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

General Odin, the Iron Wolf of Carles and a pillar of Northem's might for nearly three decades, now knelt in disgrace beneath the arched ceiling of the Justice Hall—once the seat of his honor, now the stage of his humiliation. Beside him, his four sons—Asael, Galahad, Bener, and Percival—also bowed on bended knee, heads low, encircled by Northem's elite knights. Their drawn swords glinted coldly in the sunlight, each blade aimed mercilessly at the back of the Norse bloodline.

General Odin lifted his head as he gaze into the man who was seated on the throne, cloaked in a resplendent robe of gold, the insignia of a soaring eagle stitched across his chest in silver thread. The embroidery dazzled the eye—so much so that one might overlook the prince's youth, his untested hands, or the hard curve of arrogance on his lips.

Odin slowly lifted his gaze, a tempest burning behind his eyes. His voice, hoarse from days of silence, cut through the heavy air.

Heroes Betrayed!