Return of the General's Daughter-Chapter 566: The Envoys

"What happened to that guy? Why does he look like that?"

Aramis—sent as an envoy from Estalis—called out to Logan the moment they stepped into the inn’s stone-paved courtyard. He had been in the middle of practicing his swordsmanship, the steady rhythm of steel slicing the air filling the quiet morning.

Netser, however, barely spared Aramis a glance. He answered with only an indifferent nod when Aramis greeted him, before striding toward the mess hall on the ground floor, his footsteps heavy with exhaustion—or something darker.

"He visited his old home," Logan said, lowering his blade. "It hit him hard. I think he just needs time to climb out of that grief." He walked toward the threshold of the inn, but suddenly paused, scanning the courtyard.

"The sun’s already up," he muttered. "Where is everyone? Aren’t the envoys supposed to head to the palace?"

"General Odin, Bener, and Gideon went to Duke Kassius’s estate to deliver their betrothal gifts." Aramis twirled his sword with an easy flourish before sliding it back into its sheath.

"The schedule changed. The envoys want to look around the capital first. We’ll enter the palace late this afternoon. The king is hosting a banquet to welcome us." Aramis uttered, while shaking off the dust from the sheath of his sword.

"Look at you looking like a rogue guard. Where is the grace and elegance of a prince?" Logan teased.

Aramis grinned, unbothered. "What’s so wonderful about being a prince? A carefree life is worth more than any title." He lifted his hand to touch his head. Then he paused midway when he saw a familiar person exiting the inn and walking toward them.

He waved frantically, afraid that the person would not notice him.

Logan began to wave back—until he realized Aramis wasn’t looking at him at all.

A flicker of movement behind him made him turn. His jaw nearly dropped.

"Sister? Why are you here?" he blurted, rubbing his eyes as if trying to dispel an illusion. "And why in the world are you dressed as Kane Mendel again? When did you catch up with us? Did that emperor actually let you leave Hevenfort?"

Lara chuckled—a light, familiar sound that softened the crisp morning air. "So many questions. Which one should I answer first?" She stepped closer, stopping directly in front of him.

Logan’s gaze darted between Lara, disguised flawlessly as Kane Mendel, and Aramis—who looked as if none of this surprised him in the slightest.

Had Aramis known she’d been following them all along?

"You were only half a day ahead of us," Lara explained. "This is our first visit to Westalis, and we want to show sincerity in forging an alliance. So we brought more novelty items to offer. I traveled with Kasmeri, Bernard, and Nympha."

"I’m amazed Alaric let you go without chaining himself to your side," Aramis said with a broad, teasing grin as he sauntered toward her.

"He has an empire—and babies—to look after," Lara said, rolling her eyes fondly. "But he made up for it by sending an army’s worth of guards. And more hidden ones."

"So your father and brothers don’t know you’re here?" Aramis asked.

Lara shook her head. "They’ll find out soon enough." She glanced between the two men. "Come on. Let’s explore a bit before the whole day gets swallowed by protocol."

Moments later, four bicycles rolled out of the inn’s courtyard—an unusual sight in Westalis. Wherever the group rode, curious eyes followed, drawn not just to the riders, but to the strange, gleaming contraptions that carried them.

The four bicycles glided through the cobbled streets, each turn revealing more of Westalis’s bustling capital. The kingdom lay far west of Centuria, its architecture and atmosphere carried a distinctly foreign charm—one reminiscent of the great river cities of ancient Eastern Country. Morning mist curled around tiled roofs. Wooden shop signs painted in bold strokes hung from eaves. Red lanterns swayed in the autumn breeze.

But it was the people who drew Lara’s attention most.

She slowed her bike as they entered a narrow market avenue. Stalls burst with color—piles of persimmons and jujubes, bundles of fragrant herbs, bolts of dyed silk that shimmered like river water. The air carried a medley of sounds: merchants calling out prices, children racing between carts, the clack-clack of bamboo windmills spinning in the hands of toddlers.

A fishmonger squatted by his stall, chopping fresh carp with swift, practiced strokes. Beside him, a woman with a child, in a faded indigo dress haggled with a vendor over the price of tofu.

"They remind me of Carles City," Aramis remarked, watching a group of laborers unload crates from a carriage. "Same energy. Same grit."

Lara nodded. "You can tell a country’s heart by watching its common folk. These people... they work hard."

At a narrow alleyway, a scholar dressed in plain hemp robes sat before a tiny table, hand-brushing calligraphy onto slips of paper for a few copper coins. A small crowd watched, admiring the flow of his strokes. Not far away, an elderly man repaired bamboo baskets, hands moving slowly but with the steady confidence of decades.

Logan stopped his bike, entranced by a craftsman carving intricate wooden charms shaped like mythical beasts.

"This is amazing," he murmured. "I didn’t expect Westalis to have such rich culture among the commoners."

A pair of children ran up to them, their eyes wide as they stared at the bicycles. One brave boy reached out and touched a wheel.

"Is this magic?" he asked breathlessly.

Lara laughed. "No magic. Just gears and clever design." She dismounted and let the children inspect the brake levers and pedals. Their delighted giggles quickly drew more onlookers—vendors, travelers, even a few guards—curious about the unfamiliar machines.

Nearby, a group of women knelt at the edge of a canal, washing vegetables and chatting loudly. One of them called out, "Foreign guests! Are you here for the king’s banquet?"

Logan shook his head. "We are just commoners, enjoying ourselves."

"Then you must try this!" She tossed him a warm steamed bun filled with sweet red bean paste. "Our specialty!"

He caught it awkwardly, studied it, then he took a bite—eyes widening at the flavor.

Aramis elbowed him. "Careful, Logan. You might decide to stay here."

"The food is delicious." Logan said as he gobbled up the desert.

They continued deeper into the district. The sun climbed higher, casting golden light over roof tiles and market flags. A gong rang from a watchtower, marking midmorning. Cooks lit their braziers; soon the scent of sizzling scallion pancakes and peppery broth wafted through the streets.

Lara breathed it in. This... this was the world she loved—the real world, outside palaces and politics. A place where life pulsed freely, shaped by simple hopes and hard work.

She glanced at the others. "Let’s keep going. I want to see how far this city stretches."

And so they rode on—four travelers gliding through the heartbeat of Westalis, becoming for a brief moment just another thread woven into the tapestry of ordinary life.