Reborn as the General's Useless Daughter-Chapter 124: Shihtzu is a Beast King?

Harold did not hide the flicker of amusement in his eyes. A woman in the middle stage of the Sky Realm, and yet she had contracted with a Beast King without realizing it.

That alone was absurd enough to make even him feel entertained.

More interesting still was the fact that she stood before him with clear vigilance and composure, not the slightest hint of panic or greed.

When her gaze met his, she did not flinch from the savage chill and killing intent hidden beneath his calm exterior. This woman was clearly far more than what she appeared to be.

His injury was no trivial matter either.

The wound at his chest had already disrupted the circulation of his mana, and if it continued unchecked, it would worsen with time.

If he could obtain even a drop of blood from the Beast King, the restorative power contained within it would allow his injuries to heal at a terrifying speed. For him, this was an opportunity he had no intention of letting slip.

"Not interested," Zora replied flatly, without even sparing him another glance or hearing out what he had to say as she turned and continued walking forward. There was no hesitation, no false courtesy. Her rejection was clean and absolute.

Harold’s lips curved slightly. "What if I tell you the true identity of the little one on your shoulder?"

Her steps halted.

Slowly, she turned back. Her gaze fell on Harold, sharp and cold eyes gleaming with restrained light. There was no anger or curiousity in her gaze. She calmly said, "State the Conditions."

"A single drop of blood from that little fellow," Harold replied leisurely, his tone casual as though he were discussing something insignificant. "That would be enough to heal my injury."

For an instant, refusal nearly left her lips. Shihtzu was under her protection, and she would never allow anyone to harm it.

But when she sensed that Harold’s intent was not to seize or enslave the white lion, merely to use its blood to recover, her thoughts shifted.

"You tell me its true identity," Zora said slowly, her voice steady as flowing water, "and I treat your injury. That is the exchange. No blood will be given. Do you agree with it?"

Harold’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, a dangerous glint flickering through them. "Woman, are you not afraid that once I recover, I’ll kill you?"

She did not retreat. Instead, her lips curved into a faint, confident smile. "In terms of strength, I may not be your match. But in terms of medicine..." Her gaze sharpened. "You will not find anyone more dangerous than me. People use medicine to heal themselves. I can weaponize it to give you torture akin to hell. So, you should be the one who needs to be worried that I might slip something while treating you."

The words were simple and straight, carrying a hidden edge sharp enough to draw blood.

Harold studied her in silence, his gaze lingering as if weighing her soul. After a long moment, he chuckled softly. "Deal."

Zora approached and sat down beside him without hesitation, her movements calm and unguarded. "Then speak."

A faint gleam crossed Harold’s eyes. No woman had ever dared to sit this close to him, especially not one so weak in cultivation. And yet, she faced him with unwavering confidence, as though his reputation and power meant nothing in her eyes. It was... indeed refreshing.

"The little one you’re carrying is a Beast King," Harold said slowly, watching her reaction, "If I’m right, it should have the mark of a crown on its forehead."

For the first time, genuine shock surfaced in Zora’s eyes.

Her heart trembled.

The Beast King.

The king of all beasts. The supreme ruler among demonic creatures.

Unlike ordinary beasts, the Beast King possessed absolute authority, capable of suppressing and commanding all monsters by instinct alone. More terrifying still was the fact that there could only ever be one. Only after the death of a Beast King would another be born.

She had never once seen a true Beast King in her previous life.

And yet, the harmless-looking white lion that followed her around, acting cute and shameless, was precisely that legendary existence.

Her earlier suspicions suddenly made sense. As this stranger said, the mark of a crown on its forehead, the way it suppressed the beast tide with a single roar, and the instinctive terror displayed by countless monsters. There was no room left for doubt.

Harold watched the shifting expressions on her face, satisfaction glimmering faintly in his eyes. It was clear she had already guessed part of the truth.

*

Meanwhile, far away, Alaric Von Seraph, Raphael, and Sylvandria had successfully taken refuge inside the cave.

Outside, the beast tide thundered past like a living flood, shaking the stone walls and filling the air with deafening roars.

Even after hearing countless tales of beast tides before, facing one firsthand was an entirely different matter. The overwhelming pressure was enough to suffocate even seasoned cultivators.

Sylvandria exhaled deeply, her pale face still drained of color.

The feeling of narrowly escaping death left her weak yet indescribably grateful, her heart still pounding long after the danger had passed.

The thunderous roars of the beast tide continued to echo outside the cave, shaking the stone walls like relentless waves. If they had not hidden themselves in time, the four of them would have long since been reduced to flesh and blood beneath the trampling of countless monsters.

Just thinking about that possibility made their scalps prickle with lingering fear.

Raphael’s expression was grim beyond words. His peach-blossom eyes, usually warm and smiling, were now filled with tightly suppressed rage and self-reproach.

His fingers clenched unconsciously.

"Zora..."

The name escaped his lips with difficulty. If only he had been faster. Just one step. If he had managed to grab her hand back then, none of this would have happened.

Alaric Von Seraph stood nearby, silent as stone, but the turbulence in his eyes betrayed him.

Guilt and resentment churned beneath his icy exterior.

If not for those reckless spirit warriors who had blindly charged forward, forcing chaos upon everyone, how could Zora have been driven onto the right path alone?

They had been entrusted to look after her.

She had joined this mission because of them.

And now, she had likely paid for it with her life.

Sylvandria’s face was as pale as paper.

Her slender fingers covered her lips, as though suppressing a sob. Moisture shimmered in her eyes, blurring her vision.

Only moments ago, they had been fighting side by side.

Now, the distance between life and death felt unbearably cruel. She could not accept that Zora had vanished so suddenly, swallowed by the beast tide without even a chance to struggle.

Raphael felt a suffocating ache in his chest. Anger, grief, and helplessness. They tangled together until he could no longer contain them.

With a sudden movement, he grabbed the collar of one of the spirit warriors who had survived by pushing through the crowd, yanking him up with brutal force.

"You... fuc**r..."

Before the man could even react, Raphael’s fist slammed into his face.

A dull impact echoed through the cave as the man was sent flying several meters, crashing heavily to the ground.

Panic flooded the man’s eyes. He understood immediately why Raphael was attacking him, yet he dared not utter a single word in protest. In his heart, he knew he was at fault.

But at that moment, all he had wanted was to live. Even if time were reversed, he would make the same choice again.

Raphael’s fists continued to fall, each blow merciless, venting the storm of fury and despair that threatened to tear him apart.

The man curled up helplessly, blood streaming from his nose and mouth, treated no better than a sandbag. Still, it was not enough. Nothing could fill the hollow pain left behind.

Alaric Von Seraph’s gaze was sharp and cold as he watched from the side.

After a brief pause, he stepped forward and suddenly delivered a powerful kick, sending the battered man tumbling deeper into the cave until he slammed against a jagged rock.

The act was swift, controlled, yet unmistakably heavy with suppressed emotion. Alaric Von Seraph rarely acted out, but this time, even his restraint had cracked.

Sylvandria stared at him in shock.

She had never seen Alaric Von Seraph behave like this before. And Raphael’s reaction was even more unsettling. As cultivators, they were no strangers to loss. Teammates fell, lives ended. Yet Raphael had never lost control like this.

"Senior Alaric... Raphael..." Sylvandria spoke softly, her voice trembling as she tried to comfort them. "What happened to Zora... none of us wanted this."

But neither of them responded.

Raphael slowly lowered his hand, his breathing uneven. "I hope... Zora is still alive." His voice was low, sincere, clinging to a hope he knew was almost impossible. Yet he refused to let it go.

*

Back to the other side of the mountain, Zora knelt beside Harold.

Her gaze was fixed on the terrifying wound at his chest, shock flickering through her eyes despite her composure.

The injury was deep, hideously torn, and stained black with poison. If it had been even slightly deeper, Harold would already be dead.

Even now, if the poison continued to spread and his vitality continued to drain, death was only a matter of time.

This man was walking on the very edge of life and death.

Despite the gaping wound torn through his chest, the man still leaned against the rock as if he were merely watching a passing spectacle.

That kind of composure, balanced on the brink of death, was enough to make anyone’s heart shudder.

Zora glanced at him again, unable to suppress a thought that surfaced instinctively.

This man’s mental fortitude was frightening.

"Does it hurt?" she asked quietly.

The question landed like a stone dropped into still water.

Harold’s expression froze for a fleeting instant.

He turned his gaze toward her, his dark eyes carrying a trace of disbelief, as though he were trying to confirm that he had heard correctly.

Hurt?

No one had ever asked him something like that before.

In his world, there were only outcomes, victories, or failures. Pain was irrelevant, an expendable detail. No one had ever cared whether he suffered along the way.

And yet this woman, standing here so calmly, had asked.

For a brief moment, something stirred deep within him, faint and unfamiliar.

Seeing that he did not answer, Zora did not linger on the matter.

Without another word, she opened her needle pouch and began working.