Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 92: The Trap 3

Chapter 92: The Trap 3

At the mayor’s grand estate, nestled a kilometer away from the town center, the dim glow of lanterns flickered against the white walls. The room, lavishly adorned with silk drapes and intricate gold-trimmed furniture, reeked of power and indulgence.

Behind a heavy mahogany table, a middle-aged man with a protruding potbelly lounged in his high-backed chair. His silk robe was embroidered with elaborate patterns that marked his wealth. His face, flushed with anger, contorted as he suddenly swept a delicate ceramic cup from the table, sending it crashing onto the marble floor.

"What! Only five hundred soldiers are inside that building?" His voice thundered through the room, shaking the very air. "Wasn’t there supposed to be ten thousand?"

The adviser standing before him—a frail yet shrewd old man with a long silver beard—remained composed, his eyes sharp. He clasped his hands behind his back, his fingers curling slightly as he carefully chose his words.

"Mayor," the old man began, his tone steady, "according to our spy, General Alaric intercepted the letter before it could reach the rebels. I suspect they uncovered our plans and adjusted their strategy accordingly."

"Continue."

The adviser inclined his head slightly, his voice calm but firm. "The enemy has divided into three groups. The first, led by General Odin, is currently trapped inside the government building. The second, nearly ten thousand strong, marched under the command of Marlon Norse, and the last will be all the others with Odin’s deputy general leading it.

The mayor’s fingers drummed against the table, his sharp eyes narrowing.

"Marlon’s army is expected to arrive by tomorrow," the old man continued, "which means tonight presents the best opportunity to strike. We should use the same strategy as before."

A slow smirk tugged at the mayor’s lips. "And the rest of the infantry?"

The adviser stroked his beard, his mind a whirlwind of calculations. "If their current pace remains unchanged, they will not arrive until two days from now."

The mayor leaned back in his chair, tapping his temple as he mulled the possibilities.

"And our reinforcements from Zura?"

"They are expected the day after tomorrow," the adviser replied smoothly. "There are already Zuran soldiers lurking in Mount Ourea, and rebel forces are stationed at Mount Roca."

The mayor’s face darkened. His nostrils flared as he leaned forward, his piercing gaze locking onto his adviser. "Are you certain?" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "My spy told me that the soldiers meant to ambush in MarNubes were... subdued. King Odin’s forces crushed them. The same fate befell the rebels."

His voice dripped with contempt. "What kind of soldiers get defeated so easily?"

The old adviser stiffened. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he dared not respond.

Incompetent ones, of course.

The old adviser kept his voice even, though his tone had a trace of unease. "It is only because they faced the best of General Odin’s army. Those select few are elite warriors—each one trained to take down five men single-handedly. And their Eagle Team... they are the most formidable unit I have ever encountered."

The mayor’s lips twisted in irritation, but before he could respond, a deep, arrogant voice cut through the room like a blade.

The heavy double doors creaked open without ceremony, and a tall, imposing man strode inside as if he owned the place. His armor gleamed under the dim candlelight, polished and pristine despite the miles of travel. With a smirk playing on his lips, he dropped unceremoniously into a carved mahogany chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Asael’s wounds are far too severe—he won’t last another two or three days."

The mayor’s sour expression immediately shifted into something more accommodating, his eyes lighting up with a mix of admiration and caution. He rose from his seat slightly, offering a respectful nod.

"General Turik! What an honor. I never imagined you would personally visit. It has been far too long."

Turik’s smirk deepened. He had aligned himself with Estalis for now, but in the back of his mind, he knew that, given time, they would eventually be enemies. Such was the nature of war and ambition.

Leaning forward, the mayor’s voice took on a sinister edge. "Did I hear correctly? Odin’s firstborn is wounded?" A glint of malicious pleasure danced in his dark eyes. "I can already picture Odin’s face when he sees his son’s lifeless body."

Turik nodded. "You heard right."

The mayor exhaled sharply, his intrigue growing. "How did you manage to wound him? I must admit, I am quite curious."

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Turik’s fingers tapped against the armrest of the chair, his expression unreadable. He considered his next words carefully.

Finally, he chuckled—a low, knowing sound.

"That, Mayor, is a secret."

He had no intention of revealing the underhanded methods he had used. Some tactics were best left unspoken.

The mayor leaned forward, his fingers drumming eagerly against the polished surface of his desk. His eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Then shouldn’t we prepare to strike?" His voice was hushed, conspiratorial. "One of the doctors they called to tend to the injured is one of my men. He reported that many of Odin’s soldiers were suffering from severe stomach pains and won’t be in any condition to fight."

A slow, sinister smile curled his lips. "This will be an easy victory for us."

General Turik tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes narrowing. "Do not make the mistake of underestimating General Odin," he warned, his voice edged with steel. "That man’s mind is sharper than any blade. Your soldiers must exercise caution. Odin will not let his forces fall so easily."

The mayor scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "You worry too much, General. If they are weakened and sick, they cannot fight."

Turik merely smirked, leaning back with a look of amusement. "Since you are so confident in your victory, then I shall sit back and watch." His voice carried an air of indifference, but his sharp gaze missed nothing.

He rose from his chair in a slow, deliberate motion, adjusting the folds of his heavy cloak. "My men and I will join the Estalis army when the second wave of reinforcements arrives tomorrow."

His tone was casual, but there was something unsettling in the way he spoke, as if he were already thinking several moves ahead—perhaps even beyond the mayor’s ambitions.

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