Return of the General's Daughter

For next few days, from the first pale light of dawn until the sky turned dark with stars, General Joash Marcus, his son, and their men trained with relentless resolve. The fields outside the camp rang with the clash of steel, the sharp cries of instruction, and the steady thud of boots against hardened earth. They trained with men from the borderlands of Zura, Westalis and Estalis, each burdened by unjust verdicts and shattered reputations—wrongfully accused and banished. Now, with bloodied hands and unyielding hearts, they trained not only to fight but to reclaim their honor — to prove their innocence.

The thirty convicts who were banished with General Odin and subsequently rescued were also training hard. They were condemned, discarded, and almost forgotten—until fate intervened. Rescued from the brink of ruin, they now fought to forge new purpose in Odin’s ranks.

Nicolas stood out.

A quiet fury burned behind his eyes. Once a farmer from the village of Savadra, his world had ended the day the baron assaulted his wife. The vengeance he took was swift and brutal—he left the baron broken and incapable of harming another woman. For that, Nicolas had been branded a criminal.

I heard your story. You have to survive for your wife. For your children.

Lara’s voice echoed in his memory like a ghost’s whisper, as he wielded the sword under Commander Cobar’s instructions. His muscles ached, his palms blistered, but he pressed on. He had no lands, no allies, and no future—only this chance. If he could become a soldier, a true warrior, then perhaps he could go back. Not just to survive—but to protect his family, to take them out of that hellish place. But first, he needed to build his strength and then his ability.

Cut. Turn. Parry. Strike. Thrust.

The drills were endless. They trained with swords, then spears, then bows and arrows. Nicolas soon discovered his eye for distance, his stillness under pressure. He had the makings of an archer. From that day on, the bow and arrows became his weapon—and his lifeline.

During brief respites, the men gathered by fires or under the shade of oaks, sharing bread and bitter tales. One man’s story could chill the spine more than the last.

Netser Rimim, a young merchant from Westalis, spoke little—but when he did, his words cut deep. His entire family had been slaughtered on royal orders. The Prime Minister, driven by envy of the Rimim family’s wealth, whispered treasonous lies into the king’s ear: that they were hiding a gold mine from the monarchy. The king, hungry for power, believed him.