Chapter 349 - Three Hundred And Forty Eight

Chapter 349: Chapter Three Hundred And Forty Eight

The dim light of the oil lamp flickered against the walls.

Cold sweat poured down General Howe’s pale face, dripping onto his graying mustache. He stared at the hooded figure in black standing near the broken doorway. The cold air in the room felt heavy, making it hard for him to draw a single breath into his lungs.

Before General Howe could open his trembling mouth to speak, loud and fast footsteps echoed from the outer hallway.

"General Howe!" a man shouted from outside.

A tall figure rushed into the bedroom from the corridor. It was General Howe’s aide with a drawn sword in his hand. The aide had heard the loud boom of the broken door and rushed upstairs to protect his commander.

The aide saw the dark, hooded intruder standing in the center of the room. Without slowing down, he raised his sword and charged straight toward Camilla’s back.

"Get away from the General!" the aide yelled, his sword cutting through the air.

Camilla’s eyes caught the movement in her side vision. As the aide lunged forward with his blade, Camilla ducked her head low, stepping smoothly to the left side. The sword missed her shoulder by a few inches, slicing harmlessly through empty air.

Using the aide’s forward momentum against him, Camilla spun on her boot. She reached out her right arm and brought the steel pommel of her dagger smashing down onto the side of the aide’s head with violent force.

THUD!

The heavy blow struck him right above his ear. The aide let out a choked gasp. His eyes rolled back into his head instantly, and his sword slipped from his numb fingers, clattering onto the rug. His knees buckled beneath him, and his body slumped heavily onto the floor, unconscious.

Camilla did not give the fallen man another look. She turned her body back toward General Howe, stepping slowly into the room. Her leather boots made soft, deliberate sounds against the carpet.

General Howe backed away until his waist slammed into the edge of his large desk. His eyes were wide with terror. He looked at his aide lying motionless on the floor, and then he looked back up at Camilla’s hazel eyes beneath her hood.

Those eyes.

General Howe stared deeply into those intense eyes. A sudden, sharp memory flashed through his mind—a memory from months ago at Damon’s camp. He remembered the masked figure dressed in black shadow who defeated his mercenary, reclaiming the eastern valley before vanishing.

General Howe’s jaw dropped open. The color drained from his face.

"It... it’s you," Howe stammered, his voice shaking with shock.

Camilla stopped walking five paces away from him. She raised an eyebrow beneath her shadow.

General Howe swallowed hard, his hands gripping the edge of his desk so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"You fought for Damon for the eastern valley," Howe said, his breath coming in short, nervous gasps. "You took back that land when everyone thought the battle was lost. I have been looking for you for months. I tried to hire you. I tried to find out who you were."

Camilla stood straight. Underneath the dark cloth covering the lower half of her face, her lips curved into a cold, dark smile. She let out a quiet, wicked chuckle that echoed off the walls.

"Oh, really?" Camilla asked softly. Her voice was cool and relaxed, but her eyes were filled with death. "Well then, I’m right here now. But this will be the very last time you will ever see me."

General Howe felt a wave of cold terror wash down his spine. Panicking, he reached his hands out in front of him, palms open, trying to reason with her.

"Don’t kill me!" Howe begged quickly, his voice high and pathetic. "Listen to me! Whatever Damon is paying you for your service, I will double it! No—I will triple it! Gold, lands, jewels, high titles in the military—I can give you whatever you want! Just name your price and let me walk out of here alive!"

Hearing those words, Camilla’s relaxed posture vanished in an instant.

A sharp, violent rage burned inside her chest. The dark eyes beneath her hood flashed with fury. The idea that this greedy, pathetic man thought he could buy her Damon’s life with shiny coins disgusted her to her very core.

Camilla took a slow step forward. Her voice dropped into a dark, sharp register that sounded like cold iron dragging across stone.

"Do you think his life is for sale?" Camilla asked in anger.

General Howe backed up in terror, but his back was already pressed hard against his desk. He had nowhere left to run.

As Camilla stepped closer, Howe’s right hand frantically searched the cluttered top of his desk. His trembling fingers brushed past stacks of gold coins, ledgers, and dropped papers until his palm touched cold, hard metal.

It was the sheath of his sword.

Howe’s fingers wrapped tightly around the leather hilt. With a sharp, desperate cry, he pulled the long steel blade out of its scabbard.

SCHWING!

The blade gleamed under the yellow light of the oil lamp. Howe held the sword in front of him with both hands, taking a wide military stance. He was an old general, trained in standard sword combat, and fear gave his arms sudden strength.

"Stay back!" Howe shouted, his teeth grit together.

Camilla did not pause. She raised both hands and twirled her twin steel daggers between her fingers with smooth skill. The blades caught the dim moonlight, reflecting its silver glow.

Howe lunged forward first, driving his sword straight toward Camilla’s chest.

Camilla ducked to the right, dodging the sharp point by inches. She swung her left dagger up to block his follow-up attack.

CLANG!

Sparks flew into the air as steel struck steel. The loud metallic sound echoed through the room.

Howe pressed his attack desperately, swinging his longer blade in fast, heavy arcs. Camilla parried his strikes, her twin daggers moving like sharp flashes of light. But her body was still weak and sore. The deep bruises across her back and ribs throbbed with sharp pain every time she moved quickly, and her head pounded under her thick bandage.

Howe saw her hesitate for a fraction of a second due to her physical pain. He took advantage of the moment and slashed his blade downward.

SLASH!

The sharp tip of Howe’s sword caught Camilla’s left arm. The steel tore right through her sleeve, slicing into the skin underneath. Blood immediately soaked into the dark cloth, dripping down onto her fingers.

In the same broad sweeping motion, the flat side of Howe’s blade caught the edge of her black hood. The violent force pulled the dark hood straight off her head, dragging the lower face cloth down with it.

Long, red hair tumbled down over her shoulders, framing her pale, angry face.

General Howe froze in his tracks. His sword stayed raised in the air, but his mind went blank. He stared at her face, his eyes widening in total shock.

A woman? Howe thought to himself, his mind reeling in disbelief. The legendary dark warrior I spent months looking for.. the cold killer standing in my room... is a woman?