Transmigration: The Tyrant General Can Hear My Thoughts

Chapter 301: Chapter Three Hundred

Miles away, the city was dark. The air around the Benson mansion was cold and silent.

In the large, paved courtyard of the estate, Mr. Murry stood near the open front doors. The old housekeeper held a warm, glowing yellow lantern in his hand. He was staring out toward the iron gates, waiting patiently for the General to return home for dinner.

Behind him, soft, quick footsteps echoed on the stone floor of the grand foyer.

Camilla walked out of the mansion and stopped right behind the old man. She was wearing a very comfortable evening gown. Her red curly hair was left falling softly over her shoulders.

She stood there for a second, twisting her fingers together in front of her waist. She felt a very strange restless energy buzzing inside her chest.

"Uncle Murry," Camilla spoke out loud. Her voice was smooth, but there was a tight, underlying edge of anxiety to it.

She tried her possible best to sound calm, bored, and composed.

"Is he back yet?" Camilla asked.

Murry turned his head slowly. He looked at the young Lady.

He offered her a very polite, gentle smile. But behind his smile, Murry could see the truth. He had watched her pace the grand foyer for the past two hours. This was exactly the tenth time she had walked to the front doors to ask about her husband’s whereabouts. She was trying to act cold, but her eyes were full of worry.

"No sight of him or his horse, my lady," Murry answered softly, his voice full of warm comfort. "But I am sure he will be home soon. The General rarely stays away when he knows you are waiting."

Camilla frowned slightly. She dropped her hands to her sides.

She nodded her head once, a small, tight movement.

"Okay," Camilla replied simply.

She turned around and began walking back into the grand foyer.

As she walked, her mind began to race with frantic, frustrated thoughts.

"What is wrong with me today?" Camilla scolded herself internally. Her internal voice was annoyed. "Why am I pacing around like a worried, traditional housewife? This is tiring."

She walked toward the staircase.

"He is a grown man," her practical mind reasoned. "I’m sure he’s fine. There is absolutely no reason for my chest to feel this tight."

Despite her logical reasoning, the heavy feeling of anxiety did not go away. The sudden way he had left that afternoon after the sweet training session still bothered her. Something felt incomplete.

She walked upstairs and went back into the master bedroom to wait.

About twenty minutes later, the loud, rapid sound of horse hooves echoing in the quiet courtyard broke the silence of the night.

Downstairs, the camp courier rode through the iron gates. He stopped his horse near the front steps, jumped down, and ran up to Mr. Murry.

The courier bowed and handed the old housekeeper the two sealed parchment letters.

"From the General, sir," the courier announced, breathing heavily.

"Thank you," Murry replied.

The courier bowed again, mounted his horse, and rode away.

Murry stood alone in the courtyard. He held his lantern up to look at the letters. He saw his own name written on one of the envelopes. He saw Lady Camilla’s name written on the other.

Murry quickly broke the red wax seal on his letter. He unfolded the parchment paper. He read the words.

As Murry read the letter, his old face turned pale. The warm, comforting smile vanished entirely from his lips. His gray eyebrows pulled tightly together in pure, absolute horror.

"Poisoned grain?" Murry whispered to himself in the quiet courtyard. His hands began to shake violently. "Hundreds of men violently ill? A dead spy?"

The reality of the terrifying situation crashed down on the old man’s shoulders.

Murry quickly read the final lines of the letter. Do not tell her. Keep her completely safe and unaware.

Murry swallowed a heavy lump in his throat. He quickly folded the letter and shoved it deep into the inner pocket of his uniform. He had to obey the General’s strict orders. He could not panic. He had to lie to the Lady.

Murry took a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands. He picked up the second letter, the one addressed to Camilla.

He turned around, walked into the mansion, and slowly climbed the grand staircase.

He reached the door of the master bedroom. He knocked softly.

Knock. Knock.

"Come in," Camilla’s clear voice called from inside.

Murry pushed the door open. Camilla was sitting in a chair near the cold fireplace, holding a book, but she was not reading.

Murry walked into the room. He forced a polite, calm expression onto his face. He bowed deeply and held out the sealed letter.

"A courier just arrived from the camp, my lady," Murry announced smoothly. "He brought a letter for you from the General."

Camilla dropped her book onto the small wooden table. She stood up immediately. She walked quickly across the floorboards and took the letter from Murry’s trembling hands.

She looked at the red wax seal. She broke it with her thumb.

She unfolded the paper and read the short, precise message.

I will not be returning to the mansion tonight.

Camilla’s eyes scanned the words. She read the letter twice.

Her face did not show sadness. It showed calculation.

She slowly opened her fingers.

The piece of parchment paper slipped out of her hand. It fluttered through the air and landed with a soft slap onto the floor.

Murry stood nearby, watching her. He thought she was just disappointed that her husband was not coming home for dinner.

Murry bowed again, preparing to leave her alone.

"I will have the maids bring your dinner up, my lady," Murry said softly, taking a step backward toward the open door.

"Stop," Camilla commanded.

Her voice was not loud, but it was sharp. It cracked through the quiet room like a whip.

Murry froze in his tracks. He slowly turned his head to look at her.

Camilla was staring directly at him. Her eyes were cold, piercing, and terrifyingly observant.

"What is really going on, Uncle Murry?" Camilla demanded softly.

Murry blinked his old eyes rapidly. He tried to maintain his fake, calm smile.

"I... I do not understand, my lady," Murry stammered, his voice shaking slightly. "The letter says the General is busy preparing his reports for the royal council meeting. That is all."

Camilla took a slow, deliberate step toward the old housekeeper.

"Do not lie to me," Camilla warned him. Her voice dropped into a low, dangerous whisper. "I know him. You know him. Damon hates writing reports. He hates paperwork. He always forces Kade to do the writing for him."

She pointed a finger at the letter lying on the floor.

"Furthermore," Camilla analyzed the situation. "The way he left this afternoon shows this isn’t about reports."

She stepped right into Murry’s personal space. She glared deeply into his panicked, wide eyes.

"He is not staying at the camp to write reports," Camilla stated with certainty. "Something bigger had happened."

She crossed her arms tightly over her dress.

"Tell me the truth, Uncle Murry," Camilla ordered fiercely. "Right now."

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