Transmigration: The Tyrant General Can Hear My Thoughts

Chapter 302: Chapter Three Hundred And One

Murry stared at her face. He knew he could not lie to her. She was too smart.

And deep down in his heart, Murry was terrified for the General’s life. He knew Damon was acting recklessly. Murry believed that maybe, just maybe, the Lady standing in front of him could do something to help.

Murry’s strong loyalty to Damon’s order finally cracked under his immense fear for Damon’s life.

Murry let out a long, shaky sigh. His shoulders slumped forward heavily.

He reached into his coat. He pulled out his own crumpled letter and held it out to her.

"The camp was attacked, my lady," Murry confessed softly, his voice thick with worry. "Someone slipped into the supply tents late last night. They poisoned the morning grain with White Hemlock root. Hundreds of the General’s best men are violently ill. They are stuck in the medical tents."

Camilla took the letter from his hand, but she did not read it. She listened intently to his words. Her eyes widened slightly as the pieces of the puzzle snapped together in her mind.

"The spy killed himself before he could be interrogated," Murry continued, wiping a tear from his wrinkled cheek. "The General wrote to me that the poison was not meant to kill the army. It was meant to incapacitate the guards."

Murry looked at her with terror in his eyes.

"The enemy knows the General has to travel to the royal palace," Murry explained frantically. "They poisoned the men so the General would be forced to travel lightly guarded. The road between the mansion and the palace can be used as a trap. The enemy is waiting in the shadows, ready to ambush his carriage and assassinate him."

The master bedroom went utterly silent.

Camilla could not move.

Her mind processed the terrifying information instantly. An ambush. A poisoned army. A trap on the road.

"And Damon?" Camilla asked smoothly, her voice devoid of panic. "What is he doing?"

"He ordered me to lock the mansion gates and keep you safe," Murry sobbed softly. "He told me he and Lieutenant Kade are going to use themselves as bait. They are going to ride directly into the trap to draw the assassins out into the open so they can fight them."

Camilla closed her eyes for a brief second.

Inside her mind, her internal voice exploded with frustrated anger.

"That stubborn, reckless, idiotic fool!" Camilla thought to herself, her mental voice screaming with rage. "He is going to use himself as bait? Against an unknown number of assassins? Without his army? That is not bravery, that is suicidal stupidity!"

She opened her eyes.

She realized exactly what was at stake. If Damon rode into an ambush with only Kade by his side, he could be killed. If Damon died, her entire safety in this historical world was gone. The plot of the novel would collapse.

But deeper than her logic, a sharp pain twisted violently in her chest at the thought of him bleeding on a dirt road. She refused to let him die.

Camilla looked at Murry.

"Uncle Murry," She asked firmly. "This royal council meeting at the palace. What are the strict rules of attendance?"

Murry blinked, confused by the sudden change in topic. "The rules, my lady?"

"Yes," Camilla demanded. "Is it an exclusive military meeting? Or are spouses of the high lords allowed to attend the surrounding royal events?"

Murry wiped his eyes quickly. He searched his memory of royal etiquette.

"The council meeting itself is strictly for the lords and generals," Murry answered truthfully. "However, it is a grand royal event. The King expects a full showing of power. The spouses and family members of the high lords are allowed to travel with them to the palace. They usually wait in the royal gardens or the grand drawing rooms while the men speak in the chamber."

Camilla nodded her head sharply. That was exactly what she needed to hear.

"Can I go with him?" Camilla asked, her voice tight and focused.

Murry hesitated. He looked at her determined face.

"You are his legal wife, my lady," Murry explained carefully. "By royal law, you absolutely have the right to accompany him to the palace gates. But..."

Murry wrung his shaking hands together.

"But you will have to ask him first," Murry finished softly. "If the General refuses to let you into his carriage, the palace guards will not allow you to enter the royal grounds alone."

Camilla’s mind raced with all the information Murry had just shared with her. She knew she had to be there to protect him, to make sure he survived.

"When he gets back, I’ll ask him," Camilla said with a soft sigh. She forced her voice to sound steady and resolved.

Murry bowed deeply. His wrinkled face still held a trace of worry, but he was glad the Lady was aware of the situation. He felt a small spark of hope that she could perhaps convince the General to be careful.

"I will go and get dinner ready, my lady," Murry said softly, taking a step backward toward the door.

Camilla nodded her head slowly.

Murry turned and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him. Camilla was left alone with her chaotic thoughts. She did not sleep much that night. She spent the hours thinking.

~ ••••• ~

The next day, the bright morning sun broke over the dusty military camp. The air was fresh and slightly cool, a sharp contrast to the terrible, sick atmosphere of the previous day.

Damon and Kade were standing near the large supply tents. The heavy sacks of poisoned wheat and barley had been dragged out of the storage.

"Burn it all," Damon commanded strictly, his voice carrying authority. "Do not let a single grain remain."

Damon watched as his men piled the ruined food into a large heap. They threw torches onto the pile, and thick, grey smoke began to rise into the sky. He had ordered the rest of the healthy men to discard the poisoned grains. A fresh supply of food was brought in from the emergency reserves stored in the lower cellars.

Master Thorne, the head apothecary, stood near the fresh supplies. He was holding a small glass vial and a testing stick. He had just finished thoroughly checking every single new sack of grain.

"The fresh supplies are clean, General," Master Thorne reported, bowing his head respectfully. "I tested them all myself. They have not been tampered with."

"Good," Damon nodded his head firmly. He turned his attention back to the medical tents. "How are the men?"

Master Thorne let out a tired, long breath. He rubbed his eyes with his hand.

"Most of the men are showing clear signs of recovery, My Lord," Master Thorne explained, his voice filled with relief. "The herbal antidote and the burnt charcoal worked perfectly. They are no longer vomiting, and their stomachs have settled. But they are still very weak. They cannot hold a sword or ride a horse yet."

The apothecary frowned slightly, thinking about the remaining patients.

"However," Master Thorne continued, his tone turning a bit serious, "there are some men whose recovery is very slow. Their natural metabolism is slow, so their bodies are taking much longer to flush the toxins from the White Hemlock root out of their blood."

"Keep tending to them," Damon ordered the apothecary. "Give them whatever they need to regain their strength."

"Yes, General," Master Thorne bowed and hurried back to his urgent work in the medical tents.

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