Return of the General's Daughter-Chapter 36: Hook!

Hook moved with practiced ease, his knife flashing as he deflected the incoming sword. The blade, concealed in a sheath on his inner thigh, had saved him more times than he could count.

"Impressive, Hook." Ruffus leaned casually against a wooden post, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Even after a grueling time, your reflexes remain sharp. So, tell me—how was she? That girl? A beauty, wasn’t she? Quite the fiery one too."

Hook barely spared him a glance as he shrugged into his upper garment, covering the fresh scratches on his skin.

"Of course," he murmured, voice low and edged with satisfaction. "Nothing tastes better than a virgin."

Ruffus smirked, eyeing the fresh marks across Hook’s torso. "Looks like she put up a fight."

Hook’s gaze darkened, but the memory stirred something inside him. The girl had been different. A wildcat, clawing and spitting, her muffled screams only stoking the fire within him. Her defiance and fierce glare in her eyes even as he overpowered her had been exhilarating.

"You let her escape, though. A rare lapse." Ruffus’ voice held the barest trace of amusement.

Hook’s jaw tightened. "I slept for a moment. When I woke, she was gone. But she won’t get far." He adjusted his belt, his tone turning cold. "Make sure to give her to our best clients, who are not violent. I’m not finished with her."

"Hook, the soldiers have been sniffing around. You think they suspect us?" Ruffus asked, his voice tinged with worry. He moved toward the window, his heavy boots creaking on the wooden floor. With a swift motion, he threw open the shutters, flooding the dim room with brilliant afternoon sunlight that spilled in, illuminating the dust particles that danced in the air.

Hook chuckled, slipping a dagger into his boot. "Let them investigate. I trust in your skills. You never leave loose ends."

Ruffus grinned. "That’s how we’ve lasted this long, my friend. By the way, the soldiers are staying at Viola’s Inn. Should we... make things interesting for them? Maybe a bit of poison, something to keep them distracted?"

"No. We lie low for now. Stick to the legitimate front. And don’t forget—those ten silver ingots need to be recovered."

Ruffus waved a dismissive hand. "Already handled. My men are setting up an ambush three kilometers out. But where are you off to?" He raised a brow as Hook straightened his clothing, making himself presentable.

"I am going to visit the mayor while I am here."

Ruffus chuckled knowingly. "Just the mayor? If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were more interested in his newly widowed daughter."

Hook smirked. His freshly changed garments were pristine, a stark contrast to the man from years ago who handled the dirty job of abducting people. He always had spare clothes in the restaurant if he needed to see important people or guests.

"Shouldn’t she be flattered? Attention from a man like me, after all, is a rare privilege. Besides, she is just a worn-out shoe." Hook cast an indifferent glance at his friend. He glanced at the bronze mirror on the wall to ensure he looked impeccable.

Ruffus laughed as he watched Hook wink at himself in the mirror.

Hook clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You know me too well. I will make that woman fall for me. Three months. Just give me three months."

Ruffus laughed. "I know Hook. We grew up together, didn’t we?"

...

Across town, in the cloth shop, Lara selected bolts of fabric—one deep black, another pristine white. She added spools of thread, needles, and vibrant fabric dyes to her purchase. By the time she and Barett exited the cloth shop, it was already mid-afternoon.

The shop owner, an elderly man with kind eyes, beamed as he helped load their supplies onto a waiting bullock cart. Just as Lara turned to leave, the scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air. She followed it to a nearby stall, where golden loaves sat in neat rows. Hunger gnawed at her, and she bought three—two for herself and Barett and one more for the kids back at the village.

As she handed over the coins, she noticed movement across the street. Two children—a boy and a girl—stood at a distance, staring hungrily at the bread. Their clothes were threadbare, and their faces were smudged with dirt.

She recognized them, of course. They were the two children who picked up the seriguelas.

Something inside her twisted. Without hesitation, she approached them, crouching until she met the little girl’s gaze.

"Where are your parents? Why are you here alone?"

The girl clutched her brother’s hand. "We don’t have parents," she whispered. "We live behind the temple. An old grandpa took us in, but he’s sick. My brother and I came to find food and medicine."

Lara frowned. Her instincts flared. In modern times, criminals often use children as pawns for begging. Vulnerable, easy to exploit, their suffering a tool for manipulation. But as she studied these two, she saw no signs of deception—just raw desperation.

Memories surfaced. As a child, she’d once given money to a beggar girl at a city stoplight, only for a swarm of children to descend upon her father’s car. He had scolded her, his voice a booming warning: Never be naïve. The world is cruel.

"Sir, please don’t mind my sister," the boy interrupted, voice tight with unease. "She talks too much."

The girl sniffled. "But Grandpa hasn’t eaten in days... I don’t want him to die."

Lara glanced around, scanning for signs of a lurking figure—a handler, a watcher. Finding none, she exhaled.

"Take me to him." She ruffled the girl’s matted and tangled hair gently. It was obvious she hadn’t bathed in days. "I’ll buy food and medicine."

She turned to Barett. "Wait here with the cart. I won’t be long. I’ll buy something for them."

The market had come to life, its alleys bustling with merchants and shoppers. As Lara followed the children through the winding paths, a prickling sensation crept up her spine.

They were being followed.

She moved to glance over her shoulder—

Cold steel pressed against her throat.

A knife.

Her breath caught. In an instant, she knew—she had walked straight into a trap.