The Ruthless Major General

why are you back

Kieran moved forward, he walked like that of a reaper. His boots clicked against the floor as he approached me, his cold eyes sizing me up like I was already a corpse beneath his blade.

He stopped just a few feet away, tilted his head, and gave me a faint smile.

“You’ve got a sharp face,” he said calmly.

"A shame, really… but I’m just doing a job. Everyone needs money."

From behind, I sensed Evans tensing.

He took one step forward.

“Aiden—” I said sharply. He froze. I didn’t even look back. “Don’t.”

Kieran raised an eyebrow. “Loyal dog.” He chuckled. “But this is between us.”

Then, without warning, he stepped in.

His fist came fast, straight toward my ribs like a seasoned fighter’s blow, but his posture was weak. He wasn’t using his full strength, clearly underestimating me.

Big mistake.

Crack.

I caught his fist midair.

His knuckles slammed into my palm and stopped cold, as if he’d punched into a mountain.

The entire room exhaled in disbelief.

Kieran’s expression flickered. The calm confidence twisted into confusion… then I could see the pain in his eyes.

I leaned in slightly. My voice, cold and steady:

“Is this the best you can do?”

The old woman’s eyes widened. Luther’s smug expression collapsed into a twitch. Someone gasped aloud. Others murmured, their voices rippling like wind cutting through dry leaves.

“Did… did he just catch that?”

“No way, he didn’t even flinch.”

“That’s Kieran Raze, how… how did he stop him?”

Kieran tried to pull back. I didn’t let go.

His arm trembled.

I tightened my grip.

He grimaced. “Tch—” The breath escaped his teeth in a hiss.

And then—

I shoved him back with a single push.

His boots slid several feet before he stumbled and regained balance.

The whispers turned into full-on murmurs.

“What the hell is going on?”

“How can someone these young overpower him?”

“Is he even human?”

“This boy… who the hell is he?”

Kieran snarled, his pride visibly cracked. His face twisted with fury.

“I underestimated you…” he said, his tone lower now. “But not again.”

He lunged again, this time with real force. His movement blurred, cutting the air with a surge that sent a gust past the chandeliers.

He swung with a full-force punch meant to kill.

I met him head-on.

And again, I caught it.

Our arms collided. His eyes widened—

Boom.

My right fist launched forward.

It connected to the clean, dead center of his chest.

He flew backward.

His body slammed against the far wall like a cannonball had struck him. The crack of bone echoed as his skull collided with marble.

And then, there was silence.

He didn’t move.

One of the guards rushed over, trembling. He crouched… checked the man’s pulse… then his breath.

He turned slowly, his face pale.

“He’s… he’s not breathing.”

The room exploded into chaos.

Everyone stood at once, their chairs screeching against the floor. Women screamed. One gasped and dropped her wine glass, the crash loudly in a sudden frenzy.

People backed away from me as if I were death itself.

“He’s dead—Kieran Raze is dead!”

“With one punch?”

“What the hell is that boy?”

“This can’t be real, he just killed a living weapon!”

The Matriarch didn’t speak. Her knuckles turned white on the armrest of her seat.

I stepped over the shattered glass and bloodstains on the floor and walked toward the Matriarch. She remained was stiff at she seated, her fingers trembling ever so slightly on the armrest.

She was shocked.

I stopped in front of her, just a few feet away.

“Can we start our conversation now?” I asked, with a sharp tone.

She said nothing. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

“I’ll stop here tonight,” I continued, "but I’ll be back."

I let my gaze linger on her.

“The next time I return, I expect answers. I want to know exactly what happened to Daniel Tyrion. Who was involved. And why.”

I turned away.

But just before I reached the threshold, I paused.

I turned back slowly… and my eyes landed on the scene near the wall.

Isabelle, still, crouched over her brother’s lifeless body. Her face was streaked with tears.

And beside her was Luther. He stood frozen, with his jaw clenched.

I looked between them and let the words fly like poisoned arrows.

“I curse this engagement,” I said. "It’s built on blood, betrayal, and rot."

"Let it die the way your conscience already has."

I turned and walked out.

Luther’s voice came after I stepped outside.

“You think you’ve won, beggar prince,” he sneered.

"You’re just a shadow trying to fight the sun. Be careful before you burn."

I didn’t even glance back.

Outside, Evans stood by the car with quick, nervous hands. He opened the door for me with silent respect. I slid in, and he closed it behind me, circling to the driver’s side and getting in without a word.

The engine hummed to life, and we drove.

As we drove away from the house of Tyrion.

I observed Evans checking me constantly in the mirror. His eyes darting.

I tilted my head toward him. My voice broke the silence.

“Whatever you have to say,” I said, my eyes locked onto his in the mirror, “say it. Don’t chew on it.”

Evans exhaled, and finally spoke.

“Why did we leave?” he asked, careful with his tone.

“It’s obvious they’re hiding something. We had them shaken. We could’ve pressed harder…”

I smiled faintly.

"Because you don’t crush a snake by stomping on its tail", I said.

"You follow it. Let it believe it’s safe. And when it thinks you’ve lost its trail… you strike the head."

Reynold was quiet.

“I don’t have any evidence yet,” I continued.

"Not enough to bury them. But people who guard secrets always slip when they panic. And I just tore their comfort into pieces."

“You don’t defeat enemies by brute force alone, Evans. You defeat them… by making them reveal themselves. Shake the tree hard enough, and the rotten fruit always falls.”

He nodded slowly.

“Forgive me, Aiden, for my short-sightedness… I should’ve seen clearer.”

I didn’t respond right away.

“Where should I drive you now?” he asked after a beat, regaining a steadier voice.

"Should I take you home? Miss Evelyn must be aware of your arrival already."

Home.

That word lingered in my mind.

Lila is my wife.

It had been over ten years since we’d last had a real conversation, since I left for the border, assigned to command a station so close to death that men wrote their wills before their first shift.

And during that time, she’d just given birth to our daughter.

I was gone.

And she never visited. Even stopped replying to my letters. Even when word spread that I might never return. She still chose not to visit.

My daughter would be ten by now. Ten years old and I’ve never seen her face with my own eyes. I don’t know what her laugh sounds like. I don’t know what she fears, what she loves, what she dreams about when she sleeps.

What kind of father doesn't even know the color of his daughter's eyes?

Evans’s voice pierced the thoughts. “Sir? Should I drive you home?”

I blinked back the weight in my chest and asked instead, “Did you get the chocolate I told you to?”

“Yes,” he said. “I bought it before coming to the airport to pick you.”

“Good.” I nodded slowly. “Take me home.”

The drive was quiet, filled only with the hum of the engine and the flicker of city lights through the windows.

When we arrived, Evans pulled the car up gently in front of the gates.

He turned to me and said, “Goodnight, Aiden.”

“Goodnight,” I murmured, stepping out with the box of chocolates still in hand.

He waited until I reached the door before pulling away.

I pushed open the door and entered.

Silence greeted me.

I placed the chocolate box on the table, letting the weight of it settle, and sank into a chair. My eyes drifted over the familiar-yet-changed room.

And then they found the wall.

Photos lined the surface.

The frames were filled with the face of the woman I once called mine, and beside her… a girl with dark hair. With Innocent eyes.

She must be daughter.

I stood, slowly, and stepped toward the wall. My hand reached for one of the photos.

I wanted to see her.

But just as my fingers brushed the glass, I heard it.

Click.

The sound of a gun cocking behind me.

I turned around. Slowly.

And there she was.

Lila.

Her eyes were colder than the border winds, and her hand held the gun steady, finger trembling just over the trigger.

“Lila,” I said her name.

“Don’t come closer,” she said sharply. “If you do, I won’t hesitate to shoot.”