Chapter 206: Chapter Two Hundred And Five
Meanwhile, miles away from the quiet city, the afternoon sun beat down heavily on the Benson military camp.
Thick clouds of dust rose continuously into the hot air as hundreds of soldiers marched along the dirt paths. The sounds of clashing steel swords, shouting officers, and leather boots echoed loudly across the plain.
In the very center of the camp, surrounded by a high wooden fence, was the private training arena.
Damon stood in the center of the dirt ring.
He was shirtless. Drops of sweat were rolling continuously down his broad chest, sliding over his sharp abdomen, and dripping into the sand. His back was covered in large, pale scars from old battles, and the muscles in his arms were tensing violently with every movement he made.
He was holding a steel broadsword in his right hand. His knuckles, still wrapped in thin white bandages, gripped the leather handle tightly.
Standing opposite him in the dirt was one of his most seasoned, highly skilled soldiers—a tall, heavily built commander named Captain Robert. Robert was holding a matching steel sword, his face tense and covered in sweat.
"Again!" Damon commanded loudly. His deep voice boomed across the empty training ring.
Damon lunged forward aggressively. He swung his sword in a fast, downward arc.
Clang!
The sharp, metallic ring of steel hitting steel echoed violently. Robert had brought his sword up just in time to block the powerful blow. The force of Damon’s hit was so immense that Robert’s knees buckled slightly, his boots sinking deep into the loose sand.
Damon did not stop. He pulled his sword back quickly and spun, swinging his blade toward Robert’s side.
Damon was attacking with raw physical power. But he was not using his usual military strategy. His movements were clumsy. His timing was completely off. He was swinging too wide, leaving his chest open.
His mind was utterly occupied.
"Winston," Damon thought to himself, his internal voice filled with a burning, torturous rage.
The memories of his terrible dream from last night were repeating inside his brain over and over again like a curse. He pictured Camilla straddling his waist, asking him if he liked her, and then running into the arms of a handsome noble named Winston. He remembered waking up to find her blankets cold and her body gone.
"And the gold," Damon’s anxious thoughts raged. "She took the chest. Five thousand gold coins. Did she take my gold to run away to him? Is she currently sitting in a secret house in the city, kissing him and telling him she loves him?"
The thought made his blood boil with jealousy. The pain in his chest was so intense that he could not focus on the sword in his hand. He was blinded by his dark emotions.
Damon lunged forward again, throwing his weight into a reckless thrust.
Robert saw the massive opening and his reflexes acted automatically.
Robert twisted his wrist, deflecting Damon’s blade past his shoulder. At the same time, Robert stepped forward and swung his own sword in a quick, sharp, defensive swipe.
Swish.
The sharp tip of Robert’s steel blade grazed Damon’s skin.
It was a clean, thin slice directly across Damon’s left shoulder. A line of bright, dark red blood immediately burst from the shallow cut, running down his muscular arm and dripping onto the sand.
Robert stopped moving instantly. His face went white with terror.
He realized exactly what he had just done. He had just drawn blood from the commanding General during a simple training session. The General was famous for his ruthless, brutal punishments.
Robert immediately dropped his steel sword into the sand.
Clatter.
He fell heavily onto his knees in the dirt, bowing his head until it almost touched Damon’s boots. He was shaking violently with fear.
"Forgive me, General!" Robert cried out, his voice high and cracking with panic. "I did not mean to strike you! My hand slipped! Please have mercy, General!"
Damon stood in the center of the ring, breathing heavily. His broad chest rose and fell rapidly. He looked down at his bleeding shoulder. He felt the sharp, stinging pain of the shallow cut, but he did not feel angry at the captain.
He realized that the fault was entirely his own. He had lost his focus because of a woman. He had allowed his mind to be defeated by a dream.
Damon let out a tired sigh. He lowered his steel broadsword, letting the tip rest in the sand.
"Don’t worry about it, Robert," Damon said. His deep voice was calm, flat, and tired. "It was my own mistake. I left myself open. Stand up."
Robert slowly raised his head, looking up with wide, disbelieving eyes. He could not believe the General was letting him off so easily.
"Get someone from the medical tent to tend to it," Damon ordered quietly, pointing to his shoulder.
"Yes, General! Thank you, General!" Robert scrambled up quickly from the dirt, picked up his sword, and ran out of the training ring as fast as his legs could carry him, deeply relieved to be alive.
Damon stood alone in the sand. He looked at the blood on his arm.
He walked slowly over to the wooden bench at the edge of the ring. He sat down heavily, resting his elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the ground.
Just then, quick footsteps crunched in the dirt.
Kade came walking rapidly into the training arena. The young aide looked extremely stressed, his boots covered in dust, and his brow furrowed in worry.
Kade reached Damon’s side. He immediately went down on one knee, bowing his head respectfully to his commander.
"My Lord," Kade greeted him, his voice serious.
Damon did not look at him. He kept his eyes fixed on the dirt.
"Report," Damon said flatly.
Kade let out a small, defeated sigh. He looked down at his hands.
"I couldn’t find anything, My Lord," Kade explained, his voice full of professional despair.
Kade looked up at Damon’s bleeding shoulder, his eyes widening slightly, but he kept his focus on the mission.
"It is as if the man does not exist in the entire kingdom," Kade added quietly.
Damon gritted his teeth. His jaw clenched tightly.
"He must exist," Damon thought to himself, his heart aching with a bitter, painful jealousy. "She cried for him. She said she was lost without him. And now she has taken my gold. She must have found a way to meet him secretly."
He felt a massive, heavy wave of frustration. He wanted to ride into the capital and search every single house himself, but he had strict military duties to manage.
Just then, a soft, light footsteps sounded near the entrance of the training ring.
Damon and Kade turned their heads.
A young woman, wearing a clean, simple white medical apron over a plain blue dress, walked slowly into the arena. She carried a small basket filled with clean bandages, white cloths, and bottles of healing green ointment. She was one of the newly hired camp medics.
The young woman stopped a few feet away from the General. She lowered her head and offered a very elegant and respectful curtsy.
She looked up, her eyes looking softly at Damon’s bleeding shoulder.
"I am at your service, General," the young woman said sweetly, her voice soft and gentle.
