Transmigration: The Tyrant General Can Hear My Thoughts

Chapter 237: Chapter Two Hundred And Thirty Six

Damon stopped moving instantly. His eyes narrowed into cold, sharp slits. The distraction of the training vanished from his mind.

"Where?" Damon asked quickly. His deep voice was a low, dangerous rumble.

"He is locked up," Kade replied smoothly. "My men caught him trying to sneak out of the lower city through a back alley. We brought him directly to the secure holding tent at the edge of the camp."

Damon nodded his head once. He turned his body to face the large group of tired, sweating recruits.

"Training is over for today!" Damon shouted loudly, dismissing the men immediately. "Clean your weapons and return to your barracks!"

"Yes, General!" the recruits shouted back in unison. They bowed quickly and began to scatter, eager to rest.

Damon dropped his wooden practice sword into the dirt. He did not wait for the men to leave. He turned to Kade.

"Let’s go," Damon commanded coldly.

They walked quickly across the dusty camp, heading away from the main command tents and toward the quiet, isolated edges of the military base.

They reached a small, dark canvas tent that was guarded by two large, armored soldiers. The guards saluted sharply and opened the thick canvas flap for the General.

Damon and Kade stepped inside the dim tent.

A single, small oil lamp burned on a wooden crate in the corner, casting dark, dancing shadows against the canvas walls.

In the center of the dirt floor, a man was kneeling. His hands were tied securely behind his back with thick ropes.

The man looked terrible. He had already been beaten very badly by Kade’s men during his capture. His clothes were torn. His face was covered in dark purple bruises. His left eye was swollen shut. Blood leaked slowly from a deep cut on his bottom lip, dripping down onto his chin.

The man was shaking violently. He stared at the dirt floor, sobbing quietly in pain and terror.

Damon walked slowly into the center of the tent. He stopped a few feet in front of the kneeling man. Damon crossed his arms over his broad chest. He looked down at the bleeding spy with eyes empty of any mercy.

Kade stepped forward. He stood right beside the tied man.

"Tell the general what you told me," Kade ordered loudly. His voice was harsh and unforgiving.

The beaten man flinched in fear. He slowly raised his head. He looked at Damon’s terrifying, cold face with his one good eye.

The man swallowed hard. He spat a small amount of blood onto the dirt floor. He knew he had to speak the truth if he wanted to survive the night.

"I... I was paid," the man stammered weakly. His voice shook with every single word. "I was paid to watch the lady in that store."

Damon stood still. He listened carefully.

"I watched her," the man continued, coughing slightly. "I documented everything the lady did in a day. I wrote down who she spoke to, what time she arrived, and what she bought. Then, I hand the papers over."

Damon uncrossed his arms. He dropped his hands to his sides.

"To who?" Damon asked softly. His deep voice was a quiet, deadly whisper.

The man shook his head weakly side to side.

"To a man who always waits in the dark alley behind the store to collect them," the man replied, shivering in fear.

"Did you see the man?" Damon asked again, his eyes demanding a face or a name.

The man shook his head again, squeezing his one good eye shut.

"No, my lord," the man sobbed softly. "I swear I didn’t see his face. He was covered in a dark cloak. The hood was pulled down low. He never spoke loudly. He just gave me gold coins and took the papers."

Damon tightened his jaw. He knew this was the work of a professional spy network. Someone very rich and powerful was actively paying for daily information on his wife.

"Continue," Damon commanded strictly.

The bleeding man sniffed loudly. He forced himself to keep talking, wanting to prove he was just a hired worker.

"For an entire week," the man explained, his voice raspy. "The lady had not left the house at all. She stayed inside the Benson mansion completely. I waited outside the gates every single day, but I saw nothing."

Damon remembered the past week. He remembered that Camilla had stayed home to take care of his shoulder injury.

"I wanted to quit," the man confessed, looking down at the dirt. "Since it was now futile to watch an empty gate. But I was urged to continue by the hooded man, and I was paid doubled the gold to stay."

The man took a deep, shaky breath.

"Then, this morning," the man continued, detailing his actions. "I saw the lady again. She finally left the mansion. I followed her carriage down to the lower city. I saw her enter the fabric store."

The man looked up at Damon nervously.

"I saw her inside with the same man I always see her with in the lower city," the man said, referring to Allen. "I sent word to the alley immediately. In less than an hour, the hooded man met me. He sent me to pick up a small, sealed letter. He instructed me to send the letter to a fast street courier to deliver it directly to the Benson Camp to reach you."

The man finished his confession. He realized he had fully admitted to tracking the General’s wife and causing a massive scene.

The man collapsed forward, pressing his bruised forehead directly against the cold dirt floor in total submission.

"Please, General!" the man begged loudly, crying in desperate terror. "Please have mercy on me! I am just a poor man! I just wanted the gold coins! Please, don’t kill me!"

Damon did not feel a single ounce of pity for the spy. He looked at the man’s shaking body.

Damon thought to himself, his mind piecing the complex puzzle together perfectly.

"This spy is just a small, useless pawn," Damon reasoned internally. "The real enemy is the hooded man in the alley. The hooded man is the one pulling the strings. But the hooded man doesn’t know that his pawn has been captured yet."

Damon needed to confirm one final detail.

Damon took a slow step closer to the kneeling man.

"Were you the one watching me this afternoon?" Damon asked smoothly. His deep voice carried a highly calculating tone. "When I mounted my horse outside the fabric store?"

The man lifted his head slightly from the dirt. He nodded rapidly.

"Yes, My Lord," the man replied honestly. "I was hiding in the shadows between the buildings. I watched you ride away."

Damon stood tall.

A very slow smirk began to form on his face. The corners of his lips curled upward.

"Interesting," Damon said softly. The single word sounded deadly in the quiet tent.

Damon looked at the bruised spy with cold, calculating eyes.

"Have you given a feedback yet?" Damon asked clearly. "Have you sent a report to the hooded man about what happened inside the store after I arrived?"

The man shook his head quickly.

"No, my lord," the man replied, unaware of the trap Damon was building. "I was apprehended by your guards in the alley before I could write my daily report or meet the man."

Damon’s dark smirk grew just a tiny fraction wider.

"That is good," Damon replied smoothly.

He turned his body away from the bleeding spy on the floor. He looked at his loyal aide standing near the entrance of the dim tent.

"Kade," Damon called out firmly.

Kade immediately stood at attention, bowing his head. "Yes, General?"

Damon issued his specific, unexpected command.

"Bring writing materials here," Damon ordered clearly. "Bring fresh paper, black ink, and a quill immediately."

Kade blinked in surprise. He looked at the General, and then he looked down at the beaten, tied-up spy on the floor.

Kade was confused.

"If I may speak freely, My Lord," He asked politely, bowing his head again to request permission.

"Go ahead," Damon replied calmly.

Kade stood up straight. He looked at the General with a puzzled expression.

"What is it for?" Kade asked carefully. "Why do we need writing materials?"

Damon looked at Kade. The dark smirk remained in place on the General’s face. His dark brown eyes shone with calculating brilliance.

Damon replied, his voice echoing confidently in the tent.

"To catch a thief."