CHAPTER 545: CAPTURED 2

At Mount Etna, Alaric, Jethru, and the Norse siblings stood with the others at the cliff’s edge, staring at the ruins of what had once been a bridge. Only shredded ropes swayed in the updraft, frayed, and ghostly, dangling over the abyss where wooden planks had long since vanished into the raging fury below.

Jethru crouched, his fingers tracing the severed ends of the rope. His eyes narrowed, the gleam of calculation reflecting in their depths.

"This was no accident," he murmured. "The cut was clean—made by a dagger honed to perfection. The distance across..." He measured with his gaze, thoughtful. "It was calculated precisely, that whoever cut the bridge could jump to safety. Only someone with both skill and brilliance could have done this."

A brief silence followed. Then resonating voices, different, yet united by pride broke the air.

"Lara."

"My daughter."

"Sister."

The name echoed softly against the mountainside before being swallowed by the wind. Jethru chuckled. These brats only had Lara in their hearts.

Suddenly, Alaric staggered, a hand clutching his chest. His heartbeat faltered, and a searing ache lanced through him, as though something distant yet vital had been torn apart.

"Something happened to Lara," he gasped.

Seven heads turned sharply toward him, their expressions tightening with unease.

"How do you know?" Jethru asked, his white brows knitting in suspicion.

"Gut feeling," Alaric replied hoarsely, his eyes fixed on the chasm before them. He could almost feel her presence fading beyond it.

Jethru straightened, his cloak snapping in the wind.

"Then there’s no point staying here—or rebuilding this death trap." He gestured westward, toward the horizon where dark ridges rolled into mist. "Two kilometers from here lies an old embankment. Boats still run from there to Zura. It’s safer... and faster."

He turned without waiting for agreement. The others hesitated only a moment before following, the ropes still swaying behind them—like the remains of a warning left by unseen hands.

...

When Lara’s eyes fluttered open, the world was a blur of shadows and pain. Her head throbbed with every heartbeat, and her body felt like it had been run over by a car. The air was thick, cold, and damp, carrying the stench of urine, rust, mold, and old blood.

Her fingers moved weakly to the inner seam of her upper garment, finding the hidden pocket near her chest. She drew out a small green pill, pressed it between her trembling lips, and swallowed dry. Her throat burned—she hadn’t had water in hours.

As her vision steadied, she took in her surroundings. She realized she was in a dungeon, carved from rough stone, its walls slick with moisture. Chains hung from iron hooks against the walls. The only light seeped through a narrow grate high above, fractured into a pale beam that illuminated the dust dancing in the air.

Then came the sound—heavy boots striking cobblestone in slow, measured rhythm. The echo grew louder and closer. A metallic click followed, then the groaning protest of the iron gate as it was drawn open.

Lara did not move. Sitting cross-legged on the cold floor, her back straight and her hands resting lightly on her thighs, she appeared almost serene—a prisoner who refused to look like one. Her eyes remained closed, as if she were deep in meditation.

The footsteps stopped in front of her.

She opened her eyes. And in one fluid motion, Lara rose to her full height. Her gaze lifted to the man before her, calm, assessing, utterly unafraid.

The man smiled thinly and began to clap, slow and deliberate, each strike of his hands echoing through the chamber like mock applause.

"Truly the daughter of a general," he drawled. "Thrown into a dungeon, yet you still manage to look composed... even arrogant."

He unsheathed his sword with a hiss of steel and tilted it upward, the blade’s tip lifting her chin. His eyes roved over her features.

"And very beautiful. Even with a disheveled look and dirty face, and even when dressed as man, you could not hide your beauty, daughter of Odin." he murmured.

Lara’s silence was sharper than any retort. She met his stare, unblinking. The intensity in her eyes—cold and unyielding- made Turik falter. He coughed once, shifting his stance to mask the unease that coiled inside him.

"Tell me, Lara Norse," he asked, voice dropping to something almost respectful, but carrying an undercurrent. "How did you manage to slay so many of my men, soldiers who know the jungle of Ourea better than their own homes?" He stepped closer, facing her. "You had even driven Tyron, one of Zuran’s war heroes, to his death." Turik asked. He was genuinely curious.

A faint smirk curved Lara’s lips, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Because," she said softly, her voice laced with quiet contempt, "they’re stupid."

Her words hung in the silence that followed—sharp, defiant, and utterly fearless!

Turik withdrew his sword, his laughter bursting forth like a crack of madness that ricocheted off the stone walls.

"Ha! Who would have thought the mighty, the lofty

, and arrogant General Tyron would be called stupid by a young woman? Ha ha ha!"

His laughter continued to fill the dungeon, rolling through the shadows until it turned into a jagged cough. Wiping a tear from his eye, he smirked.

"If only the other generals could hear that," he muttered, his tone dripping with cruel amusement.

He stepped closer again, his gaze sweeping over Lara from head to toe, lingering too long.

"Though... I must admit," he said, voice lowering, "you’re not wrong. Tyron had more brawn than brain. But you—"

He reached forward, wanting to caress her face, "You seem—"

Lara moved. And his fingers could only brush the air between them.

A sharp slap cracked through the cell.

Turik froze, staring at his hand—numb, tingling as if struck by lightning. Impossible, he thought. The girl had barely touched him, yet the sting traveled up to his shoulder.

"How dare you—!"

He swung, his anger uncoiling like a whip. But Lara was already gone from his line of sight—a blur of motion in the dim light. He turned just in time to see her sidestep, her expression cold as frost.

Damn it! Why did the guards did not chain her?

He drew his sword in one smooth arc and raised it, the blade catching the faint light.

"You insolent bitch! I will make you pay."

The metal gate rattled as if a kick landed on it.

"What do you think you’re doing?"