Return of the General's Daughter

Marlon and his son Merlin were granted only a fleeting moment of respite—just enough to catch their breath—before a desperate shout rang out from somewhere behind them. More enemies were scaling the walls. They were coming for them.

Marlon’s jaw tightened. His eyes swept the battlefield below, then narrowed with grim suspicion. The Estalian soldiers had moved with uncanny precision—as if they had known exactly where the Northem troops would strike.

"There must be a traitor among us," he muttered, voice low and sharp. "They were waiting."

From behind a jagged boulder, Hector emerged, sweat glistening on his brow, the weariness in his gait betraying hours of relentless combat. He crouched beside Marlon, casting a glance toward Merlin—no longer the uncertain man who had once been dismissed as the ’useless son who got his title because of his father.’ Hector had witnessed the exchange between father and son earlier... and now, he saw Merlin in a new light.

Merlin had become a soldier.

"General," Hector began, his voice rough with exhaustion. "We’ve walked straight into a trap."

The plan had been straightforward—strike fast, clear the western wall’s guards, and slip into Carles under the cover of night. But who would have thought that the Estalis soldiers seemed to have read their thoughts? They had outmaneuvered them, ambushing their position with surgical precision.

If not for the elite training of the Northem soldiers, they would have all been slaughtered before sundown.

"We should retreat, sir," Hector continued, though the words tasted bitter. He did not want to retreat, but at their current state, they were only seeking death if they pushed through with their plans. "Pushing forward would be suicide."

Marlon gave a terse nod. "I agree." He also believed that the best course of action was to retreat.

Without waiting for further orders, Hector rose. "I’ll draw their attention. You and Lieutenant Merlin lead the men back to Roca." His eyes burned with purpose as he disappeared into the chaos.

But before the father and son could make their move, the sound of boots striking stone echoed ominously. A dozen Estalian and Zuran soldiers encircled them. These weren’t ordinary troops—they moved with lethal grace and precision. Even Hector, who had set out moments earlier, was now trapped in the tightening ring of steel.