Reborn as the General's Useless Daughter-Chapter 71: Royal Hunting grounds (Part-11)

The guard’s words dropped like a boulder into still water.

It felt as if time was frozen for a moment.

Everyone stared at him, breath caught, eyes wide, minds blank.

"What... did you just say?" Jasmine asked, voice trembling despite herself.

Absurd.

Impossible.

Ridiculous.

That was a Nether Wolf pack.

How could Zora still be alive, much less slay the Wolf King?

All gazes snapped back to the guard, searching his face for cracks, for hesitation, for any sign that this was a mistake or a cruel joke.

"Princess Consort slew the Nether Wolf King alone," the guard repeated, every word crisp. "The entire pack then was dispersed, afraid to confront her."

Silence.

A suffocating, disbelieving silence.

A few ministers even blinked hard, as if hoping the scene might reset into something more sensible. But the guard stood firm, resolute.

"Did you see it with your own eyes?" Prime Minister Henry demanded sharply.

"Yes," the guard said without wavering. "I saw everything."

Shock rippled through the platform again.

A waste?

A woman mocked by every household in the imperial city?

She... killed a creature equal to the early Sky Realm?

Even after the guard departed, not a single person spoke.

Because no amount of repetition could make this news sound believable.

Only two people exchanged a slow, knowing glance—Emperor Alexander and the Empress.

Everyone else was stunned speechless.

They, however... believed.

Zora’s transformation these past days wasn’t luck nor coincidence. Her poise, her boldness, her unshakable confidence—none belonged to a so-called waste.

The truth was simple and brutal: The general’s household had buried a true genius alive.

And regarding whether she was worthy of Prince Kael?

Looking at her now... who in the entire country could match that brilliance?

General Helius stood frozen, a storm surging behind his eyes.

Others doubted.

He did not.

He remembered that punch—her fist slamming into him with unexpected force. He had known then that her strength was not ordinary... but he had not imagined this.

If she could kill a Nether Wolf King, then Luna was no longer worthy to be mentioned in the same breath.

A heavy, bitter regret clawed at his chest.

Why?

Why had such a gifted child lived as a "waste" for so many years?

Then a thought snapped into place—cold, sharp, undeniable.

Jasmine.

All these years, the only "news" he ever heard of Zora came from Jasmine’s mouth.

Not once had he seen the girl himself. And knowing Jasmine’s pettiness...

Had Zora simply hidden her talent to survive, to avoid Jasmine’s cruelty?

The more he thought of it, the more certain he became.

Which genius would willingly endure humiliation?

"This stupid woman!"

General Helius’s fury burst forth—not at Zora, but at his wife, Jasmine.

If not for her scheming and narrow vision, the general’s manor would not have fallen to such disgrace!

Jasmine felt that murderous gaze boring into her.

Her heart lurched into her throat.

Why... was he looking at her like that?

Was he blaming her?

Fear churned inside her, but she dared not speak in front of the emperor.

Meanwhile, Icarus—whose pride had always towered above others—was livid. His face twisted with disbelief and humiliation.

That "waste," that "low-born embarrassment" he had trampled for years...

Had surpassed him.

The memory of her cold, disdainful smile flashed in his mind.

He wanted to tear that face apart.

*

Two hours of weaving through ridges and shadowed undergrowth finally rewarded Zora with certainty.

The gale wolf’s territory lay just ahead.

Its habits were predictable to anyone who understood predators of speed: open terrain, shifting winds, a vantage point...

There was no mistaking it.

But just as she neared, the air shuddered with sharp, violent sounds.

Someone was already fighting the Gale Wolf.

Her brows lifted—an amused spark flickering in her eyes. "So someone managed to find it before me."

If so, she wasn’t in a rush. Watching a free performance had its own charm.

She stepped forward, silent as moonlight.

And in her view appeared a familiar figure crossing blades with a streak of wind-fury.

Philip, indeed. Who else could it be...

Of all competitors, only two besides herself possessed the cultivation to even survive against a gale wolf—Philip and Luna.

That he arrived here first wasn’t surprising.

What was surprising was how badly he was being pushed back.

The Gale Wolf lived up to its name—its speed blurred like wind tearing through silk, its claws slicing through the air with a shriek. Philip’s footwork, though skilled, lagged half a beat behind the beast’s fluid ferocity.

He slashed out a powerful arc of sword-light, another, then another—yet each strike found only air. His handsome features were set in rigid concentration, jaw tight, eyes razor-focused.

Zora’s gaze shifted slightly.

In this moment, Philip looked nothing like the arrogant imperial son she knew.

This was someone fighting earnestly—quite a rarity.

But appreciation was not affection.

Her dislike of him remained untouched.

White, watching with sharp interest, murmured, "Philip’s strength is solid, but he isn’t the Gale Wolf’s match."

Zora’s lips curved—a soft, cold shape. "He’s grown in a greenhouse. His foundation is fine... but he lacks the edge."

The edge born from killing intent.

From surviving the brink of death.

From clawing one’s life back from a cliff like her.

Most privileged cultivators held excellent resources, peaceful training, and steady progress. What they lacked was the pressure that forged true steel.

Real strength required more than talent.

It demanded scars.

Zora had been raised very differently in her past life.

Though born into a great family, she’d never been sheltered.

The children were thrown into the mountains as soon as they could wield a blade. The ones who returned were stronger. The ones who didn’t... disappeared quietly from the family records.

Her entire growth was a sequence of near-death trials, sharpening her instincts more ruthlessly than any gentle master’s guidance.

Pain, hunger, fear—none had overwhelmed her.

They had merely carved her into someone who could stand here today, watching a battle with clear, assessing eyes.

Black and White exchanged knowing glances.

Their master was right.

Philip had talent, skill, and resources.

But he had never tasted true desperation.

And against a Gale Wolf, that gap was fatal.

*

Ding!

The blade rang out as it flew from Philip’s grasp.

As the Gale Wolf had already hurled him to the ground, his eyes widened in naked panic.

Without his sword... how was he supposed to survive this thing?

"Ah—!"

A shrill cry tore from his throat as the Gale Wolf lunged, jaws clamping onto his arm.

A sickening crack followed, loud enough to echo through the trees.

His bone was shattered.

Zora watched from a distance, expression calm as still water.

Her history with Philip was already tangled with humiliation and resentment; she didn’t kill him now only because she found him unworthy of her blade. Saving him?

Impossible.

But fate gifted Philip a miracle in the shape of a frantic, stumbling girl.

"Your Highness!"

Luna’s scream split the clearing as she burst into view.

Philip’s pallid face flickered with hope. "Lu... Luna! Save me!"

"I will! I’ll definitely save you!" She nodded vigorously, eyes shining.

The situation was dire, but in her heart bloomed something absurdly bright—She, Luna, had the chance to rescue the prince himself!

If she could save him, surely he’d no longer look at her with thinly veiled disdain.

Who knows... he might cancel his engagement with Scarlett and once again look at her lovingly.

She drew her sword and charged at the monster.

The Gale Wolf, sensing fresh prey, released Philip and whirled toward her with lethal speed.

Luna’s steps faltered.

Even Philip had been mauled instantly—what chance did she have?

But it was too late.

The wolf was on her.

Behind them, Philip sagged with relief. His arm was useless, but at least he wasn’t the one the beast was chasing anymore.

On a treetop not far away, Zora lounged comfortably, chin resting on her palm.

"Well," she murmured, tone amused, "this show is turning out better than expected."

Black’s eyes glittered. "If the Gale Wolf kills Luna for us, the master won’t need to dirty her hands."

Luna, after all, had overstayed her existence.

Zora’s lips curved, bright and cool. "She loves acting as the savior. Let’s give her the stage she wants."

Below, Luna’s performance quickly unraveled.

Gale Wolf’s speed shredded what little composure she had.

Her sword swings turned sloppy, her movements desperate.

Each time she dodged by a hair’s breadth, fresh lines of blood blossomed across her skin.

Her sleeves tore. Her face drained of color. Her breath hitched with fear.

Philip swallowed another medicinal pill, pain twisting his features.

He wanted to help her—truly—but his injuries left him incapable of lifting a finger.

"Your Highness!" Luna cried, barely avoiding another lethal pounce.

There was panic in her voice now. Real panic.

She couldn’t kill this thing. She couldn’t even slow it down.

Then, in her frantic retreat, her gaze flicked upward.

There—perched lazily on a branch—sat Zora, watching the battle with the serenity of someone observing a passing street performance.

Recognition ignited fury.

Luna’s teeth clenched, her eyes turning red with humiliation and rage.

She was being torn apart by a beast...

And THAT woman was ENJOYING IT?

Absolutely impossible to tolerate!

"Zora..." she growled.