From Slave to King: My Rebate System Built Me a Kingdom With Beauties!-Chapter 190: The Daughters Of Urgar.

Urgar couldn’t believe his son was missing—the very concept seemed absurd, impossible, an insult to everything Kraghul represented. There was no way goblins would be strong enough to take him, not his son who had inherited his strength, who could tear through lesser warriors like parchment. Kraghul was a force of nature, a warrior who had led successful raids since his teenage years, who had never known true defeat in single combat.

Urgar knew there had to be another reason for the silence. Knowing his son’s personality—impulsive, arrogant, prone to chasing glory or pleasure when it suited him—this must be Kraghul messing around before returning home. Perhaps he’d found a conquest worth pursuing, a challenge that intrigued him, or simply decided to extend his campaign without bothering to send word. The boy had always been independent to a fault, dismissive of protocol when it didn’t suit his purposes.

However, there was no telling if this was actually the case or not, and that uncertainty gnawed at Urgar like rot in wood. Kraghul usually left a trail they could follow—witnesses, destruction, messages carried by surviving warriors. But this time? Nothing. Complete silence. And more troubling, the orc warrior who had accompanied him as second-in-command was nowhere to be seen either. If anything, that warrior should have returned to report the situation regardless of Kraghul’s location. That was protocol, drilled into every soldier: if the commander goes missing, you return and inform command. Yet weeks had passed with no word.

Urgar knew he would need to take more forceful action despite the complications that had emerged recently. He had heard about Vrognut’s submission to the humans—an unexpected development that absolutely shouldn’t have happened. Vrognut was proud, powerful, a rival warlord who commanded respect through fear and capability. For him to submit suggested either overwhelming force or something darker at play.

However, Urgar’s intelligence reports indicated it was a goblin who had turned Vrognut in, delivering him to human authorities in a deplorable state—poisoned, weakened, humiliated. Which meant it wasn’t Kraghul who had accomplished that feat. His son would never have handed such a prize to humans; he would have claimed the glory himself, dragged Vrognut back in chains to display as trophy. The fact that a goblin was responsible suggested variables Urgar didn’t fully understand yet.

There was something he felt certain of when it came to his child though, one truth that anchored his thinking: there was no way Kraghul would have abandoned Vrognut except if he absolutely had to. Despite his arrogance and impulsiveness, Kraghul understood that there are certain things that shouldn’t be compromised.

Urgar was worried, genuinely worried in a way he rarely allowed himself to feel. He tapped his fingers anxiously on the heavy wooden table in his war room, the repetitive sound echoing off stone walls. Maps spread before him showed goblin territories, human settlements, the location where Kraghul’s trail had gone cold. But he knew if he sent a full army there only to discover Kraghul was fine—drunk in some tavern or bedding some conquest—it would leave him looking like a fool. His rivals would mock him endlessly, use it as evidence of weakness, of a father unable to control his own son.

Urgar wasn’t having that. His reputation had been built through decades of careful cultivation, displaying strength without rashness, wisdom without hesitation. He knew he had to do something about the situation, but it needed to be measured, appropriate to the uncertainty.

This was why he would send his three daughters to investigate. It was a family matter, after all—one sibling checking on another. They could move more discreetly than an army, gather intelligence without triggering territorial conflicts, and if Kraghul was truly in danger, they possessed the skill to extract him or at minimum confirm his status so Urgar could respond appropriately.

He didn’t want to escalate the matter unnecessarily, and his daughters were perfect for this delicate task. The three had been trained since childhood in combat and diplomacy both, each possessing unique strengths that complemented the others.

The youngest was Mazga, barely in her late teens at nineteen years old, still carrying the exuberance of youth despite her considerable skill. The middle daughter was Roktha, in her early twenties at twenty-three, talented but frustratingly unserious about matters that demanded gravity. And the eldest was Thulga, in her early thirties at thirty-two, who had inherited Urgar’s tactical mind and commanded respect wherever she went.

Urgar summoned them to his war room, watching as they filed in—Thulga first with military precision, Roktha strolling casually, and Mazga practically bouncing on her toes with barely contained energy.

"Your brother has been missing for weeks," Urgar began without preamble, his deep voice filling the chamber. "I’m sending you three to find him."

"Finally!" Mazga exclaimed, grinning wide enough to show her tusks. "I’ve been dying for some action! Do you think Kraghul got himself captured? Oh, that would be hilarious—the mighty warrior needing his baby sisters to rescue him!"

Roktha leaned against the table lazily, examining her nails with exaggerated disinterest. "He’s probably just off somewhere having fun and forgot to send word. You know how he gets when he’s focused on... extracurricular activities." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"This isn’t a joke," Thulga cut in sharply, her golden eyes flashing with irritation as she studied the maps. "Kraghul wouldn’t go silent this long without reason. Something’s wrong."

"Everything’s always wrong according to you," Roktha shot back, rolling her eyes. "Maybe try relaxing for once? We’ll find the idiot, slap him upside the head for worrying Father, and be back in time for the feast next week."

Mazga giggled. "Can I be the one to slap him? Please? He always gets to beat me up during training—it’s only fair I get one good hit when he’s not expecting it!"

Thulga turned to face her younger sisters, jaw tight with frustration. "Do either of you understand the severity of this? If Kraghul is truly in danger, we’re walking into unknown threats. We need to take this seriously."

"Oh, we are taking it seriously," Roktha said with a smirk, finally straightening up. "Seriously planning how we’re going to mock him when we find him drunk in some goblin hovel."

"He wouldn’t be in a goblin hovel," Mazga argued, her playful tone never wavering. "Kraghul hates small spaces. If anything, he’s probably in a nice orc settlement charming someone’s daughter and completely forgot about everything else!"

Urgar watched the exchange with the long-suffering patience of a father who had endured such bickering for decades. Despite the frustration it sometimes caused, he had a weakness for his daughters that he couldn’t fully suppress. Where he might have disciplined male warriors for such casual attitudes, with them he found himself indulgent, protective, reluctant to crush their spirits even when efficiency demanded it.

"Enough," he said firmly, though without real anger. "Thulga, you’re in command. Roktha, Mazga—you will follow her orders without question. This mission requires stealth and intelligence gathering, not a full assault. Find Kraghul, determine his status, and report back. If he’s in danger beyond your capability to handle, send word immediately and I’ll deploy the army."

Thulga nodded crisply. "Understood, Father. When do we leave?"

"Dawn tomorrow. That gives you tonight to prepare." Urgar’s expression softened fractionally as he looked at each daughter in turn. "And... be careful. All of you."

Mazga beamed. "We’ll bring him back, Father! Well, probably. Unless he’s being super annoying, then we might leave him for a bit longer."

"Mazga," Thulga warned.

"Kidding! Mostly." Mazga chuckled.

Roktha stretched lazily, joints popping. "Dawn, really? That’s so early. Can’t we leave at a reasonable hour, like noon?"

"Dawn," Urgar repeated firmly, though the corner of his mouth twitched with suppressed amusement. "Dismissed."

As his daughters filed out—Thulga already planning, Roktha complaining about the early hour, Mazga chattering excitedly about adventure—Urgar returned his gaze to the maps. His worry hadn’t diminished, but at least now he was taking action.

And if anyone had harmed his son, his daughters would discover it. Then the full weight of his army would follow.