Transmigration: The Tyrant General Can Hear My Thoughts

Chapter 320: Chapter Three Hundred And Nineteen

The royal council chamber was a circular room located deep inside the King’s palace. The walls were made of smooth, white marble, and thick red banners hung from the high ceiling. In the very center of the room sat a gigantic, round table.

The double doors were closed, shutting out the noise of the rest of the palace. The air inside the chamber was cool, but it felt thick and tense.

Sitting side by side at the right hand of the King’s empty chair were the two royal princes.

Prince Elio, the eldest prince, sat quietly. He was the handsome, polite young man who had just bumped into Camilla in the hallway outside. He had quickly fixed his golden sash and was now sitting with perfect, calm posture. He kept his hands resting neatly on his lap. He looked observant and serious.

Right next to him sat Prince Ivan, the second prince. Ivan looked different. He was restless. He tapped his boot quickly against the floor. He crossed and uncrossed his arms, looking impatiently at the large double doors, waiting for the meeting to begin.

Around the rest of the massive round table sat the most powerful men in the entire Kingdom of Daril. There were wealthy dukes, proud earls, and tough military generals. They wore expensive ceremonial attires, shiny silver medals, and golden rings.

But one man at the table was not sitting comfortably at all.

General Howe sat near the middle of the table. He wore a dark green military uniform. His hands were resting on the polished wood. But his hands were shaking slightly. A layer of cold, greasy sweat covered his forehead.

General Howe slowly turned his head. He looked across the large round table.

He stared at Damon.

Damon was sitting in his designated chair. He looked perfect, no sign of dirt or blood on his uniform. He was calmly adjusting his gloves, looking relaxed and unbothered.

General Howe’s heart hammered wildly against his ribs. He felt a crushing wave of panic flood his chest.

General Howe thought to himself, his mind screaming in disbelief.

"How?" General Howe thought, his eyes wide as he stared at Damon’s clean uniform. "How is he sitting there? How is he even alive right now?"

General Howe swallowed a dry lump in his throat. He remembered the orders he had given just last night.

"I sent my men to the dirt road," Howe’s panicked thoughts raced frantically. "I sent ten of my absolute best, highly trained killers. They were supposed to ambush his carriage. They were supposed to cut his throat and leave his body in the mud!"

Howe gripped the edge of the wooden table so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"How could he kill all ten of my best men?" Howe asked himself internally, feeling a cold shiver run straight down his spine. "It is impossible! Eight assassins and two armed men against one man and a single aide! And he doesn’t even have a single scratch on his face! He is not bleeding! He is not tired!"

General Howe looked at Damon’s calm face. A deep, terrifying realization hit him.

"He is a monster," Howe thought, terrified. "He is not human. He slaughtered my entire team, and he is sitting here acting like nothing happened."

Suddenly, the loud, sharp sound of boots echoed outside the room.

The large double doors of the council chamber were pushed wide open by two armored guards.

The Chamberlain stepped into the room. He hit the bottom of his tall staff heavily against the stone floor.

"His Majesty, King Leonel!" the announcer shouted clearly.

Instantly, every single man in the room stood up. Prince Elio and Prince Ivan stood tall. Damon pushed his chair back and stood at military attention. General Howe quickly wiped the sweat from his forehead and stood up.

"Long live His Majesty," all the noblemen and generals chorused together in one loud, respectful voice. They bowed deeply from the waist.

King Leonel walked into the throne room. He wore his crown and a rich, dark red velvet coat. But the King did not look happy today. His face was covered in a deep, grim shadow. He looked angry and stressed.

Following closely behind the King was the Lord Chancellor. The Lord Chancellor was an older serious man carrying a thick leather folder and a long object wrapped in dark canvas.

The King walked to the head of the round table. He stood by his large, tall chair.

"Sit," the King commanded. His voice was quiet, but it carried authority.

Everyone in the room sat down at the exact same time. The chairs scraped softly against the floor. The room fell into a tense silence. The attendees were quiet. They looked at the King’s grim face. They knew this was not a normal meeting about taxes or crops.

Something terrible had happened.

King Leonel did not offer a polite greeting. He turned his head and looked at the Lord Chancellor standing beside him.

The Lord Chancellor stepped forward. He placed the long, wrapped object down onto the center of the table.

With slow, careful movements, the Lord Chancellor unwrapped the canvas.

The canvas fell away. Resting on the table was another of the strange weapon. It was made of smooth dark wood and a long, hollow iron pipe. It possessed a complex metal lever near the bottom. The faint, sour smell of burnt powder and sulfur drifted up from the metal.

The noblemen leaned forward in their chairs. They frowned in confusion. The king had shown them this weapon before.

"Generals," the King spoke, his voice cutting through the quiet room. He looked at the military men at the table. "Explain what is going on."

The General of the Eastern Border slowly stood up from his chair. He looked at the strange iron weapon on the table. His face was pale, and he looked deeply troubled.

The General of the Eastern Border cleared his throat.

"Your Majesty. My Lords," the General spoke, his voice echoing in the chamber. "This is the captured weapon we acquired three days ago during a skirmish at the eastern border."

The other nobles whispered quietly to each other. A skirmish?

The General of the Eastern Border placed his hands flat on the table.

"A small group of unidentified smugglers tried to cross the eastern mountain pass in the dark," the General explained heavily. "My border patrol stopped them. When my men ordered them to surrender their wagons, the smugglers did not draw swords. They raised these iron pipes."

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