Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 81: Who Is The Enemy?

Chapter 81: Who Is The Enemy?

Lara lingered, her fists clenched at her sides. A storm of curses tumbled from her lips, her voice raw with disbelief.

"How could they leave him here? He’ll die. He’s just one person to carry! A child, not even a man yet."

Beside her, Aramis studied her reaction, his expression complex. Does she care... for him? Their enemy?

Ignoring Aramis’ gaze, Lara stepped from behind the trees and knelt beside the boy. She had heard his friend call his name —Logan.

That name. It reminded her of her favorite character from a comic. Logan. Wolverine. A mutant with an incredible healing power, one of the most ferocious heroes in the universe.

Logan lay motionless, his breath shallow. He was in so much pain. Yet, his eyes focused on the two figures before him. Northem soldiers. The very ones who had shattered their plans. He was resigned to his fate. He knew he would not live another day.

Lara’s fingers moved over his legs, pressing gently against the bruised flesh. Logan recoiled instantly, pain spreading through him like fire. A sharp gasp escaped him, his skin turning a sickly pale as sweat beaded along his forehead.

"Good. You have no external injuries aside from the bruises." Lara uttered, barely paying attention to his reaction

Her gaze swept him before it landed back to his leg. Bent at a grotesque angle. Dislocated.

"Why did they leave you?" she asked, her voice quieter now. She knew the answer, but she wanted him to say it—to hear it for himself. To question his loyalty to those who had abandoned him.

Logan exhaled deeply, his tone devoid of emotion. "I would only slow them down. A burden."

Lara scoffed, rolling up her sleeves. "I’m going to relocate your knee bone. It will hurt like hell."

She spoke without sympathy. Not because she didn’t care but because she knew the pain well—she had lived it herself. Her knee had once been torn from its place during grueling training, and the memory of the agony still lingered. There had been no anesthesia. Just pain so blinding she had blacked out before her trainer could tell her it was over.

Logan barely had time to process her words before her hands moved.

A sharp snap echoed through the air.

Aramis flinched.

A scream tore from Logan’s throat before his body went limp.

Lara sighed. She searched for a suitable branch, then rummaged through the boy’s drawstring bag. A worn-out but relatively clean shirt.

Good enough. She tore it into strips, using some as padding before securing his leg with a makeshift splint.

Then she found another sturdy branch with a crosspiece at the top. She cut it down, carving it into a crude crutch. It would have to do.

Behind her, Aramis watched in thinly veiled disbelief. "Why are you helping him? He is the enemy." Aramis asked with a visibly displeased expression. He could not understand Kane’s thought process.

Lara didn’t hesitate. "He’s just a child. And doctors don’t distinguish between allies and enemies."

As soon as the words left her lips, she froze. Doctor? When did she consider herself a doctor?

Perhaps she had tended too many injured soldiers in the past few days and subconsciously felt she was a military doctor.

She had no formal title. No degree. Only one year of medical school, followed by endless hours of self-study—watching videos, reading manuals, and most importantly, learning through necessity.

Just like when they were on a mission to save the captured spy of her father from the island prison of Fengsel. They succeeded, only for that spy to fall from a jagged cliff, resulting in a femur fracture.

The injury was so severe it needed urgent medical attention, and she was the most qualified of the people her father sent. She didn’t have the equipment but could do the basic treatment. She realigned the broken thigh bone so it was no longer jutting out and stabilized it.

When they arrived at a medical facility that her father owned, she was forced to perform the surgery with the surgeon just watching and giving out directions.

She shook the memory away.

Lara tied another strip of cloth around the top of the crutch for padding, then turned to Aramis. "Carry him. We’ll shelter him in that cave."

Aramis hesitated. His jaw tightened, but under Lara’s sharp glare, he obeyed. He lifted the unconscious boy effortlessly and carried him inside the small cave, laying him gently on the damp earth.

Logan stirred as his body touched the ground, his eyelids fluttering open.

Lara placed a stone high enough to elevate his injured leg. She then sent Aramis to fill two bamboo tubes with water from the stream.

"Thank you, Ma’am, for saving me. If I have a chance, I will surely repay it in the future." Logan mumbled.

"What did you just call me?" Lara arched an eyebrow.

"Ma’am. Aren’t you a woman? When my mother dressed like a man to protect herself, she was similar to how you look now."

Lara smiled and gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Smart boy. I hope you’ll survive and make the right choices." She pondered momentarily and said softly, "Lara Norse, that’s my name."

The boy studied her face as if committing it to memory.

When Aramis returned, Lara left two bamboo tubes filled with water beside Logan and a bundle wrapped in leaves and clusters of wild fruit. Finally, she handed him a small sachet.

"This will repel snakes, insects... and spiders. Keep it near you. We’ll seal the entrance with a rock to keep out larger predators. Keep your leg elevated for at least two or three days. After that, follow the river. It’s your best chance."

By the time Aramis and Lara disappeared into the forest, Logan’s eyes were still fixed on the direction they had gone.

After a long while, his fingers brushed against the crutch at his side. He pulled it close to his chest, gripping it tightly.

Then his gaze drifted to the wrapped bundle.

Carefully, he unwrapped the leaves.

His breath caught.

A fist-sized portion of grilled meat. Three pieces of hardened bread. Six broiled sweet potatoes.

His throat tightened. They were enemies. They should have left him to die. Instead, they had given him a chance at survival—something his comrades had refused him.

Tears slipped silently down his face.

He took a bite of the meat.

It was the most delicious thing he had eaten for a long time.

He whispered the name in his heart.

Lara Norse.