Azalea_Belrose

Her childhood was forged in shadows, and she was sharpened into a weapon, trained to be a ghost, a killer, an instrument of vengeance. The target: a decorated general whose face haunted her every nightmare, the man who tore her world apart.

But just as the final strike neared… the world shattered.

She woke in a savage, ancient realm where kings ruled with iron fists and war devoured the innocent. Her body? That of a thirteen-year-old. Her fate? Sold to traffickers, bound for hell by a family member's design.

Big mistake.

They expected a victim. She gave them hell. Every brutal lesson, every violent instinct...she unleashed them all and carved her way to freedom.

In the depths of that strange, dangerous world, she met a reclusive martial arts master, one whose power defied reason, whose teachings broke her and rebuilt her again.

But nothing could prepare her for the revelation that came next:

The man she was born to kill... was here. In this world. And he was her father. By blood. By fate.

The General!

Then, deep in the wilds of Mount Ourea, she saved a dying soldier from the clutches of Hades. But he wasn’t just a soldier. He was a prince, the heir to a kingdom, but deprived of his birthright.  He was wounded on a secret mission to crush the rebels tearing his kingdom apart.

To the prince, she was:
A woman disguised as a man.
A healer who knew the way of the sword.
A mystery wrapped in secrets and shadows.
The most intriguing enigma of his life.

Will she be the weapon they made her—or the legend she was born to become?

Return of the General's Daughter

Mira wasn't given time to recover.

By the next morning, a royal escort arrived—led by palace guards clad in gold and crimson, their faces expressionless, their orders absolute.

The Norse family did not protest. Not General Odin, nor Freya, who barely looked at Mira as she was handed over like a parcel.

Gideon, Peredur, and Percival kept on sighing. If only Mira's heart were not evil, this would not have happened.

"A royal summons," Odin had said simply, eyes averted.

They dressed her in silks far too fine for someone so disgraced. The gold embroidery felt like chains. Her bruises had barely begun to fade when she was brought before the royal court—not to plead her case, but to be claimed.

The King did not attend. Only a bored steward read the royal decree aloud in a gilded hall, his voice echoing:

Evil Begets Evil