Return of the General's Daughter-Chapter 344: A Father’s Fury and a Glimmer of Hope

Odin roared, his fury a primal sound that echoed through the stone corridor like thunder. The iron bars between him and his cousin groaned as he seized them with both hands, shaking them with such force they rattled in their sockets. It was as if the very prison strained to hold him back. If not for those cold, unyielding bars, his hands would have already closed around Marlon’s throat.

Marlon instinctively stepped back, despite being well beyond his cousin’s reach. The fire in Odin’s eyes was not just rage—it was the smoldering promise of vengeance.

Odin’s jaw clenched. His voice emerged low and controlled, every syllable deliberate and dangerous—like the slow unsheathing of a sword."You just confessed to conspiracy, kidnapping... and intent to murder my daughter." His gaze narrowed. "No wonder Mira’s heart is so vicious. She inherited your rot. I will make sure the court hears every word of what you just said, and you’ll pay for it, Marlon."

Marlon’s lips twisted into a sneer. "And who do you think will believe you? A disgraced general? The court won’t throw away a noble, a royal advisor, without evidence carved in stone."

"I don’t need the court to believe me," Odin said, voice steady as a drawn bowstring. "I only need the people to."

Marlon laughed, dry and mirthless. "The same people who turned on you for treason? They worship heroes—but disdain traitors."

For a long moment, the two men stared across the narrow space between them, no more than a sword’s length apart, with iron bars—and years of betrayal—between them. The weight of blood ties twisted by ambition hung in the air like smoke after battle.

Marlon’s eyes gleamed with cold triumph as he stepped back. "Remember this: people are fickle. Easily swayed by a beautiful lie... especially when it’s delivered by someone who knows how to spin it. My daughter has an innate skill of persuasion. Mira will be a great empress, Odin. And she’ll be unstoppable."

He turned to go.

"I’ll see you at the trial." His voice echoed in the narrow corridors. The sound of his boots faded into the darkness.

Odin remained unmoving, his hands slowly dropping from the bars. His shoulders sagged, not with defeat, but with the weight of grim determination. His heartbeat pounded like a war drum—no longer in anger, but in resolve. Marlon had revealed his hand.

He watched him disappear into the shadows, his heart pounding like a war drum—not with fear, but purpose. Marlon had shown his hand. And now, the real war for Northem had begun—not with swords, but with lies and schemes.

From the adjacent cell, a voice broke the silence.

"Don’t worry, Father, Asael," Bener said softly. "Prince Alaric and Lara are still out there. So are Gideon and Peredur. Whatever happens to us... they’ll protect Mother and Arabella."

Asael was about to agree when he realized that there was something wrong with Bener’s words.

"You idiot," Galahad snapped. "If you don’t know to comfort people, then don’t speak at all. What do you mean by what you say? Is that your idea of comfort? You sound like you’ve already accepted defeat."

"That’s not what I meant!" Bener protested, dismayed. frёeωebɳovel.com

"Enough," Odin cut in, voice firm. "Save your strength. We’ll need it. Don’t expect food or water tonight—they want us weak."

Thud!

A parcel, wrapped in worn fabric, slid through the small opening at the base of Odin’s cell. Three more followed, landing in the dust outside the other cells.

A figure cloaked in a hood lingered at the edge of the shadows. "It’s all I could manage, Generals," he said quietly, his voice cautious and low. "It is not much."

Odin’s eyes narrowed, studying the figure whose face was hidden in the shadows."Thank you for your kindness, Prince Alderan," he said at last.

The prince was surprised that General Odin recognized him even when he disguised himself and hid his face in the shadows.

"I am sorry. I really don’t have the power to change a thing. I am ashamed." He said while looking down.

"Your gesture means more than you know. But be careful. You could be implicated just for this."

Alderan hesitated, the weight of fear and responsibility etched in the slump of his shoulders. "I won’t stay long. Reuben is watching everything... But I had to come. You and Galahad—more than once—you saved my life."

With that, he turned and disappeared into the shadows as quickly as he had come.

Odin unwrapped the parcel. Inside: a piece of bread, a jerky and a dried gourd half-filled with water. It was barely a meal. But it was enough. They’d endured worse on blood-soaked battlefields, far from home.

At Dawn...

Odin dozed, seated upright against the damp, moss-streaked stone wall. His dreams were fitful, full of fire and chains.

Peck. Peck. Peck.

He stirred, brows twitching. Another sharp pain bit into his arm. Blinking awake, he caught sight of movement.

A pigeon.

He looked down. The bird was pecking at him, its sharp beak nudging insistently. Around its leg, a tiny scroll was tied with thread. Odin quickly untied it and set the pigeon free. It soared silently to the ceiling, circling once before vanishing through a narrow crack.

...

The Day Before — Panoptes Tower, Calma

Prince Alaric stood atop the newly completed Panoptes Tower, surveying the city below and the skeleton of what would soon be the imperial palace. The twin towers of Argus and Panoptes rose like sentinels on either side of the great iron gate. Of the two, Panoptes had become more than a watchtower—it was his hub of intelligence. His trained falcons and pigeons dropped information coming from different places, where he, Lara and their allies had established trade routes among the four kingdoms.

A pigeon cooed from a carved nook above. Alaric reached for the wooden message box and retrieved a rolled paper—lightweight and water-resistant. He had trained the birds not just to carry messages but to release them without handlers, pecking at threads to drop them inside secured compartments.

He saw the symbol stamped in red wax. From the capital.

His expression darkened.

He always prioritized information coming from that place. He picked up the neatly rolled paper. Lara’s company, Gabriella, had revolutionized parchment, turning it into thinner sheets of paper that could be easily rolled and tied onto the pigeon’s legs.

The tower was tightly guarded at the lower part, so Alaric was confident that the messages at the top of the tower were safe and protected. There was someone who checked messages once every hour. But since Alaric was there, nobody checked.

Alaric unrolled the paper and read the coded message. He frowned.

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