmth against his back.

Lara was relieved that Alaric had finally ceased his relentless assault on the tree. His fists had pummeled the bark to a splintered mess.

She had finally managed to stop him. Alaric, in his manic state, was really scary. No wonder Agilus did not dare follow him.

She stepped around him. Her eyes widened at the sight of his bloodied knuckles, the bark behind him shredded into splinters. She clenched her jaw to keep her composure, even as worry gnawed at her.

"Ari, what happened?" she asked, her tone sharp with concern. "Don’t you feel pain when you punch a tree? Or do you just not want your hand anymore?"

Alaric remained quiet.

Lara sighed and reached for him, her touch firm but gentle as she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and began guiding him back toward the house.

At the back door, Agilus, Jethru, and Samuel were already peeking outside, alarmed by the commotion. Their hearts seemed to stop when they saw that Lara had become Alaric’s punching bag.

Jethru would have come, but Samuel held him back. "You taught your disciple well. She will not get hurt. How did you learned those moves?" Samuel asked, full of curiosity.

The white-haired man faltered. Lara’s moves were something that he did not taught her.

"By luck," Jethru said dismissively. He looked calm on the outside, but deep inside, his thoughts were in turmoil. He took note of asking Lara how she learned a unique skill.

But the moment they saw Lara leading Alaric—her smaller frame in a flowing cream sundress contrasting against his tall, broad silhouette—they scrambled to clear the way, even though the pair were still several meters off.

Lara did not notice them. However Jethru was grinning when he saw the hand of his disciple on the Prince’s wrists.

Jethru, ever the troublemaker, grinned the moment he spotted Alaric’s hand in Lara’s grasp.

Samuel, more reserved and skeptical, frowned—he had never seen Lara in her element as a healer. He didn’t know what she was capable of.

Agilus, on the other hand, watched with a mix of disbelief and vindication. His earlier suspicion—that Lara might be able to reach Alaric in his manic state when no one else could—had just been confirmed.

Lara quietly led Alaric to a side room just off the living area. She didn’t want the children to see the blood, or the bruised hand that still trembled faintly. The room, still mostly unused, was where they planned to sell their processed herbs in the future. For now, it was a sanctuary.

Agilus entered the room without knocking. He was concerned not so much about the wound on Alraic’s hand but on his behavior, just in case he would black out again and use Lara as his punching bag.

But when he saw her skillfully tending the wounds, her touch steady and sure, something shifted in him. Alaric, though silent, had calmed. The storm had passed—for now.

He silently scrutinized him and when he noted that the wound on his hand was being skilfully bandaged, he suddenly felt that he was a third wheel.

Agilus lingered for a beat before murmuring, "I’ll leave you to it. Please take care of him, Lara."

He paused at the doorway, casting one last glance over his shoulder.

’I don’t have to worry. He is in good hands.’

Inside, the room was quiet. Lara worked with practiced precision, her fingers wrapping the bandage neatly around his knuckles. Alaric didn’t move. He just watched her—his eyes tracing the gentle curve of her cheek, the way a strand of hair fell forward and she tucked it behind her ear without thinking.

"You don’t have to say it," she said, glancing at him. A playful smirk tugged at her lips. "I know I’m beautiful."

He didn’t laugh. His silence stretched, and it made her heart flutter with unease.

Then, softly—so softly she barely heard him—he asked, "Did I hurt you?"

She blinked. "Huh?"

"Earlier... did I hurt you?"

There was a pause.

"You did." Lara said honestly.. "But it is nothing serious." She made her tone sound casual.

His expression twisted with guilt. "I’m sorry," he murmured. The words were barely more than a breath, fragile and trembling like glass.

Lara’s right eyebrow arched dramatically, a subtle spark of intrigue dancing in her bright eyes. Suddenly, an idea ignited within her mind, illuminating her thoughts like a flash of inspiration.

"If you’re really sorry," she said, voice calm but probing, "then tell me what happened to you."

Alaric fell silent. The quiet stretched between them, dense and uncertain.

She waited.

Silence hung in the air engulfing both ot them.

"I don’t know," he finally confessed, his voice heavy with defeat. "But I think it started with a memory... something distant. Something I hadn’t thought about in years. Then... everything just collapsed."

Lara finished bandaging him. As she secured the last piece, she lifted her head, her gaze intertwining with his deep, obsidian ones that looked complex at the moment.

Could it be...

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