Faking Love To Save The General

For five years, I was locked away in the freezing royal dungeon, starved and used as a bloody plaything by the kingdom's sadistic Cabinet Minister, Brandt Fischer.

He tortured me daily for one twisted reason: I simply looked like someone else.

When he visited my cell to casually announce my father's execution and drag a silver dagger across my neck, he expected me to beg.

Instead, I laughed, sank my teeth directly into his carotid artery, and was violently thrown against a jagged stone wall to my death.

As my skull cracked and my blood stained the moss, I thought about my so-called family. The moment Brandt had demanded me, my father, the Duke, handed me over without a single hesitation to save his own political career.

I was nothing but a disposable pawn, left to rot in the dark while the monsters who ruined my life thrived.

I died suffocating on my own blood and absolute, destructive vengeance.

Then, I opened my eyes.

I was lying in my silk-sheeted bed, reborn as my fifteen-year-old self.

Today was the exact day Lord Daryl Langley, the God of War, would be ambushed and crippled—the event that allowed Brandt to seize ultimate power.

I immediately stole a horse, rode to the palace gates, and threw myself directly in front of Daryl's moving carriage.

"I just didn't want to see a hero die like a slaughtered pig."

I didn't care if I had to shatter my own ankle to hijack his convoy. This time, I was going to save the general, and he would become the blade I use to slaughter them all.