Return of the General's Daughter-Chapter 346: The Verdict

Soon, the accused were marched onto a raised platform before the great dais, the weight of hundreds of eyes pressing down on them. Soldiers flanked them, weapons in hand, but it was not steel that kept them subdued—it was dignity. They were made to face the crowd, like criminals dragged into the light.

Lara’s heart twisted at the sight.

Her father and brothers stood before her, visibly changed—worn thin by starvation and silence, yet still carrying the quiet defiance of warriors. General Odin, once a pillar of iron and command, looked haggard and sunken. Asael and Galahad bore dark hollows beneath their eyes, the toll of sleepless nights etched deep into their faces. Even Bener, who once kept his face clean and sharp as a blade, now wore the shadow of an unkempt beard. But it was the youngest—Percival—who broke her heart. His eyes were vacant, hollow pits, as if something inside him had died long before this trial began.

There were no bruises, no open wounds... but their gaunt faces, stiff movements, and silent endurance spoke of suffering—not of the body, but of the soul. Hunger. Isolation. Endless, grinding mental torment.

Yet despite it all, they stood tall. Their backs were straight, heads held high, the posture of men who had known battle and bled for their kingdom. They were not broken. Not yet.

Behind them, Prince Reuben sat in arrogant silence, his eyes narrowed. Frustration radiated off him in waves. He had tried to break them—but failed. Their loyalty, their pride, their silence—it gnawed at his fragile sense of power.

General Odin’s gaze shifted. Something—someone—was watching him with intensity. He scanned the sea of faces in the hall and beyond, until his eyes locked on a hooded figure in a worn tunic near the back, flanked by two tall men in commoners’ garb. The stranger stood beside merchants and foot soldiers who had come to witness the verdict. A single strand of familiar hair peeked from beneath an acorn-colored cap.

A flicker of light stirred in Odin’s weary eyes.

They came.

She came.

But doubt tugged at the edges of hope. Could it really be her? Calma was still ten days away, and even riding day and night, she shouldn’t have arrived in time. But those eyes—like his eyes, like Asael’s eyes—he would know them anywhere, no matter the disguise.

As if drawn by the same invisible thread, Asael, too, spotted the hooded figure. When their gazes met, a ripple of calm washed over him. His shoulders eased. A hint of a smile touched his lips. They were not alone.

There was still hope.

The atmosphere shifted as Prime Minister Grio ascended the platform, the silver crest on his robe gleaming under the light of the morning sun. With deliberate ceremony, he unrolled the parchment in his hands and raised his voice.

"Despite the presence of material evidence and credible testimony, General Odin and his sons—Generals Asael, Galahad, Bener, and Lieutenant Percival—continue to deny the charges brought against them. The court finds them guilty of gross negligence and abuse of power, which resulted in the death of nearly five hundred soldiers at Meander Pass."

"However," he continued, voice laced with false solemnity, "in recognition of their years of meritorious service, His Highness the Crown Prince has chosen mercy. Instead of execution, the sentence is banishment. At dawn tomorrow, the accused shall be stripped of title and rank and exiled to the Isle of Fengsel."

A collective gasp surged through the hall. Whispers exploded into murmurs, disbelief rippling like wildfire.

"He can’t be serious..."

"General Odin is a hero!"

"Didn’t they protect us during the border siege?"

"General Odin and his sons are loyal to Northem. Didn’t they risked their lives to protect us?"

Many in the crowd were commoners—people who remembered the Odin family as protectors, not criminals. The propaganda had not fully poisoned their faith.

Prime Minister Grio’s face turned ugly, and his lips twisted at the sound of dissent when he heard the murmurs from the crowd. But it was only momentary. Soon, those whispers were drowned by a piercing wail that rose from the crowd.

"Thank you! Finally! My son who died at Meander Pass can rest in peace!" a woman sobbed, her grief raw and consuming. "The ones responsible are finally punished!"

General Odin’s jaw clenched. He took a step forward and spoke—his voice deep, steady, and thunderous.

"Madam," he said, locking eyes with the grieving mother, "I swear before the heavens and before your son’s memory—I can stand at his grave with a clear conscience. I did not cause his death. Neither did my sons."

The woman faltered, her cries caught in her throat as she gazed at the man once revered as Northem’s shield. Her certainty wavered. freewebnøvel_com

"Enough, Odin!" Prime Minister Grio, father to the crown princess, snarled. "The verdict is already passed. Spare us your lies."

But Odin did not yield. He turned slowly, facing Prince Reuben—sitting smugly on the throne, flanked by ministers, generals, and the silent Lady Mira, cloaked in white. The entire dais held its breath as Odin’s voice rang out once more:

"Your Highness and all of you ministers and generals, I hope you will not regret this day." His loud voice echoed through the halls and drifted beyond the open gates to the crowd outside. "When wars beseeched you, left and right, when the blood of your soldiers paints the battlefields and the rivers crimson, I hope you will remember this day. Today, with your betrayal, cowardice, and greed, you killed decades of loyalty, of service, of love for Northem."

His words struck like arrows. Silence fell, heavy and suffocating. Even outside the gates, the crowd grew still.

Reuben’s heart skipped. Odin’s gaze bore into him, not with hatred—but with the weight of truth. It unsettled him more than any blade.

Grio recovered first.

"That’s enough, Odin! How dare you talk to the crown prince that way?"

Grio’s shout pulled Reuben back to his senses.

He gestured sharply to Espiyor—the towering knight at the corner—who advanced with spear in hand, ready to strike Odin down for his defiance.

But in an instant, the air changed.

Two figures moved from the crowd. So fast—too fast—that the surrounding soldiers didn’t even register the motion.

Before Espiyor could raise his weapon, a sharp thud echoed through the chamber. The spear slipped from his hand. His knees gave out, and he crashed to the floor—face first.

"Espiyor!" Lord Malik shouted. "There is an Assassin! Find Him!"

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