Transmigration: The Tyrant General Can Hear My Thoughts

Chapter 296: Chapter Two Hundred And Ninety Five

Damon stood still, his chest heaving up and down rapidly as he sucked deep breaths of hot air into his burning lungs. He had won the match, even with his handicap.

Up on the balcony, Camilla let out a very long, quiet sigh of relief. She relaxed her tight grip on the stone railing.

She looked down at him standing victorious in the sun.

Thick beads of sweat were rolling continuously down Damon’s face. The sweat slid over his sharp collarbones, trailing slowly down his muscled chest and tracking over his defined, hard abdominal muscles before soaking into the waistband of his dark grey trousers. His skin literally shone and glistened in the blazing sunlight. He looked devastatingly attractive.

Camilla stared at his bare chest. She simply could not take her eyes off him.

But as she stared, she suddenly noticed movement in the background.

She looked past the dirt ring. Standing near the stone arches of the courtyard, hiding behind a large, decorative pillar, were three young house maids. The maids were supposed to be carrying laundry baskets, but they had stopped working. They were peeking out from behind the pillar, staring directly at the General’s bare, sweaty chest, giggling softly and whispering to each other with wide, eager eyes.

Camilla narrowed her eyes.

A sudden unexpected wave of burning jealousy exploded inside her chest.

She did not feel cold or indifferent. She felt fiercely possessive.

Camilla frowned deeply. Her eyebrows pulled tightly together into a fierce, angry scowl. She glared at the giggling maids, and then she glared down at her husband’s bare back.

Camilla complained loudly to herself in her mind. Her internal voice was sharp and annoyed.

"Why is he half naked in the middle of the garden?!" Camilla thought angrily, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

She glared at his broad shoulders.

"Does he want to show the maids his body?" her thoughts raged wildly. "Is he doing this on purpose to get their attention? Look at them staring at him like hungry wolves!"

She felt a hot flush of annoyance burn her cheeks.

"Sometimes," Camilla’s internal voice continued to rant, full of bitter judgment, "he acts exactly like those shameless young men from the brothel in the lower city! Parading his muscles around in the open air for everyone to see!"

She tapped her foot angrily against the stone balcony.

"Some things," Camilla concluded fiercely in her mind, establishing her territorial claim, "are meant for only your wife to see! Put a shirt on, you shameless man!"

As soon as the furious thought crossed her mind, Camilla stopped. She blinked her eyes rapidly. The intense wave of jealousy broke. Her rational brain finally caught up with her emotional outburst.

She realized exactly what she was thinking. She realized she was actively claiming him as hers. She realized she was furious simply because other women were looking at her husband’s chest.

Camilla quickly raised her hands and pressed her cool palms against her hot, burning cheeks.

"What is wrong with me?" Camilla scolded herself silently, feeling a deep wave of embarrassment. She shook her head side to side. "I am actually ranting and being jealous over a sweaty man. I am losing my mind."

She let out a long defeated sigh.

"This man," Camilla thought, staring down at him with a mixture of annoyance and affection, "will definitely be the death of me someday."

Down in the dirt ring, Damon heard every single one of her furious possessive thoughts clearly inside his head. He heard her call him a shameless brothel worker. But most importantly, he heard her declare that his body was meant only for his wife to see.

An overwhelming explosion of joy hit Damon’s heart.

He could not control his reaction. He smiled a thrilled smile underneath his black blindfold. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs.

The tips of his ears instantly turned a very bright, burning shade of red from the intense joy of knowing his wife was fiercely jealous over him.

The guard standing in front of him slowly stepped backward, away from the sharp tip of Damon’s sword.

The guard sheathed his own weapon and bowed very deeply from the waist, showing his immense respect.

"Thank you for the honor of sparring with you, my lord," the guard said, panting slightly from the exhausting fight. "You are truly unmatched."

Damon slowly lowered his sword, letting the tip rest in the dirt. He kept his wide, happy smile firmly on his face.

"Likewise," Damon replied smoothly. His deep voice carried a very light pleased tone.

Damon turned his body slightly, presenting his bound arm to the guard.

"Could you help me untie this?" Damon asked politely.

The guard quickly stepped forward. He walked behind the General, pulled a small dagger from his belt and carefully cut the thick, rough rope that was binding Damon’s right arm to his back.

The rope fell to the dirt. Damon rolled his right shoulder, releasing the tight, stiff tension in his heavy muscles.

As the guard stepped back, he looked up at the General’s head. The guard frowned slightly in confusion.

"My lord," the guard asked, pointing a respectful finger toward Damon’s head. "Are you alright? Your ears are very red. Are you suffering from the heat of the sun?"

Damon raised his free hand. He pulled the thick black cloth blindfold off his face, exposing his dark brown eyes.

He looked at the guard. He did not look embarrassed at all. He looked proud.

"No, I’m not alright," Damon replied smoothly. His voice was full of amusement. He tossed the black blindfold onto the dirt. He looked at the confused guard.

"Don’t worry about my condition," Damon instructed him calmly, a small, arrogant smirk touching his lips. "My wife has a remedy for it."

The guard blinked, confused by the strange, cryptic answer. But he did not dare to ask the General for clarification.

"Yes, my lord," the guard bowed deeply again.

He quickly turned around and walked away from the dirt ring, eager to get some rest in the shade.

Damon was left alone in the center of the sparring area.

He dropped his steel sword into the dirt.

He slowly turned his body around, tilted his head back, looking up at the stone balcony on the second floor.

He saw Camilla standing there in the shade. She was leaning her hands on the stone railing, watching him.

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