Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 62: Lost!

Chapter 62: Lost!

Lara moved swiftly, her fatigues blending into the jungle as she followed the broken foliage—a clear sign of a recent chase. The trampled vines and snapped branches told a desperate story: this was the path where the wolves had pursued Alaric and the bandits.

A black backpack rested against her back, softer and more practical than the stiff bamboo ones she previously carried. It allowed her to move freely and stocked more supplies for emergencies.

She tracked the bloodstains on the leaves, the red stark against the deep green of Mount Ourea’s wilderness. Two hours of searching, and she had yet to encounter the soldiers.

Had the bandits killed them? Or worse—had they fallen prey to the mountain’s predators?

She exhaled sharply, pushing down the gnawing uncertainty. If she were one of them, disoriented and desperate, she’d return to their last point of safety—the cave hidden behind the waterfall.

Her instincts didn’t fail her.

As she approached the clearing, she spotted them—eighteen, maybe twenty or more soldiers scattered across the rocky terrain. Some tended to wounds, others rested, and those still mobile cooked over a crude stove. Their expressions were grim, and their spirits were weighed down by loss and fatigue.

One soldier, Blabbermouth, sat on a boulder, tossing pebbles into the stream. His usually boisterous nature was subdued.

"After we eat, we keep searching for the General," he muttered, voice hollow.

So, the man she saved was a general. Indeed, he was not ordinary.

Lara stepped forward, and in an instant, six swords were at her throat.

"You again?!" Blabbermouth gaped at her, eyes wide with disbelief. "How do you keep showing up? Are you stalking us, even in the jungle?"

Lara chuckled. "You wish!"

She didn’t flinch, her expression unreadable. The soldiers studied her, perplexed at her composure even in an imminent danger.

"You should be grateful I’m here," she said coolly. "Otherwise, your leader would have been a wolf dinner by now."

Agilus stiffened. His face paled as guilt settled in. If he hadn’t been so eager to chase the escaping bandits, they wouldn’t have lost Alaric. Worse, when they retraced their steps, they found evidence that Alaric had fought six bandits alone.

Lara brushed past the swords blocking her path, her focus set on a soldier lying prone on a rock, unconscious. His upper body was tightly wrapped in bandages, but the deep crimson seeping through them told her everything she needed to know—his wound had reopened.

Blabbermouth, Agilus, quickly caught up to her. "Hey, what do you think you’re doing?"

"That soldier needs urgent care," she stated matter-of-factly. "If I don’t treat him now, he won’t last another two hours."

Silence fell over the group. Then, they turned around to continue with their meal.

Agilus clenched his jaw. This soldier had taken a blade meant for Alaric. He was a secret guard sworn to protect the prince.

Lara wasted no time. She set down a rectangular wooden box —her medical kit. Then she unraveled the soiled bandages, exposing the ugly wound beneath. The herbs applied to the wound had been hastily placed—before it was covered up.

She pulled out a bamboo tube that contained ethyl alcohol and cleaned the jagged injury with practiced efficiency. Then, she took an improvised suturing needle from her kit, threading it with silk.

It was the same needle she used on Alaric.

Agilus’s eyes widened. "What the hell are you doing?" he barked, drawing his sword, its blade hovering dangerously close to Lara’s side.

She ignored him, focused on her task. Steady hands, precise movements—she began stitching the wound closed.

"What the heck?! Stop it! He’s not a piece of cloth for you to sew together!" Agilus was furious as he nagged her.

The soldiers abandoned their meals, swords drawn, surrounding her.

Still, Lara didn’t flinch.

She worked swiftly, using a surgical technique known as a simple running suture that used one strand of suture material to close a wound in a series of stitches, just as she had done for Alaric.

One by one, the soldiers’ expressions shifted from hostility to astonishment. They watched, transfixed, as the young soldier closed the wound with the confidence of a seasoned physician.

Agilus, at a complete loss for words, stood frozen as Lara applied a yellow paste over the stitches, covered the area with a clean cloth, and rewrapped the bandages.

By the time she finished, sweat had glistened on her forehead, and a heavy silence had settled over the group.

Lara packed her medical supplies. Only then did she turn to Agilus, her tone flat. "Finish your lunch. I don’t have time to argue or wait for you. I need to get back to Alaric—he’s seriously injured and in no condition to defend himself."

Agilus snapped out of his stupor, his face darkening. "Just Alaric? How dare you speak of the General so informally?"

"Your General told me even to call him Ari. What can you do about it?"

Agilus’ eyes widened in disbelief. He allowed a stranger to call him ’Ari?’ How could it be?

Lara shot him a disgusted look. "I don’t have time for your nonsense. Move now, or your ’General’ won’t make it through the night."

That got them moving.

Agilus, however, could not reconcile the fact that Alaric, ’that man’ who was like a block of ice, had allowed another man to call him ’Ari.’

It looked like he underestimated this man, ’Kane.’

"Alaric told me to find you. He has an urgent letter to be delivered to Hainai."

Agilus stopped talking. He understood how important and urgent that letter was.

Three grueling hours later, they reached the hanging bridge. As Lara lowered it, the soldiers gawked—none of them had noticed this hidden path before. They passed by the area yesterday morning.

Crossing over, they emerged from the dense bamboo forest and into a clearing. The sight before them left them speechless.

A house. Chicken and rabbits, enclosed in a fenced area. A vegetable and herbal garden; signs of civilization where they had expected only wilderness.

Agilus turned to Lara, his voice low with suspicion. "Just who are you? You’re not a soldier, are you?"

"If not, then a Hermit?"