Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 176: The Purge: The Mayor’s Dilemma

Chapter 176: The Purge: The Mayor’s Dilemma

Earlier that morning, Hook and Ruffus, riding in an ordinary-looking carriage, entered the mayor’s sprawling estate southeast of the town center. The mansion seemed to be glowing in the late morning as sunlight was reflected off the surrounding canyon walls.

"Did you see that?" he said, a note of awe in his voice.

Ruffus squinted toward the horizon, brushing a hand over his stubbled jaw. "What?"

"There," Hook gestured. "The way the mansion gleams."

Ruffus asked narrowing his eyes. "Ah, I see it. The mansion seemed to be glowing."

Indeed, the mayor’s home—grand and palatial with tall white columns and terraced balconies—glimmered beneath the morning sun. The canyon walls around it acted like mirrors, casting golden light across the estate, making it seem to radiate its own power.

"Ah, the look of wealth and power. Just how wonderful it is to be the most powerful person in town." Hook looked at the mansion with greed in his eyes. He scratched the bridge of his nose absently, his mind already racing through calculations.

"How much are giving to the mayor as his share on the restaurant and the brothel?"

"The same as always," Ruffus replied. "Thirty percent. That’s 300 silver ingots... and this week’s signature menu from the restaurant—pan-seared venison with spiced pears, rice wine from the southern slopes."

Hook nodded, then turned to look at the tiger pelt folded neatly behind them. Its rich amber and black stripes caught the light, a trophy both elegant and brutal.

"That pelt alone is worth a small fortune," he said. "The mayor will be pleased. It was brought in by that white-haired hunter two days ago, remember? The one who never spoke more than three words."

Ruffus grunted in agreement.

Hook leaned back, his thoughts drifting to more personal affairs. A smile curled on his lips.

"So, what’s the situation with the mayor’s daughter?"

Ruffus arched a brow. "You’ve been courting her now, haven’t you?"

Hook chuckled. "Courting? That’s too noble a word for it. Let’s just say I’ve been... available."

He looked out the window, remembering. "The other day, she asked me to accompany her to her husband’s grave. She cried into my arms, sobbing like a widow in a tragedy. Her perfume was like spring blossoms, and her skin..." He exhaled. "Soft as silk."

"And?" Ruffus prodded.

"I was a gentleman," Hook said, feigning innocence. "Held her. Caressed her hair. Whispered kind words. Then, by some twist of fate—or magic—our lips brushed. She pulled away at first, all shy and sweet, but I let her. I don’t like to rush such delicate things."

Ruffus laughed. "Right, ever the sensitive brute."

Hook smirked. "On our way back, we passed her father’s orchard. The apples were red and heavy on the bough, the oranges practically begging to be plucked. I climbed the tree, picked a few, peeled one for her. Fed her a slice."

His eyes gleamed with pride. "Then I kissed her again. This time, she didn’t pull away. In fact..." He tilted his head. "She kissed me back. Eagerly."

"You really are a bastard," Ruffus said, nudging him with an elbow. "She’s still mourning."

"She’s lonely," Hook replied, shrugging. "And I’m just the cure."

The carriage rolled past the iron gates, the guards stepping aside with a nod. The estate loomed closer, shining like a monument to power, corruption, and the secrets buried behind manicured gardens and marble pillars.

And inside that house, Hook thought, opportunities waited—ripe and ready for the taking.

The mayor greeted them with enthusiasm when he saw that they had brought not only the money but also a tiger pelt and a mouth-watering dish.

"Demitrio!" Mayor Rafael Aderte’s voice boomed through the grand hall, thick with satisfaction. "You always know how to please. This pelt—by the gods, where did you get it? Look at the fur. Not a single tear or nick. Whoever skinned this beast was a master."

His fingers sank greedily into the luxurious hide, stroking it like a lover. There was something almost reverent in the way he admired the pelt—reverent, but laced with possessive hunger.

"I got lucky," Hook replied with a cool grin, though his eyes were already scanning the hall, darting from polished columns to arched doorways. "A hunter passed through our village two days ago. Quiet fellow, but clearly skilled. He sold it cheap—too cheap, really. I guess he didn’t know its worth."

As the mayor continued to run his hands across the silk-smooth fur, Hook caught sight of her. She was standing near the far window, the sunlight framing her dark hair. She wore a simple but elegant midi dress, cinched at the waist with a thin leather belt accentuating her delicate frame. When she turned and met his eyes, Hook’s breath caught. He offered her a slow, practiced smile—part predator, part charmer.

"Well, now," the mayor said, snapping Hook back to the moment, "since you’ve brought a feast and it’s nearly noon, why not join us for lunch?"

Hook bowed slightly. "It would be an honor, Mayor Aderte."

Pleased, the mayor clapped his hands. "Set the table! Prepare everything!" he barked to the servants. "Bring out the good wine—the plum one from my private cellar!"

Soon, the aroma of roasted meats and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the vibrant colors of seasonal vegetables artfully arranged on ornate platters.

Hook took in the display with a hint of envy. He had seen wealth before, but the mayor’s indulgence was something else entirely. The man didn’t live like a provincial official—he lived like a minor king.

Soon the mayor’s family joined them—sons in finely embroidered tunics, and daughters draped in soft pastels. Among them was her again, the daughter Hook had kissed beneath the orchard trees. She didn’t sit beside him, but her eyes found him more than once across the table.

The mayor treated himself as the King in his mansion, mimicking how the royals would have their meals. By the time dessert was served, they had spent a long time at the table.

Until the frantic sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway.

The heavy dining doors swung open with a creak, and the mayor’s assistant stumbled inside. Sweat dripped from his temple, his chest heaving as he fought for breath.

"Mayor!" he panted, voice urgent. "The magistrate—he’s been arrested. Right now, as we speak—Prince Alaric is in the courtroom. He’s conducting the trial himself."

The room went still.

The goblet paused halfway to the mayor’s lips. The conversation stopped. A fork clinked softly as someone set it down.