Transmigration: The Tyrant General Can Hear My Thoughts

Chapter 291: Chapter Two Hundred And Ninety

The aide collected the letter and the master slowly raised his hand and gestured with his fingers, waving the guard away.

"Leave us," the master commanded smoothly. His deep, gruff voice echoed softly against the stone walls.

The gate guard immediately bowed his head. He was relieved to be dismissed. He turned around, opened the doors, and walked out of the study. He pulled the doors shut behind him, leaving the master alone with his aide.

The master looked down at the brown envelope resting in his aide’s hands.

The master took it and broke the blank wax seal with his thumb. The wax cracked with a sharp, crisp sound. He opened the envelope and pulled out the thick piece of folded parchment paper.

He opened the paper. He read the short, carefully written words in the dim candlelight.

Duke Collin has sent a crate of muskets. There are two inside. Make use of it wisely as we won’t get another chance.

A slow satisfied smile broke out across the master’s face. The heavy frustration and the deep anger he had felt just a few minutes ago vanished.

He slowly nodded his head. He folded the piece of parchment paper and placed it securely into the inner pocket of his dark coat.

"They have finally finished their preparations," the master thought to himself, his mind filling with joy. "My brother and Duke Collin have finally secured the weapon needed. The trap is set. We do not have to hide in the shadows anymore."

He turned his head. He looked at his aide, who was standing quietly near the flickering fireplace.

"Where is Tiberius?" the master asked clearly. His voice was serious and full of authority.

The aide quickly stood up straight. He placed his hands behind his back.

"He is currently resting in the underground quarters, my lord," the aide replied softly. "He is receiving medical treatment. He was badly injured in the lower city. The cut on his face is still healing."

The master frowned slightly. Tiberius was his best, most ruthless killer.

"Inform him," the master spoke, his voice dropping into a low, deadly rumble. "Tell him that he will be needed for a very important job very soon. He must gather his strength."

The aide nodded his head. "I will tell him immediately, my lord. What is the target?"

The master stood up slowly from his chair. He walked around the large desk.

"The King will be having a royal council meeting soon at the palace," the master explained smoothly. He clasped his hands behind his back. "All the great lords and military commanders of the kingdom will be there. The palace gates will be busy. The security will be focused entirely on the outer walls."

The master smiled again. It was a cold, merciless smile.

"And that," the master declared firmly, "will be the perfect time to end Damon."

"I want no mistakes," the master ordered strictly, glaring at his aide. "Make sure everything is ready for that specific day. Prepare the men. Prepare the weapons. Prepare the dark powder. When the signal is given, we will strike the General. We must acquire that land to speed up the ultimate plan."

"Yes, General," the aide replied, bowing deeply from the waist. "It will be done perfectly."

The master turned away from his aide. He walked slowly across the quiet study.

He walked toward the large glass windows. He stood near the thick curtains. He looked out into the dark night. The heavy storm was still raging outside. The freezing rain poured down from the sky, washing over the dark stone walls of the estate.

The master stared into the darkness, completely lost in his own victorious thoughts. He imagined the Tyrant General falling to the floor. He imagined taking total control of the Eastern valley and the Benson army.

Suddenly, a bright flash of lightning struck the sky outside.

FLASH.

The blinding white light illuminated the dark study for a single, split second.

The bright light hit the master’s face. It showed his graying hair. It showed his thick, scarred jaw. It showed his cold, ruthless eyes.

It was none other than General Howe himself.

He was the one working with his brother, Lord Ryde.

General Howe looked at his own reflection in the wet glass. He spoke, his voice carrying a deadly tone. "Kill that gate guard. I have a feeling he heard something. We must be careful not to leave any witnesses."

"I will see it." The aide replied.

~ ••••• ~

Many miles away, in the secure, heavily guarded Benson mansion, the dark, violent storm slowly came to an end.

The heavy rain finally stopped pouring. The loud, crashing thunder faded away into silence. The thick, dark grey clouds began to part, revealing the clear sky behind them.

The next morning arrived peacefully.

The sky opened up, letting the bright, warm, golden sun shine over the capital city. The birds sitting in the large green trees of the mansion’s gardens began to chirp softly, filling the cool morning air with sweet, happy, cheerful songs.

Inside the master bedroom, the atmosphere was warm and quiet.

The thick curtains were slightly open. A soft beam of golden sunlight fell across the floorboards, slowly moving toward the large bed.

On the bed, Camilla was in the middle of a very peaceful sleep.

Slowly, she began to wake up. Her sleeping mind registered the soft, cheerful sounds of the birds chirping outside the window.

Camilla let out a very small, soft groan from the back of her throat. She wanted to stretch her body. She wanted to push her arms above her head and stretch her legs out across the wide mattress.

She tried to turn her body to the side.

But as she tried to move, she immediately felt a heavy resistance. She felt that she was solidly trapped. She could not roll over. She could not stretch her arms freely.

Camilla stopped trying to turn. Her brain slowly began to shake off the heavy fog of sleep.

She slowly opened her eyes.

Her vision was very blurry at first. She blinked her eyelashes a few times, trying to adjust to the bright morning light filling the room.

A few seconds later, her vision came into sharp focus.

The very first image she saw was not her soft white pillow. It was not the ceiling.

It was Damon’s face.

He was sleeping in front of her. He was so close that she could feel the steady, warm rhythm of his breath brushing gently against her forehead. His dark hair was messy, falling softly over his brow. His face was relaxed, entirely free from his usual scowl.

Camilla blinked again. She slowly looked down, trying to figure out exactly why she could not move freely.

She saw the reason she was trapped. She saw exactly how their bodies were intimately tangled together under the thick wool blankets.

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