Return of the General's Daughter-Chapter 285: The Trainer

Eloisa was silenced.

Duke Conner looked down at his son—wide-eyed, silent, still clutching the hem of his tunic. Then at Lara, who stood not with deference, but with integrity. Her jaw set, her back straight, her hand resting on the hilt of her waster sword, still stained with the dust from her duel.

"You’ll take over his training," the Duke said at last. "Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays."

Eloisa’s face turned pale with fury. "Connor—"

"My decision is final."

The Duchess took a breath, nostrils flaring, but said nothing more. She turned away, skirts whipping behind her as she walked back toward the castle

The knights and squires were silent, eyes fixed on Lara.

Jansen still knelt, trembling. He dared not rise.

Connor approached him slowly. "You’re relieved of your duties," he said coldly. "Return your weapons. You will leave this estate before sundown."

Jansen didn’t argue. He merely bowed his head deeper, too humiliated to speak.

Eloisa paused mid-step. She turned back and rushed to the Duke.

"My lord, how can you punish him like that? Hasn’t he served the dukedom for a long time? His mistake is not that serious to warrant such harsh punishment."

Duke Connor Arces pondered for some time. His duchess was right. For a moment, his judgment was clouded with fury.

"Alright. Considering your long service and loyalty, you will just be suspended for a month without salary."

Jansen heaved a sigh of relief. He looked at Eloisa with gratitude.

Lara turned to Sandoz, kneeling beside him. "You’ll train hard just like you did in Ourea."

The boy nodded, eyes bright with something close to reverence.

General Odin placed a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. "You’ve made an enemy today." He spoke in a low tone that only two of them could hear.

"I’ve made a difference," Lara replied, without looking away from the boy.

...

The training yard had emptied except for a few people.

It was mid-morning. The sun was casting short shadows across the cobblestone. The heat of what had transpired still lingered, settling in the bones of those who remained.

General Odin and Freya followed the duke and duchess to the castle.

Lara lingered at the training ground. The knight who offered to teach Sandoz earlier still hadn’t left.

Sandoz stood a few paces away, watching her with quiet awe and something else—hesitation. His tunic now draped over his small frame again, hiding the dark bruises that still burned like embers beneath the skin.

She patted the space beside her. "Come sit."

He obeyed at once, legs swinging just above the dirt.

For a while, they sat in silence. The wind rustled the banners atop the battlements. From somewhere beyond the yard, the clatter of servants resetting the evening tables drifted in faintly.

"You did well, today," she said eventually, not looking at him. "Better than anyone realized."

"I didn’t do anything," he muttered. "You fought for me." He said lowering his gaze. He was ashamed. His sister always come to save him.

"You didn’t cry. You didn’t beg. That took more strength than most grown men I’ve met." Lara said in a doting voice.

Sandoz shifted uncomfortably. "It still hurt."

"I know," Lara said softly.

She reached into the leather pouch at her belt and drew out a small glass vial filled with pale golden liquid. "This will help ease the bruising. Rub it in before you sleep."

He took it reverently, clutching it like a sacred gift.

After a pause, he asked, "Will it happen again? The fighting? The yelling?"

Lara leaned back against the bench. "Maybe. Change always brings resistance. Especially from those who benefit from keeping things the same."

She looked at Sandoz seriously. "I cannot always be there for you, Sandoz. You must learn to fight for yourself and also for your mother."

"Do you think I’m weak?" His voice was a whisper now, barely audible over the wind.

She turned to him. "Of course not. I think you’re growing. Strength isn’t just about lifting a sword or taking hits. It’s about knowing when to speak—and when to stand still and let someone else speak for you. It is about not being bullied."

He mulled over her words, lips pressed into a thin line of thought.

Behind them, General Odin approached quietly, boots barely making a sound over the gravel. He didn’t speak at first. Just watched the two of them—his daughter, the iron-hearted warrior, and the bruised boy who would one day lead a house.

Odin wanted to say something but ultimately decided to leave and reenter the castle.

The other knight stood there motionless and just waiting.

"What is your name, Sir?" Lara looked up at him and asked respectfully.

"My name is Lancelot," he proclaimed with a flourish, his voice smooth and rich like velvety silk. He stood tall, embodying the essence of a gallant knight, a beacon of chivalry and honor. His piercing gaze sparkled with warmth, and a slight bow of his head accompanied the introduction, as if he were not just sharing his name but offering an invitation to a world of adventure and nobility.

He looked as if he was as old as General Odin.

Lara raised her brows. What a coincidence. His name sounded like the name of one of the knights of a novel she read in the past, King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.

With a sudden flick of her wrist, she sent the training sword sailing through the air. Lancelot, with his keen reflexes, snatched it from the sky. It seemed as though he had been born to catch it, his movements so fluid and effortless that one might believe it was an instinct woven into his very being.

Lara smiled. "Sir Lancelot, I would like to spar with you. I just want to know if you are worthy to be the trainer of Duke’s heir."

Lancelot nodded. He returned the training sword to Lara and took his own. They moved to the edge of the training ground while Sandoz watched.

They exchanged a few moves, and Lancelot found Lara’s movement fluid and her use of a different swordsmanship technique.

"My lady, your thrusts are surprisingly strong; my arm felt numb." Sir Lancelot said while panting. The woman was so fast that he could hardly keep up.

Lara smiled genuinely. "Sir Lancelot’s skill is top-notch."

"But not as good as you, my lady. Where did you learn those techniques?"

"Ah, I have a master." Lara said.