Return of the General's Daughter-Chapter 366: Some Things Were Meant To Be

"No!" Logan protested, his voice sharp with urgency. "The rebels only recruit from here—I don’t know where their bases are!"

Agilus paused, his suspicions momentarily silenced. A slow and weary sigh escaped him. If this wasn’t a rebel hideout, at least they had a place to breathe, if only for a night.

They stepped into a clearing bathed in the fading glow of afternoon. At its center stood a humble thatched hut, no larger than twenty square meters, its walls made of woven bamboo and palm fronds weathered by years of sun and rain. A makeshift fence of crooked wooden stakes surrounded the property, their bases tangled with curling spinach vines whose broad green leaves shimmered in the soft light.

Behind the house, a small shed nestled beside a weathered pigpen. Clucking and soft quacks drifted through the air—chickens and ducks scratched in the dirt, unbothered by the sudden influx of strangers. A few papaya trees, heavy with ripening fruit, stretched their arms over patches of wild moringa. A simple open well stood off to one side, its stone rim moss-covered, and beside it was a bamboo pole with a pail attached to its end. It was used to draw water from the well. ƒrēenovelkiss.com

Lara now understood how Logan developed those well-defined arm muscles. It must be from drawing water from the well.

Lara was taken aback by the thriving backyard. Wild vegetables grew in carefully tended rows, every inch of soil made useful. This wasn’t the home of rebels—it was the home of survivors. Industrious, humble people doing their best.

The bamboo door creaked open. A girl of about fifteen stepped out, her face full of youthful curiosity. Behind her came a woman, Logan’s mother, her long ebony hair streaked with a few silver strands. Once, she may have been a striking beauty, but life had carved deep lines into her forehead. She squinted into the light, her gaze resting on the ragged crowd gathered behind her son.

She saw everything in a heartbeat: four weary women, one cradling an infant in a swaddle, twelve children with dirt-smudged faces, and four men, limping and bruised. At the rear stood four tall figures who radiated silent danger. To the side, two elderly men with white hair stood quietly, while beside them, a copper-haired woman shimmered like fire in the twilight.

Logan called out, rushing forward. "Mother! Sis!"

The woman’s brow furrowed. So many people. Why had he brought them? Weren’t they banished for refusing to support the rebels?

Logan didn’t wait for her to speak. "They’re from a merchant caravan. Attacked by bandits near Hainai. They fled and ended up here."

His mother’s concern deepened, but she nodded. Kindness won out over caution. She opened the gate.

"I’m sorry," Logan said, ushering the group in. "Our house is small—it won’t fit everyone."

"Let the women and children inside first," Lara said firmly.

Logan’s mother and sister guided them into the house. Lara lingered at the back, her eyes scanning the tree line, always watchful.

Inside, the scent of dry earth filled the air. The floor was packed mud, cool beneath bare feet. There were two rooms separated by walls of flattened bamboo. The larger room—Logan’s mother and sister’s quarters—had an elevated bamboo floor, enough space for the women and children to lie down side by side. No beds, just clean woven mats.

The second room was smaller. It was Logan’s. Like the first, there was no bed. The only fixture was the open shelf, made from bamboo, that lined the wall, similar to the one in the other room.

In the backyard, Logan cleared a space under a big tree. A temporary camp took shape. It wasn’t home, but it was shelter for the cold night.

Inside, Lara helped Atalia sling a hammock from a length of malong—a seamless tube fabric— knotting it with ropes and attaching it between bamboo beams. Atalia sighed with relief as she gently rocked her baby to sleep.

Later, Logan caught two chickens. His mother boiled them into a thin soup, mixing in rice to stretch the meal. It was simple fare, but to the hungry, it was a feast.

After dinner, Agilus approached Logan’s mother.

"Ma’am," he said with quiet respect.

She blinked in surprise. No one had addressed her like that in years.

"This is a small token of thanks," he added, placing a silver ingot in her hands.

Her eyes widened in alarm. "No, this is too much—"

But Agilus had already turned away.

That night, Logan’s mother and his sister gave up their room. The women and children slept shoulder to shoulder on the bamboo floor. Despite the tight quarters, the children slept soundly. Even the newborn only stirred to nurse before drifting back to sleep in her hammock.

Outside, under a canopy of stars, Alaric, Lara, Jethru, and Orion planned their next move. Their identities as merchants were holding, and the former captives—now loyal to Alaric—would pose as the women’s husbands and fathers to the kids. When they reached the town center, Alaric’s property there would give them a place to regroup.

Very early in the morning, at the first crow of the roosters, the group thanked Logan’s family and left the house. Logan insisted on escorting them, but Alaric refused.

"No." Alaric’s tone was cold. "You’ve done enough. If you come with us, you’ll only be in danger." He did not want any further entanglement between Logan and Lara.

Logan lowered his head. His eyes found Lara’s one last time. "Thank you... Miss Lara. For saving my life. I hope we meet again."

"If you need a job, go to Calma. I need capable people." Lara said casually. Alaric glanced at her, but she pretended not to notice.

Logan’s face lit up. He watched her until she disappeared into the trees. After settling some things, he would find her at Calma.

With Aramis at the lead, they left the outskirts of the village.

They had not gone far when Jethru and Orion slowed, sniffing the wind. Lara’s expression turned grim.

She turned east, her voice tight. "Do you smell that?"

A thin tendril of smoke curled on the horizon. As the first pale light of dawn painted the sky, a flicker of red flame leapt upward.

Lara’s voice cracked. "Logan’s house... it’s burning!"

Alaric stiffened. "Are you sure?"

"Look," she said, pointing. The smoke was unmistakable now—dark, rising fast.

Gasps rippled through the group. Flames danced in the distance.

Alaric’s command was immediate. "Aramis, Redon—go back and check."

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