Transmigration: The Tyrant General Can Hear My Thoughts

Chapter 295: Chapter Two Hundred And Ninety Four

It was already noon.

The sun had climbed high up into the center of the blue sky. It was blazing hot, beating down on the city with intense, burning heat, acting exactly as if it didn’t just rain cats and dogs few hours ago.

Inside the master bedroom, the air was cool and quiet. Camilla was supposed to be resting in the bed, following Damon’s strict orders to recover fully. But she had been lying in bed all morning, and she was so bored.

She pushed the thick wool blankets off her legs and walked across the floorboards, wearing a simple, comfortable light blue day dress.

She walked toward the large glass doors that led out to the private stone balcony attached to their bedroom. She pushed the glass doors open and stepped outside.

The bright noon sunlight hit her face instantly. A very cool, refreshing breeze was blowing through the high trees of the estate, rustling her curly hair softly around her shoulders.

Camilla walked to the edge of the balcony. She placed her hands on the smooth stone railing.

As she stood there enjoying the fresh breeze, the stone slab beneath her soft slippers began to feel very hot from the blazing sun. She took a step backward, moving into the cool shade provided by the overhanging roof of the mansion.

She intended to turn around and go back inside the boring bedroom to read a book.

But suddenly, a loud, sharp, metallic sound caught her attention.

Clang! Clack!

The clear sound of steel hitting steel echoed up from the ground below.

Camilla stopped moving. She stepped slightly forward again, staying in the shade, and looked down over the stone railing.

Below the balcony, in an open, grassy space in the private back garden, there was a small area dedicated entirely for sparring. The ground was covered in soft, trampled dirt instead of grass.

There were two figures moving rapidly in the center of the dirt ring, clashing steel swords together.

Camilla narrowed her eyes, trying to see clearly against the bright sunlight.

The figure on the left side of the ring was a tall armored estate guard. He was wearing his full protective gear and gripping his sword with both hands, attacking fiercely.

But the figure on the right side of the dirt ring stole Camilla’s breath away.

It was Damon.

He was not wearing his stiff, dark blue military uniform or even a shirt. He was shirtless. His broad chest and his wide, muscular back were entirely bare to the hot noon sun. He wore only a pair of loose, dark grey combat trousers and leather training boots.

But that was not the most shocking part of the scene.

Camilla stared down at him in disbelief.

Damon was fighting with an impossible, crazy handicap. A thick, rough rope was wrapped tightly around his chest, binding his right arm securely behind his back.

And if fighting with only one arm was not difficult enough, a thick black cloth was tied firmly across his face, covering his dark eyes.

He was blindfolded. He was fighting a fully armed, fully sighted guard using only his non-dominant left hand, relying completely on his hearing and his military instincts.

Clang!

The guard lunged forward, swinging his sword in a fast, downward arc.

Damon did not even flinch. He heard the sound of the guard’s boots shifting in the dirt. He heard the whistle of the blade cutting through the hot air.

With smooth fast footwork, Damon shifted his weight. He stepped gracefully to the side, dodging the attack. He raised his own steel sword with his left hand, blocking the guard’s follow-up strike.

Camilla stood still on the balcony,watching his movements closely.

As an assassin, she knew exactly how difficult it was to fight blindfolded. It required perfect mastery of the human body and the surrounding environment. Every single muscle had to react with perfect timing.

She watched the way his muscles flexed and rolled under his skin with every single block and parry. There was no wasted energy. His balance was flawless.

Camilla thought to herself. Her internal voice was filled with deep professional respect.

"He is really a good swordsman," Camilla thought in her mind, her eyes tracking his defensive stance. "His reaction time is unbelievable. He is a true master."

Down in the dirt ring, Damon was fully focused on the sounds of the guard’s breathing and footsteps.

But he did not just hear the physical sounds around him, he heard her thought clearly in his mind.

He is really a good swordsman.

The sound of her impressed compliment echoed loudly inside his dark, blindfolded world.

A very sudden happy feeling flooded his chest. He knew she was watching him. He knew she was admiring his skills.

A very small, cute, boyish smile broke out across his face.

Damon thought to himself, his heart beating a fast, happy rhythm.

"She’s complimenting me," Damon rejoiced in his mind. He felt an intense, overwhelming surge of male pride.

But in a serious sword fight, even a single second of distraction was a terrible mistake.

Because Damon was listening to Camilla’s thoughts, his concentration broke. He stopped listening to the guard’s footsteps for just a moment.

The guard saw the General pause. The guard immediately seized the opportunity. He lunged forward aggressively, thrusting his steel sword directly toward Damon’s unprotected side.

The sharp blade sliced quickly through the hot air, heading straight for Damon’s ribs.

Up on the balcony, Camilla gasped softly, gripping the stone railing tightly.

Damon heard the sharp whistle of the incoming blade just in time. His instincts violently snapped him back to reality.

He moved with desperate speed.

He twisted his waist sharply, sucking his stomach in. The guard’s steel blade missed his bare skin by less than a single inch.

Damon did not retreat. He used his spinning momentum to counterattack instantly. He stepped inside the guard’s guard. With a quick twist of his left wrist, Damon struck the guard’s blade heavily, knocking the weapon wide open.

Before the guard could recover his balance, Damon stepped forward.

He placed the sharp, cold tip of his steel sword against the side of the guard’s exposed neck.

The fight was instantly over.

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