THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

Chapter 266 LOOP.

Darkness lingered like a thick, suffocating fog, clinging to David's consciousness. His body trembled faintly, as though caught between worlds. A faint voice pierced the void, growing louder with every passing second. It was soft yet frantic, laden with an emotion he couldn't place."Winter! Talk to me, are you okay?"

The voice anchored him, dragging him back from the abyss. Slowly, the haze lifted, and his eyes fluttered open to the sight of Brendah's face hovering above his. Her chestnut hair framed her pale, tear-streaked face, and her trembling hands gripped his shoulders tightly.

David blinked, his surroundings sharpening as the dim light of the room returned. His heart skipped a beat, memories flooding back—the brutal confrontation, Brendah's screams, and the torment she had endured. The ache of failure hit him like a tidal wave.

"Brendah…" he croaked, his voice rough and weak. His hand reached out instinctively, trembling as it cupped her cheek. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

Her lips quivered as she shook her head, her hands moving to steady his own. "I'm fine?!" She whispered, though her voice cracked with lingering fear. "But you… Winter, your eyes—" She hesitated,

The system's cruelty had carved its mark into his soul, but he wasn't about to let it dictate his actions. If outsmarting it was the only way, then so be it.

Once Delilah's heavy footsteps disappeared down the hall, David darted toward the staircase, his boots barely making a sound on the creaking wood. As he ascended to the upper floors, his mind replayed the haunting memories of what had been—Brendah's cries, Delilah's defiance, the blood-soaked aftermath. His stomach churned at the thought, but he pushed forward.

At the top of the stairs, he found a group of women bustling about, their faces painted and adorned in silks as they prepared for the evening's work. The sight of them startled David momentarily, a sharp reminder of the life they led.

"Where's Brendah?" he demanded, his voice urgent and raw.

The women exchanged uneasy glances, their movements halting as they registered his panicked state. One of them, a petite blonde with wide, cautious eyes, pointed toward the far end of the hallway.

"She's in her room," she said hesitantly.

David didn't wait for further explanation. He sprinted down the corridor, his breaths uneven as his hand found the brass handle of Brendah's door. A wave of nausea rolled over him as his memories surged back with unforgiving clarity.

The door. The screams. The blood. The system's cold demand: Kill everyone in the brothel.

His grip tightened on the handle. He knew what awaited him if he failed again—death, and worse, the knowledge that he couldn't protect her.

But a voice whispered within him, sharp and accusing: Why do you care so much for her?

David clenched his jaw, shaking the thought away. He couldn't afford doubts now.

A faint sound broke through his spiraling thoughts—sobbing.

Without hesitation, David shoved the door open, startling Brendah. She sat huddled in the corner, her body trembling as tears streaked her face.

"Brendah!" he called, rushing to her side.

Her reddened eyes widened in shock as he knelt beside her, his hands gently wiping away her tears.

"Winter…" she stammered, trying to compose herself. "What are you doing here? If Delilah finds out—"

"Forget Delilah," David interrupted, his forehead pressing lightly against hers. His voice softened, but his words carried an unyielding resolve. "We have to leave."

Brendah's breath hitched, her tears momentarily forgotten as she stared at him in disbelief.

"Leave? What are you talking about?"

David's hands gripped hers tightly. "I won't let anything happen to you," he said, his voice vulnerable yet determined. "We have to get out of here before it's too late."

Brendah's heart raced, confusion and fear warring in her eyes. But as she gazed into Winter's—no, David's—eyes, she saw something she hadn't before. One that shook her to her core.