Transmigration: The Tyrant General Can Hear My Thoughts

Chapter 273: Chapter Two Hundred And Seventy Two

Camilla tilted her head slightly to the side. She raised a single brow.

"What?" She spoke out loud. Her voice was calm. "Do I need a signed petition from the Ryde’s residence before I insult you?"

Isabel lost her mind. The humiliation was too much for her fragile pride to handle.

"You!" Isabel screamed loudly. Her high-pitched voice echoed wildly against the walls.

Isabel quickly turned her head. She looked fiercely at the three thugs standing nervously in a semi-circle around Camilla.

"Kill her!" Isabel commanded at the top of her lungs. She pointed a shaking finger at Camilla’s face. "Cut her throat right now! I will pay you triple the gold! Kill her!"

The warehouse went silent again.

Isabel was panting heavily, fully expecting the three men to draw their weapons and attack the sitting woman immediately.

But the three thugs did not move a single inch.

They did not draw their daggers or any weapon.

Instead, they slowly turned their heads and looked at each other. Their faces were pale. Drops of cold sweat were rolling down their scarred cheeks. They lowered their heads and stared intensely at the floor near their own boots, refusing to make eye contact with Isabel or Camilla. They remained as still as stone statues.

Isabel stared at them in disbelief.

"What are you doing?!" Isabel yelled, stomping her foot on the floor. "I gave you an order! Attack her!"

The thugs did not answer. The largest thug simply swallowed hard, keeping his eyes firmly glued to the floor. They would much rather face the angry screaming of a spoiled girl than face the deadly knives of the lady sitting.

Camilla watched the terrified thugs. A very slow, amused smile curled the corners of her lips.

"Seems they don’t want to do it," Camilla said softly. Her voice was mocking Isabel.

She rested her hands on her lap. She looked at Isabel’s furious, red face.

"If you want me gone that badly," Camilla challenged her smoothly, her voice calm and fearless, "why don’t you kill me yourself, Isabel?"

Isabel clenched her hands into tight fists. Her chest heaved up and down rapidly inside her silk dress.

Just then, the hooded man standing behind Isabel stepped forward.

He bowed his head respectfully to Isabel.

"Let me take care of this for you, my lady," the hooded man offered softly. His voice was deep and calm. He reached his hand into his cloak, ready to draw a weapon and finish the dirty job for his employer.

But Isabel was blinded by her own toxic jealousy and injured pride. She did not want a servant to do it. She wanted to see the fear in Camilla’s eyes herself. She wanted to be the one to end her rival.

Isabel quickly held up her hand, stopping the man.

"No," Isabel spoke sharply. "I’ll do it myself."

She turned her body slightly toward the hooded man. She held out her small, trembling hand.

"Give me your dagger," Isabel demanded loudly.

The hooded man froze. He looked at Isabel’s shaking hand. He knew she had no training. He knew she did not know how to fight.

"But..." the hooded man hesitated softly. "My lady, she might fight back. It is dangerous. Besides, your uncle told me..."

Isabel’s eyes flared with fury. She did not want to be questioned.

"Give me, Now!" Isabel shouted right into the man’s hooded face, interrupting him.

The hooded man let out a small sigh. He slowly pulled out a sharp dagger with a thick leather handle.

He carefully handed the dagger over to Isabel.

Isabel grabbed the leather handle tightly. The dagger felt heavy and foreign in her soft, delicate hands. But she gripped it firmly, letting the sharp blade shine in the dusty sunlight coming through the broken roof.

Isabel turned back around. She faced the center of the warehouse.

She began to walk slowly toward Camilla.

Her silk skirts rustled loudly against the floor. She took slow steps, her eyes burning with hatred.

"What does he see in you that I don’t have?" Isabel asked loudly as she walked closer. Her voice was shaking with jealousy.

Camilla remained sitting on her wooden crate. She watched the foolish girl approaching her with a weapon with trembling hands.

"I am more beautiful than you," Isabel declared proudly, lifting her chin high into the air. "I am younger and fruitful than you. My family is above yours in every way possible."

Isabel tightened her grip on the dagger. She stopped just two feet away from Camilla.

Isabel thought to herself, her mind consumed by her own dark, twisted fantasy.

"If she dies today," Isabel thought, her heart beating fast with evil joy. "Damon will be free. He will finally look at me. He will realize I am the perfect wife for a great General. He will marry me, and I will be the Lady of the Benson family. There might still be a chance for me!"

Isabel looked down at Camilla. Her face was twisted into a wicked smile.

"Who will stop me?" Isabel asked out loud, her voice full of arrogant victory. " I always get what I want."

She raised the dagger high into the air above her head. She gripped the leather handle with both of her hands, fully preparing to plunge the sharp blade down into Camilla’s chest.

"Yes!" Isabel yelled loudly, her eyes wide and crazy. "Go and burn in the underworld, Camilla!"

Isabel swung the dagger down with all the physical strength she possessed.

But Isabel was just a pampered, spoiled noble girl. Her movements were slow, predictable, and really clumsy.

Before the blade could even come close to her dress, Camilla moved with speed.

Camilla stood up from the wooden crate instantly. She did not dodge backward. She stepped forward, moving inside Isabel’s clumsy guard.

She raised her hand high into the air, putting all of her physical strength, all of her annoyance, and all of her deep disgust into her open palm.

She swung her arm forward.

SMACK!

The sound was loud. It echoed like a thunderclap throughout the entire, empty warehouse.

Camilla slapped Isabel brutally across the left side of her powdered face.

Isabel cried out in agony. Her head snapped violently to the side. The intense impact knocked her off her feet. She flew backward, falling heavily onto the floor, crashing down into a pile of silk and white lace.

The force of the slap shocked Isabel’s brain so much that her fingers automatically opened.

The dagger flew out of her hands. It hit the floor and clattered loudly, sliding several feet away and stopping safely near a broken barrel.

A bright, burning red handprint was already blooming clearly across her powdered cheek. Her skin stung fiercely with hot, radiating pain.

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