The General's Daughter: The Mission

Anton studied the modest structure of Isla Pavilion with quiet fascination. Towering spires, pointed arches, and vast stained-glass panels gleamed beneath the mid-day sun, their colors reflecting across polished stone pathways surrounding the restaurant.

It was ike fragments of a dream.

The entire restaurant carried the grandeur of old-world nobility, reminiscent of the fifteenth-century cathedrals and aristocratic halls he had once seen during his travels through Eurasia.

Yet beneath the elegance lingered something oddly familiar.

”Strange...” Governor Sanchez muttered under his breath, though his voice carried enough edge for those nearby to hear.

”I thought the Zuvels were promoting the culture and architecture of ancient Azuverda. But this...” His lips curled faintly. ”Isn’t this merely gothic architecture dressed in modern colors?”

The mockery hidden beneath his tone did not escape Lara and Amelia.

Amelia turned gracefully toward him, her expression calm, her voice smooth as flowing silk.

”Governor,” she began gently, ”during Calma’s golden age, merchants from distant kingdoms crossed the seas to trade within its ports. Along with spices, silks, and gold, they also brought their customs, artistry, and architectural philosophies.”

She lifted her gaze toward the towering arches overhead.

”What you see today is not imitation, but evolution. Calman architecture became a fusion of southern warmth, eastern intricacy, and northern grandeur.”

For a brief moment, even Governor Sanchez fell silent.

Beside her, Lara secretly admired Amelia once more.She truly came prepared. Every word was measured, elegant, and informed.

Before the tension could deepen further, Philip Hardy clapped his hands lightly.

”Well then,” he said with an easy smile, ”enough discussion about walls and pillars. Today is for celebration.” His eyes gleamed. ”Come. Let us enjoy the imperial feast.”

The attendants pushed open the doors to the private chamber reserved exclusively for honored guests.

The King’s Cabin.

The atmosphere changed instantly.

Gone was the aristocratic magnificence of the pavilion exterior. In its place was the warm embrace of a mountain lodge hidden deep within an ancient forest.

Massive timber beams stretched across the ceiling, while rough-hewn pine logs formed the walls, their natural grain glowing beneath soft amber light. The scent of cedar and aged wood lingered faintly in the air, rich and comforting.

At the far corner stood a stone chimney, where an electric fireplace crackled with convincing realism, casting flickering gold across polished wooden tables and exposed rafters above.

Antler chandeliers hung overhead like the crowns of woodland kings, while vintage lanterns and wrought-iron fixtures added rugged charm without descending into excess.

It was rustic elegance at its finest — luxurious, yet intimate. Refined, yet untamed.

”According to legend, Lara Norse spent her childhood deep within the mountains, living in a cabin much like this,” Amelia continued, her voice carrying the soft cadence of a storyteller beside a winter fire.

”At first, it was nothing more than a humble bamboo shack hidden among the trees. The roof was made from interwoven leaves that leaked whenever the heavy rains came, and the walls could barely keep out the mountain cold.” A faint smile touched her lips. ”Later, Emperor Alaric rebuilt it with his own hands and resources, turning it into a secluded lodge far away from the eyes of the capital.”

Her gaze wandered briefly across the timber walls surrounding them.

”They say it became their sanctuary... a place where titles, politics, and responsibilities could not follow. Whenever the pressure of the empire became too suffocating, the two of them would disappear there for days at a time.” Amelia’s eyes softened knowingly. ”Sometimes even three whole days.”

A warm smile unconsciously bloomed across Lara’s face.

It was soft. Genuine. Almost nostalgic.

And it did not escape Ares’ notice.

His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than they should have.

What had caused that expression?

Was it Amelia’s story?

Or was it the image of Emperor Alaric abandoning an empire just to hide away in the mountains with the woman he loved?

Ares found himself strangely unsettled by the thought.

Could it be... that this was the kind of romance Lara truly liked?

Not grand ceremonies or political marriages—

—but a man willing to forsake the world, even briefly, just to be alone with her.

...

Waiting inside were two men.

One was elderly yet dignified, seated calmly with the bearing of someone long accustomed to authority. The other wore a military uniform adorned with decorations that reflected decades of service and blood-earned honor.

”Grandpa Randell. General Norse.” Philip greeted them warmly as he entered. ”You’re both quite early.”

Randell merely nodded toward the newcomers.

Leonard Norse, however, acknowledged the guests with restrained civility. Discipline was carved into the man’s very bones, but the coldness in his eyes was impossible to miss.

Lara unconsciously stared at him longer than necessary.

Dad.

The word echoed silently within her heart.

Since she knew the truth, she dared to call Leonard Norse that in secret.

The atmosphere among the older generation was painfully stiff.

Lara quickly realized the reason.

Leonard Norse still blamed them for the disappearance of his daughter.

Compared to Artemio Fuegerro, the difference was like night and day. Artemio practically worshipped the people responsible for Chloe and Hubert’s deaths, drowning himself in influence and convenience as though betrayal could be erased by wealth and power.

But Leonard Norse was different.

Some wounds did not rot quietly. Some hardened into steel.

”General Norse,” Anton greeted respectfully, inclining his head slightly. ”Forgive my earlier rudeness for failing to greet you properly at the port.”

”It’s fine,” Leonard replied flatly. ”There’s no need for ceremony.”

Governor Sanchez suddenly chuckled.

”You know, Anton... if we hadn’t left the military back then, we’d probably be generals ourselves by now.”

There was meaning hidden beneath the casual remark.

Anton merely smiled.

”Our paths were different.”

His gaze drifted briefly toward the lavish room around them.

”I already value what I have now. Even if I held military power, what use is rank without wealth, influence, and fame?”

Leonard Norse’s brows furrowed almost imperceptibly.

Wealth, influence, fame?

The young man spoke as though history had forgotten.

If Anton had remained in the military, he would never have risen to become a general.

He would have been dragged before a military tribunal... and expelled in disgrace for leading a mutiny.