Transmigration: The Tyrant General Can Hear My Thoughts-Chapter 34 - Thirty Four

Camilla looked at the dead body of the assassin. She did not feel any fear. She did not feel any guilt. To her, this man was just a minor inconvenience that had interrupted her rest.

She looked down at his heavy, lifeless body resting on her soft mattress.

"I cannot leave him here," Camilla thought to herself. Her internal voice was practical and calm. "If the maids find a dead man in my bed tomorrow morning, there will be too much screaming. There will be questions. I do not want to explain how a weak woman snapped a grown man’s neck."

She bent down. She grabbed the thick, black fabric of the assassin’s shirt right by his shoulders. She pulled hard.

The man was very heavy. He was full of thick muscles. But Camilla knew how to use her own body weight. She pulled him off the bed.

Thump.

The dead body slid off the silk sheets and hit the wooden floor.

Camilla grabbed his ankles. She began to drag his body across the room. The soft soles of his black shoes slid quietly against the smooth wood. She dragged him past the large wooden closet. She dragged him past the small sitting area.

She reached the open glass doors. She pulled him out onto the cold stone floor of the balcony.

The night air was chilly. She dragged the body right up to the edge of the stone railing. She let go of his ankles. She bent down and grabbed him by the heavy leather belt around his waist. She used her legs, lifting with all her strength. She hoisted his body up. She pushed him over the thick stone railing.

She let go.

She watched his body fall through the air into the shadows of the garden below.

Thud.

It was a heavy, dull sound. The body hit the soft dirt and the thick green bushes directly below her balcony. He was completely hidden in the dark shadows of the garden. The guards would find him in the morning. They would just think he slipped and fell while trying to climb the stone wall.

Camilla dusted off her hands. She brushed her palms together to get rid of the dirt. She turned around and walked calmly back into her bedroom. She closed the glass doors and locked them firmly.

She walked over to a small silver washbasin sitting on a table. She poured a little bit of cold water over her hands and washed them clean. She dried her hands on a small white towel.

"Such a disappointment," Camilla said out loud to the empty room. She shook her head in pure annoyance. "He cannot even do a good job. He stepped so loudly, I could hear him coming from miles away. He hesitated with the pillow. He was completely sloppy."

She walked back to her large wooden bed. She climbed onto the mattress and pulled the thick silk sheets all the way up to her neck. She adjusted her pillows to make them comfortable.

"If it was in the modern world," Camilla sighed, staring up at the dark ceiling, "a simple bullet would have ended him quickly from a distance. No messy struggling. No dragging heavy bodies. Just a clean shot and a quick exit."

She let out another long, tired sigh. She closed her eyes.

"Some people just put a bad name to our assassin’s reputation," she grumbled softly. "They have no standards in this historical world. None at all."

She turned onto her side. She stopped thinking about the dead man outside. Instead, she thought about her modern house. She thought about her warm, soft blankets.

Most of all, she thought about her fat orange cat, Winston. She imagined his soft fur. She imagined the quiet purring sound he made when she scratched behind his ears. The thought of her cat made her feel calm. Within a few minutes, her breathing slowed down. She went to sleep, completely unbothered by the murder she had just committed.

That same night, on the other side of the massive Benson mansion, the atmosphere was very different.

Damon’s bedroom was lit by a single, flickering candle sitting on his desk. Damon was not sleeping. He was sitting in a large leather chair behind the desk. He was dressed in dark trousers and a clean white shirt. His injured left leg was resting on a small wooden stool.

He was reading a pile of military reports, but his mind was completely focused on the traitor hiding in his house.

A very soft, careful knock came on the door.

"Enter," Damon commanded. His voice was low and serious.

The door opened quietly. Kade stepped into the room. The young aide closed the door behind him and made sure it was locked. He walked over to the desk and stood at strict attention. His face looked very tense.

"My Lord," Kade greeted him respectfully, bowing his head slightly.

Damon did not look up from his papers immediately. "Report," Damon replied simply.

Kade took a deep breath. He had spent the entire day investigating the household. He had questioned servants secretly. He had checked the outgoing mail. He had searched personal rooms while the staff was busy cooking and cleaning.

"I have found out who sabotaged your horse," Kade replied. His voice was steady, but his hands were slightly clenched into fists by his sides.

Damon stopped reading. He slowly lifted his head. His dark eyes locked onto Kade’s face.

Kade hesitated. He swallowed hard. The news he was about to deliver was very heavy. It was going to hurt the General deeply.

Damon noticed the hesitation. "Go on," Damon ordered, leaning forward in his leather chair.

"The order," Kade continued, speaking carefully, "it came from the main estate."

Damon’s eyes narrowed. The ’main estate’ meant the original Benson family home in the northern province. It meant his extended family. His uncles. His cousins. The people who were greedy for his wealth and his military power. They wanted him dead so they could take control of the family fortune.

Damon nodded his head slowly. "Interesting," he said, his voice cold and hard. "I always knew my uncle’s family were greedy pigs, but I did not think they had the courage to strike me directly. So, who is the mole they are using?"

Damon paused for a second. He remembered the head maid’s loud accusations in the dining room. He remembered Isabel pointing her finger at his wife. He raised his hand to stop Kade from speaking.

"And do not tell me it is Camilla," Damon warned firmly. His voice left no room for argument. "I know for a fact she is not the one. She does not care about my uncles or their politics. Do not even say her name."

Kade nodded his head quickly. He knew Lady Camilla was innocent of this crime.

"Yes, My Lord," Kade agreed. "It is not Lady Camilla."

Kade took another deep breath. He looked directly into Damon’s eyes. He had to deliver the painful truth.

"It is Mrs. Ida," Kade said clearly.

The room fell completely silent. The only sound was the soft crackle of the candle flame.

Damon sat frozen in his leather chair. His dark eyes widened in absolute shock. He stopped breathing. For a moment, his mind simply stopped working. He stared at Kade, hoping he had heard the name wrong.

"Ida?" Damon repeated in a rough, quiet whisper.