Transmigration: The Tyrant General Can Hear My Thoughts

Chapter 300: Chapter Two Hundred And Ninety Nine

After a very long, chaotic, and exhausting day, the bright sun finally began to set over the Benson military camp. The sky turned into deep shades of dark orange and bruised purple.

The camp was not filled with the usual sounds of men chatting and eating their evening meals. Instead, it was quiet, save for the soft groans of the sick soldiers resting inside the large medical tents. The air smelled strongly of bitter medicinal herbs, boiling vinegar, and burning wood charcoal.

Damon stood near the entrance of the largest medical tent. He was holding a large bucket filled with fresh, clean water.

He was covered in brown dust. His military uniform was stained with dirt and sweat. He had spent the entire afternoon and evening carrying water, moving heavy supply boxes, and helping the head apothecary tend to his sick men. He refused to sit in his command tent while his soldiers suffered.

Damon carefully set the bucket down on the dirt floor. He wiped a drop of sweat from his forehead with the back of his dirty sleeve. He looked down the long rows of wooden cots.

The men were no longer vomiting, thanks to the herbal medicine, but they were still very weak. They were sleeping heavily, their bodies fighting off the toxic effects of the White Hemlock root.

Heavy footsteps crunched softly in the dirt behind him.

Kade walked up to his side. Kade looked just as exhausted as the General. His face was pale, and his uniform was messy.

Kade stopped and bowed his head slightly.

"My Lord," Kade spoke quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping soldiers. "The apothecary says the men are stable for the night. The guards are fully posted at the gates. The camp is completely locked down."

Damon nodded his head slowly. "Good."

Kade looked out toward the darkening sky. He knew the General liked going home early because of the lady.

"Should I ready your horse, my lord?" Kade asked respectfully. "It is getting very late. You should return to the mansion to rest."

Damon looked down at the rows of sick men. He saw a young, pale recruit shivering slightly in his sleep on a wooden cot.

Damon slowly shook his head from side to side.

"No," Damon replied firmly. His deep voice carried a tone of absolute duty and responsibility. "I am staying tonight. More hands are needed here. I will not leave them when they are this weak."

Kade understood the General’s dedication to his army. But Kade also remembered the lady of the house.

"But what about the lady?" Kade asked softly. His voice held a note of gentle concern. "She is waiting for you at the mansion, My Lord. She does not know what has happened here."

Damon sighed.

Hearing Camilla’s title brought a sudden, sharp ache to his chest. He pictured her standing in the grand foyer, wearing her simple, elegant dress, waiting for him to return for dinner. He wanted to go home. He desperately wanted to see her face and to hear her voice.

But he could not go back. His men needed him here.

Damon’s eyes was filled with sadness. His facial muscles tightened.

"Write a letter," Damon ordered softly, keeping his eyes fixed on the dirt floor. He could not look at Kade. "Send a fast courier to the mansion. Write a letter telling her I won’t be coming home tonight."

Kade felt a pang of sympathy for his commander. He bowed his head deeply.

"As you wish, General," Kade replied. "I will draft the message immediately."

Kade turned around and took a step toward the command tent to find paper and ink.

Before Kade could take a second step, Damon raised his right hand.

"Wait," Damon said. His voice was slightly rough.

Kade stopped and turned back around. "Yes, My Lord?"

Damon let out a slow quiet breath. He lowered his hand. He could not let Kade write the letter. If he was going to tell his wife that he was abandoning her for the night, he needed to do it himself.

"I think I’d rather write the letter," Damon said smoothly.

Kade smiled a very small, understanding smile. He bowed deeply. "Of course, My Lord."

Damon walked away from the medical tent. He walked across the dusty courtyard and entered his private command tent. The tent was quiet. He lit a single oil lamp on his desk, sat down in his chair and pulled two pieces of parchment paper toward him. He dipped his dark feather quill into the black ink.

He began to write the first letter. This letter was for Mr. Murry.

His hand moved quickly and sharply across the paper. He detailed exactly what had happened. He explained his tactical realization: the enemy had poisoned the camp specifically to reduce his guard so they could ambush him on the road.

He wrote his final, strict order to the old housekeeper: Lock the mansion gates. Double the estate guards. Do not let Lady Camilla leave the house for any reason. And most importantly, do not tell her about the poison or the ambush. Tell her it is just normal military business. Keep her safe and unaware. I don’t want her to worry.

Damon folded the letter and sealed it with red wax.

Then, he pulled the second piece of parchment paper in front of him.

This letter was for Camilla.

Damon stared at the blank white paper for a very long time. The ink on his quill began to dry. He did not know what to say. He wanted to tell her to be safe. He wanted to tell her he missed her. But he knew if he sounded too emotional or too worried, her sharp mind would instantly know something was wrong.

He had to sound normal.

He dipped his quill into the ink again. He wrote slowly and carefully.

My Lady,

I will not be returning to the mansion tonight. An urgent military matter requires my attention here at the camp.

I must stay here to prepare my reports for the royal council meeting at the palace.

I will be home tomorrow evening to prepare for the meeting.

Rest well.

- Damon.

He read the words over. It was brief and It was a lie, but it was necessary to protect her from worry.

He folded the letter. He sealed it with wax and stamped it with the Benson military crest.

He walked out of the tent and handed both letters to a waiting courier.

"Ride to the mansion," Damon ordered strictly. "Give both letters directly to Mr. Murry."

The courier saluted, mounted his fast horse, and rode quickly out into the dark night.

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