The General's Daughter: The Mission

The iron gate of the Kromwel Mausoleum, recently installed to protect what was inside, groaned as they slowly opened inward.

A wave of cold air rushed out from the chamber below.

Despite the restoration efforts, it still carried the scent of ancient stone, and something older—something that had remained sealed for decades beneath the island.

The lively chatter among the guests immediately died down.

Even the armed escorts instinctively straightened.

Lara stepped forward first.

A professional smile appeared on her lips, as she began the introduction.

”Right this way,” she said in a calm, pleasant voice.

”The Kromwel Mausoleum was built in the 15th century when King Heimdal, the former king of Northem and father of the first emperor passed away,” she began smoothly, her calm voice echoing against the ancient stone walls. ”Most of the materials used in its foundation were marbles mined from Mount Roca.”

As she spoke, she descended the narrow staircase.

The sound of heels and boots striking old stone reverberated through the passageway.

Behind her, Governor Rogel Sanchez wiped sweat from his temple despite the cold underground air.

Anton Trillo, however, remained silent.

He was watching. Observing.

Dim yellow lights embedded along the walls flickered faintly as the group continued downward. Shadows stretched and twisted across the stone corridor like restless spirits crawling along the walls.

One of the bodyguards muttered a curse under his breath after nearly losing his footing on an uneven stone step.

The sharp sound of his boot scraping against rock echoed through the chamber.

No one laughed.

The deeper they descended, the heavier the atmosphere became.

Lara continued forward as if she had not heard him, leading the group toward the elevated platform at the center of the underground chamber.

”The central platform houses the sarcophagi of Emperor Alaric and Empress Lara,” she explained calmly, her voice steady as it echoed through the chamber.

At the center of the chamber, beneath the dim golden lights, two stone coffins rested side by side atop an elevated black marble platform. One black the other white.

Time had not diminished their grandeur.

Most visitors who stood before them felt awe. Some even felt fear.

But Lara no longer reacted the way she did before.

She had seen the tombs too many times. At first, the sight had unsettled her deeply. Seeing her name engraved upon ancient stone had once stirred her saddest emotions and deepest longing.

But over time, she had learned to bury those feelings beneath composure.

Now, she could stand before the two tombs without allowing even the slightest emotion to show on her face.

At least outwardly.

Because somewhere deep inside her chest, an unexplainable ache still lingered whenever her eyes drifted toward the emperor’s sarcophagus beside hers.

The moment the group were before the platform, several people visibly slowed their steps.

Warm golden lights had been carefully installed along the ancient walls, illuminating the enormous fresco that stretched across the chamber like a living piece of history.

Painted upon the stone were the valiant generals of House Norse.

Tall. Proud. Unyielding.

All six of them.

They stood behind the emperor and empress like guardians of an empire built through blood and conquest.

Every sculpture carried power.

The armored generals looked so lifelike that it almost felt as though they were silently watching everyone who entered their domain.

Anton Trillo’s gaze lingered on the mural.

A strange glint flickered briefly in his eyes—sharp and unreadable before vanishing just as quickly.

Meanwhile, Artemio Fuegerro stood rigidly behind the group.

His jaw tightened with every word Lara spoke.

”The Eastern Campaign led by General Odin Norse remains one of the greatest military victories in Azuverdan history,” Lara continued smoothly. ”Despite being vastly outnumbered, he successfully reclaimed the eastern territories within six months.”

She moved toward another section of the mural.

”This depicts General Asael and Galahad Norse during the Battle of Estalis, where ...”

Artemio’s fingers curled tightly into his palms.

Jealousy burned openly in his eyes.

He had always envied the Norse family.

Their power.

Their legacy.

Their influence over Azuverda’s history.

But seeing them immortalized like this—painted as the pillars of an empire—twisted something ugly inside him.

His expression darkened further as Lara continued detailing the achievements of each Norse general with unmistakable admiration.

To Artemio, every word sounded like praise worshipping the very family he despised.

”I can’t believe I’m standing before the portraits of these great generals.”

One of Governor Sanchez’s high-ranking escorts spoke in awe.

He likely intended to keep his voice low, but the chamber amplified the sound until it echoed across the stone walls.

”This is truly incredible,” the man continued, staring at the mural. ”General Leonard and Liam Norse must be proud to have ancestors like these.”

At once, Leonard Norse’s chest visibly swelled with pride.

Beside him, Liam Norse looked equally pleased.

”Of course we are,” Leonard declared proudly.

The Norse patriarch unconsciously straightened his back, his chest puffing out slightly more than usual beneath everyone’s admiring gazes.

For a brief moment, the underground chamber no longer felt like a tomb.

It felt like the heart of an empire that refused to be forgotten.

”The Kromwel family was known for their unwavering devotion to protecting the Azuverdan Empire,” Lara explained as the group moved deeper into the chamber. ”That loyalty became deeply embedded in their lineage, and it is reflected in the reign of every Kromwel monarch documented within these halls.”

Her voice echoed softly against the ancient stone walls.

”The further we proceed,” she continued, ”the more you will see how the Kromwels shaped the empire’s political, military, and cultural foundations throughout the centuries.”

Then her voice faltered. Just for a second.

So brief that most people failed to notice it.

But Anton Trillo did.

Because carved into the walls beside her were symbols and inscriptions she knew.

Not from books. Not from research. But from memory.

Lara’s pulse quickened as her gaze swept across the weathered markings illuminated by the dim golden lights.

Some of the inscriptions were written in modern Azuverdan text—easily understandable to everyone present.

But others...

Others were etched in the ancient imperial script.

A language long considered lost, unless one had extensively studied the old empire.

”These markings here,” she said, stepping toward the wall, ”were written using ancient Azuverdan script, a language primarily used by imperial scholars and military strategists during the height of the empire.”

Her fingers lightly traced the edge of one inscription.

Then, without hesitation, she began reading it aloud.

Flawlessly.

The ancient words rolled naturally off her tongue, smooth and effortless, as though the forgotten language belonged to her.

Several people in the group exchanged surprised glances.

Even Dr. Grace Varona looked momentarily taken aback. She knew that Lara knew how to read that language, but it was the first time she witnessed her reading it with such ease, like it was her first language.

Lara continued translating calmly, seemingly unaware of the growing attention fixed on her.

But Anton Trillo’s eyes slowly narrowed.

Because the way she spoke the ancient language...

Did not sound rehearsed at all.