The General's Daughter: The Mission-Chapter 103: War Of The Horses 2

Gasps rippled through the stands.

Then the arena exploded.

Thunderous applause shook the air. Cheers rose like a tidal wave. Even seasoned judges exchanged stunned glances.

Because this wasn’t just dressage.

It was dominance disguised as elegance.

And everyone in that arena knew they had just witnessed something unforgettable.

...

Back to the present—

Lara hadn’t even blinked when the second memory crashed into her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t distant.

It was vivid.

Sunlight. White rails. The sharp scent of grass and adrenaline.

She was astride a different horse this time.

Areion.

Powerful. Dark-coated. Muscles coiled beneath her like compressed lightning.

The announcer’s voice echoed across a packed field, but she heard none of it. All she heard was the thundering rhythm beneath her.

"This is it, Areion," she whispered at first — then louder, fierce and alive. "Go for it!"

The first barrier rushed toward them.

Areion launched.

For a heartbeat, they were airborne — weightless, untouchable — before landing cleanly on the other side. No stumble. No hesitation.

Second barrier. Cleared.

Third. Cleared.

The crowd began to murmur.

Then came the triple combination — three fences placed dangerously close together, designed to break rhythm, to test trust.

Areion didn’t falter.

Each jump was sharp and explosive, hooves folding perfectly beneath him before stretching out again midair like a predator leaping between rooftops.

Lara leaned forward, her body perfectly aligned with his motion, her hands steady on the reins. They weren’t rider and horse.

They were a single living thing in motion.

The final obstacle loomed ahead.

A four-meter-wide water ditch — glittering under the sun, deceptive and punishing. One miscalculation and everything would collapse in front of thousands of watching eyes.

"Now!" she commanded.

Areion surged. The world seemed to slow down.

Wind tore past her ears. The water flashed beneath them like a blade of glass.

And then—they landed.

Clean and perfect.

For a fraction of a second, there was stunned silence. Then the applause exploded.

It rolled across the field like war drums — loud, relentless, overwhelming.

Strangers were on their feet. Cameras flashing. Judges nodding in approval.

She guided Areion to a halt, heart hammering but posture regal.

The moment she dismounted, her trainer rushed toward her, face flushed with exhilaration.

"That was stellar, Lara!" he exclaimed, slapping her palm in a triumphant high-five. "You and that horse — incredible!"

He turned and fed Areion a crisp red apple. The stallion crunched happily, ears flicking with pride as if he understood every word.

"You’ve got a champion," the trainer added.

No.

We are champions, she had almost said.

...

"Hey, Sis."

Logan’s voice sliced through the memory like a blade.

Lara blinked.

The stables came back into focus — the scent of hay, the quiet stamping of hooves, the filtered sunlight streaming through wooden slats.

The unique scent of Ares that she has gotten accustomed to.

Logan was staring at her, brows slightly furrowed.

"Why are you spacing out?"

Why indeed?

Her pulse hadn’t even quickened. Her hands hadn’t trembled.

Yet she had just lived through something that felt more real than the ground beneath her boots.

Those weren’t daydreams.

They were memories.

But not hers. Or were they?

Were they fragments from the original owner of this body?

If so...

Then the woman who once lived in this skin was anything but ordinary.

And that realization was far more dangerous than a four-meter ditch.

"Nothing," Lara said softly, lowering her gaze as if the memory were no more than a drifting cloud. "I just remembered something from the past."

Lucas stiffened. His eyes sharpened.

"Sis... have you recovered your memory?"

The stable seemed to grow quieter at the question. Even the horses shifted as if listening.

Lara paused — not too long, not too short. Just enough to feel believable.

"No."

The word fell clean and decisive. No tremor. No hesitation.

Whether it was truth or strategy, no one could tell.

"You can ride him if you want," Ares said, handing Lara Chestnut’s reins.

Liam’s brows shot up. "Isn’t Chestnut your favorite?"

A faint smirk curved Ares’ lips. "If I ride him, you three won’t stand a chance."

"So overconfident," Liam shot back, though the glint in his eyes said he knew Ares wasn’t exaggerating.

He moved to a sleek black thoroughbred in the next stall, its coat gleaming like liquid midnight. The horse tossed its head, already sensing competition.

Logan whooped. "Now this is getting interesting."

Lucas rolled his shoulders, selecting another purebred with the ease of someone who had grown up around power — whether in business or on horseback.

And in the center of it all, Lara took the reins.

Chestnut’s dark eyes locked onto hers.

He tested her immediately — a slight tug, a flick of resistance.

She didn’t yank back. She didn’t soothe him either.

Her fingers tightened just enough. Her posture straightened. Silent command.

The stallion stilled.

Ares noticed. He always noticed.

Standing apart from the group, Scarlet’s smile had frozen.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

She had chosen Snow — the gentle, recommended one — believing she’d subtly boxed Lara into second best.

But now?

Ares had handed Lara his favorite horse. Just like that.

"Scarlet," Ares said evenly, not unkind but unmistakably firm, "a riding instructor will guide you. He’s better suited to teach you."

It was polite. It was reasonable.

It was a subtle rejection.

"But, Ares—" she began, her voice thinning at the edges.

"Be good, Scarlet."

The words were calm. Final.

Her nails dug slightly into her palm.

"But what about her?" Scarlet demanded, unable to mask the bite in her tone as she pointed toward Lara.

All eyes shifted.

Lara was already adjusting the stirrups, movements fluid, efficient. No uncertainty. No theatrics.

"She said she knows how to ride," Ares replied without looking away from Lara. "She’ll race with us."

Race. Not learn. Not practice. But race.

The distinction burned.

Scarlet swallowed, humiliation prickling beneath her skin. She had positioned herself as the fragile one who needed guidance.

But somehow, Lara had become their equal.

She guided Chestnut out of the stable and swung up onto him in one smooth motion.

No wobble. No adjustment.

The stallion shifted once beneath her — then settled as if recognizing authority.

Sunlight shone on her hair, turning it into molten copper and outlining her silhouette against the powerful horse.

For a brief second, she looked like she belonged there.

Not as a guest. Not as an outsider.

But as someone born to command wild things.

And that—

That unsettled more than just Scarlet.