Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 82: The Heart Of A Doctor

Chapter 82: The Heart Of A Doctor

By the time Lara and Aramis returned to Meander Pass, the once crystal-clear waters of the Agwe River had turned a deep, sinister red, streaked with the lifeblood of fallen Estalis soldiers.

Bodies, some lifeless, others barely clinging to life, drifted downstream, their armor clanking against the rocks as the current carried them away. The air reeked of iron and death, thick with the cries of the wounded and the eerie silence of those who would never rise again.

Lara exhaled slowly, her chest heavy. War always exacted its price, paid in the countless lives lost on both sides. Even the enemy, men who had raised their swords against her people, were still someone’s son, someone’s father, husband, or brother. Somewhere, families would grieve—not for faceless warriors, but for loved ones who would never return home.

She was dazed momentarily. When had she begun thinking like this? When had she started seeing beyond the battlefield, beyond the black and white of victors and vanquished?

Thud!

A soldier had fallen in front of them, his body a battered ruin of flesh. He was dying, but even on the brink of death, his eyes burned with unyielding hatred as they locked onto Lara. His cracked lips curled in a sneer.

"You... fucking Nords," he spat, voice ragged with pain and fury. "You should die the most miserable deaths... You thieves... Go to hell!"

The man struggled to lift his sword, but his arm hung useless at his side, grotesquely twisted from the fall. The effort drained the last of his strength, his breath coming in harsh, shallow gasps.

Lara’s fleeting pity vanished. His eyes, raw with loathing, stripped her of any lingering sentimentality. She was appalled by the look that the soldier gave her.

Aramis moved without hesitation, delivering a brutal kick to the man’s chest. The soldier tumbled down the rocky incline, disappearing into the raging river below.

Lara turned to Aramis, troubled. "Why was there such hatred in his eyes? Why did he call us thieves?"

"Because that is what they were made to believe," Aramis replied coldly. "Their generals fed them lies, told them that the lands on the border rightfully belonged to Estalis and that Northem stole them. They were conditioned to hate us, to fight us without question."

Lara frowned. "Brainwashing," she murmured, the word sitting heavy on her tongue. It reminded her of the guerilla tactics used in modern warfare—how rebels and insurgents were shaped by years of ideological conditioning.

Aramis turned his head slightly, studying her. "Mind conditioning," he repeated.

Lara was speechless. There was something about the way he said it, something in his tone that made her regard him in a new light. Who exactly was this man? He carried himself like a mere guard, but his words... they carried weight, an understanding far beyond that of an ordinary soldier.

She met his gaze, and for a moment, an unspoken question hung between them.

"So, is what he is telling the truth?"

Aramis narrowed his eyes slightly. Any soldier should already know this. Why was she asking such a fundamental question?

Lara shifted under his scrutiny. He had returned to his usual demeanor—cold, unreadable, like the master he served, Alaric.

"Actually, I had an accident when my master found me two years ago. I lost my memory." It wasn’t entirely a lie but wasn’t the full truth either.

Aramis’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

With no more words exchanged, they moved forward, deciding to scale the limestone wall instead of backtracking through the rugged slopes of MarNubes. The climb was treacherous, but a thick bush jutted out near the peak, offering just enough support for Lara to coil her rope around it. She tested the hold before pulling herself up.

Aramis followed, swift and silent as ever. A shadow at her back.

At the top, General Odin and his men were rounding up the Estalis soldiers who had surrendered. A hundred had given themselves up, another hundred had fled by diving into the river, and the rest had scattered in different directions.

"General, should we pursue them?" a lieutenant asked.

Odin surveyed the battlefield, his sharp gaze lingering on the bodies littering the ground. "No need. We’ve captured General Mansi—that’s enough. The ones who fled are insignificant; their numbers are too few to mount another attack."

He exhaled, scanning the blood-soaked earth. "Besides, someone needs to clean up this mess. When we leave, those who escaped will return to care for their dead.

The Northern soldiers had fared far better—only a few sustained deep wounds. Lara moved swiftly between them, stitching up gaping injuries with practiced efficiency.

Bener and Kellan watched with interest.

"You want to learn?" she asked, arching a brow.

They nodded eagerly.

"Practice first. You can use chicken or boar." She smacked Kellan’s hand away when he attempted to suture a soldier’s wound without proper technique.

Instead, she handed them a tube of yarrow paste. "Use this on the ones who don’t need stitching. And sparingly—it’s not easy to make."

One by one, the treated soldiers were lowered down the cliffside, leaving only Lara and Aramis at the top. They were preparing to descend when a faint sound stopped Lara in her tracks—low, pained groans, followed by hushed, frantic whispers.

She turned.

Not far from them, an Estalis soldier knelt beside another, and his hands pressed desperately against a gaping hole in the man’s abdomen. Blood pooled around them, soaking into the dirt.

"Brother, stay with me! Sister-in-law must have given birth by now—your son is waiting for you. Please, hold on!" The young man’s voice trembled, raw with fear.

The wounded soldier coughed weakly, his grip tightening on his brother’s arm. "I... I can’t. You must take care of them... our mother, my wife, my son... Promise me."

"No!" His brother’s voice broke. "You have to fight! I won’t take care of them—you will!"

Lara felt something tighten in her chest. The grief in the young man’s voice, the sheer desperation—it struck something buried deep within her.

For years, she had convinced herself she was hardened and could look upon death without flinching. Her father had ensured she saw enough of it to bury her compassion. She learned to wear a mask of indifference until she convinced her father that she had become ruthless and heartless.

But now, as she watched the brothers, something inside her wavered. She was wrong. In the deepest corner of her heart, hidden compassion was raging, ready to come out.

She took a step forward.

Aramis had already become familiar with that look on her face.

"Kane, don’t even think about it."

Lara ignored him, walking toward the wounded soldiers.

"I am a doctor, Aramis," she said, her voice steady.

"They are enemies," he countered. "You could be charged with treason."

"They have surrendered," Lara shot back. "They are now prisoners of war."

Aramis said nothing, but his expression was unreadable.

She knelt, reaching out to examine the man’s wound—

But in an instant, steel flashed before her eyes.

The soldier standing over his brother turned, his sword trembling in his grip as he pointed it directly at Lara.

"Stay back!" he snarled.