CHAPTER 542: TAKEN!

Lara’s breath caught. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

There would be no running this time.

The soldiers closed in, their boots crunching through dry leaves like the snapping of bones. Two dozen of them formed a tightening ring of steel and hostility around her.

The afternoon sun that filtered through the canopy of trees licked their drawn swords in a smear of silver light.

"Drop your weapon or die!" The commander bellowed.

General Tyron said nothing. He didn’t need to. His killing intent pressed against her like a physical force. He stepped forward, his armor whispering menace, and in a blur of motion, he tried to disarm her. His hands searched her, rough and invasive, lingering where they shouldn’t.

Disgust surged through Lara’s veins. She jerked back and slashed with her dagger. Tyron withdrew his hand, and blood gushed out from his wound.

"How dare you!" Tyron snarled, his face twisting in fury. He raised his left hand to strike her, but before his blow could land, deep, primal growls rolled from the mouth of the cave.

The soldiers froze. The next instant, five tigers burst from the shadows—muscle and fury, striped with orange and black.

Screams erupted as claws tore through flesh and armor alike. One man’s arm was ripped clean through; another’s sword clattered from his dying grip.

"Damn it! Archers! Kill those beasts!" the commander roared.

"Thunder, go! I’ll be fine!" Lara shouted.

The largest tiger, Thunder, hesitated, his amber eyes locked on hers. Then, with a low rumble, he obeyed, retreating with his family into the depths of the cave.

The soldier whose brother lay mangled on the ground screamed in blind rage. "You witch!" He lunged, blade flashing.

Lara dropped low—the sword sliced the air where her head had been. She twisted, drove her dagger upward beneath his ribs, and ripped it free. Hot blood splattered her sleeve as his body collapsed.

Two more advanced, shouting. She grabbed a fallen branch and hurled it into one man’s face — not to kill, just to disrupt. As he flinched, she pivoted, slammed her heel into the other’s knee, and sent him sprawling. The wounded one howled, his sword falling from his hand.

Lara caught it midair.

Another came at her, sword raised high. She parried his strike with a ringing hiss of steel. Sparks flared between them. Two more soldiers joined in—trained, disciplined and deadly. But Lara was smaller, quicker, and unpredictable. She danced between their blades like smoke, slashing, ducking, striking where they least expected.

A sword grazed her shoulder, hot pain flaring through her arm. She gritted her teeth and kept moving. The blade’s weight felt awkward in her hand, but instinct and desperation drove her. She kicked one man backward into another, their armor clanging as they tumbled into a thicket.

Another came from behind. She spun, but it was too late.

A hand grabbed her hair, yanking her backward. She slammed her elbow into his face with all her strength. The sound of bone cracking; he dropped with a strangled cry.

Panting, blood slick on her hands, Lara spun, but there were too many. The soldiers regrouped, closing in on her. She was cornered.

"You, bitch! You killed many of my soldiers. I’ll make you pay for this." Tyron bellowed.

He raised his hand again—but the heavens answered first. A blinding bolt of lightning split the sky, striking the peak of Mount Ourea. The crash of thunder shook the ground beneath their feet.

"General, the weather is turning bad, and our scout has seen movements a kilometer from us. We must cross the bridge before those dogs from Calma can catch up." The commander said.

Tyron’s fury simmered, but he nodded. The commander bound Lara’s hands tightly, the rope biting into her skin. With a sword pressed to her back, they shoved her toward the hanging bridge that connected Northem to Zura over the churning River Praya.

The bridge swayed wildly in the wind—old planks slick with rain, ropes creaking under the strain. Below, the river raged like a tempest, foaming white against needle-like rocks. One misstep, and the fall would tear a body to pieces.

"Rumor says Odin’s daughter has extraordinary skill. Let us see how skilled you are to cross this bridge with hands bound." Tyron snorted.

Lara stepped onto the first plank. It groaned under her weight. The wind screamed, whipping her hair across her face. Even Tyron, bold in his arrogance, clasped both hands to the rope for balance as he followed her across.

Lara’s hands clenched. Her heartbeat slowed. The whistle of wind threading through the trees, the roar of the river against the jagged rocks, and even the rumbling thunder from the distance receded into silence.

There was only her and the path to the other side.

She took another step, and each step demanded precision. She knew one misplaced foot, and she’d tumble into the frothy chaos below.

Behind her, General Tyron cursed, gripping the ropes as the bridge lurched. "Move faster! I’ve no patience for cowards!"

Who is the coward? Lara muttered when she noticed the slight tremor in his voice.

Lara said nothing. She kept her gaze locked on the opposite cliff, the mist-shrouded path that led into Zuran territory.

Another bolt of lightning split the sky, illuminating the jagged cliffs and the soldiers crowding the far end. The thunder came an instant later — a deafening crack that made the bridge quiver.

"Steady!" someone shouted.

But the storm was merciless. The wind tore at them, flinging rain sideways like shards of glass. One soldier lost his footing, then a brief scream before it was swallowed by the river’s roar.

Lara remained focused. Her heartbeat was steady. She edged forward, each step measured, her muscles coiled with tension. The planks beneath her feet tilted and shuddered. She glanced over her shoulder. There was now more than a meter between her and Tyron.

Lara’s calm gaze met his, which burned with hatred.

When there was only a distance of two meters to the edge of the Zuran cliff, Lara stopped and turned to face Tyron while freeing her hands from the rope that bound her.

And when the distance was right, Lara grasped the rail and kicked. Her heel caught Tyron square in the chest. He staggered, grabbing a rope to steady himself.

Lightning flashed again, and thunder roared,

Lara lunged forward, seizing one of the side ropes with both hands. Using her momentum, she swung her legs and kicked one of the bridge’s support planks loose. It splintered, the wood cracking like a gunshot.

The bridge lurched again. Tyron lost his balance. For a heartbeat, his face was pale against the storm — eyes wild, hand reaching for her.