Transmigration: The Tyrant General Can Hear My Thoughts-Chapter 47 - Forty Six

Damon slowly reached out his large right hand. His fingers were covered in small, white scars from years of sword fighting. He gently picked up the delicate porcelain cup by its small handle. The porcelain was very warm, but it was not burning his fingers.

He lifted the cup from the saucer. He held it in the air, right in front of his chest.

He examined it carefully. He looked at the dark liquid. He watched the steam rise. He gently swirled the tea inside the cup. It moved normally. He brought the edge of the cup close to his nose. He sniffed it carefully. It smelled exactly like normal black tea. There was no smell of strange magic, and there was no smell of poison or salt.

Camilla sat across the table, watching his every move. She kept her sweet smile on her face, but her eyes were glued to his lips. She was waiting for the magic to happen.

When Damon was absolutely sure the tea was completely safe for consumption, he stopped swirling the cup.

He lifted his head. He looked directly across the table, locking his dark, sharp eyes entirely onto Camilla’s face.

He did not look away from her. His stare was intense, heavy, and completely unblinking.

While maintaining deep, unbroken eye contact with his wife, Damon slowly brought the edge of the porcelain cup to his mouth.

He opened his lips slightly. He pressed the edge of the cup against his bottom lip. He tilted his hand back.

He drank the tea.

He took a slow, deliberate sip. He let the liquid flow into his mouth. He swallowed it smoothly.

He kept his eyes on hers the whole time. He did not flinch. He did not gasp. He did not pull the cup away in pain.

Camilla smiled even wider, waiting for the aftermath.

"Any second now," Camilla thought to herself, her heart beating fast with anticipation. "His lip is going to burn. The magic is going to strike. He is going to drop the cup and yell."

Damon took a second sip. Then, a third. He drank half of the hot tea in silence, his dark eyes never leaving her face. The tea was warm and comforting. It did not burn him at all. His lips felt perfectly normal.

When he was satisfied, Damon slowly lowered the cup. He placed it back down onto the silver saucer with a soft, quiet clink.

He sat back in his wheelchair. He rested his hands on his lap. He looked at Camilla, completely unbothered. His lips were not red. They were not swollen. He was completely, perfectly fine.

Camilla stared at his mouth.

Her sweet smile froze in place.

She blinked once.

She looked at his top lip. She looked at his bottom lip. There was absolutely no sign of a burn.

She blinked twice.

"Wait," Camilla thought, her internal voice sounding suddenly confused. "Where is the burn? Why is he not screaming?"

She stared harder at his face. She leaned forward slightly over the stone table.

Then, she began to blink multiple times in rapid succession. Her eyelashes fluttered wildly. She looked exactly like a broken wooden doll.

She was completely shocked and deeply confused. Her brain could not process what was happening.

"Why is nothing happening?" Camilla yelled inside her head. Her internal voice was completely panicked. "I said the words! I said ’I hope it doesn’t burn’! The magic is supposed to do the exact opposite of what I hope for!

That is how it was supposed to work! Why is he just sitting there looking at me?"

Damon watched her face glitch. He watched her eyes blink rapidly. He heard her loud, panicked thoughts. He felt a deep sense of victory. Her strange magic did not work on him. He was immune to her curses.

Damon decided to push her a little bit. He wanted to see how she would react to her own failure.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the edge of the stone table. He looked at her rapidly blinking eyes with a completely calm, serious expression.

"Is there something wrong with your eyes?" Damon asked out loud. His voice was deep, smooth, and completely flat.

Camilla stopped blinking instantly. Her eyes shot wide open.

She realized she was staring at him like a crazy person. She quickly sat back in her wooden chair. She forced her sweet, polite smile back onto her face, even though her cheek muscles felt stiff from the shock.

She quickly raised her hand and waved her fingers near her face, as if she were fanning herself.

She shook her head. "No," she replied out loud, forcing a small, fake laugh. "It is the breeze. The wind blew some dust. They are fresh."

It was a terrible excuse. The air inside the gazebo was completely still. There was no dust.

Damon looked at her waving hand. He looked at her fake smile. He knew she was lying, and he knew exactly why she was lying.

"Is that so?" Damon replied smoothly. He raised one dark eyebrow. His tone was perfectly polite, but it held a heavy layer of hidden doubt. He was letting her know that he did not believe a single word she said.

Camilla smiled even wider to cover her embarrassment. She lowered her hand back to her lap.

"Yes, My Lord. Just the breeze," Camilla lied smoothly.

But inside her head, she was having a massive, chaotic crisis.

"Why is he unharmed?" Camilla thought to herself, her internal voice racing with frantic questions. "I saw Isabel’s bone snap with my own two eyes! I saw Nancy’s hands turn red! The magic is absolutely real! So why did it not work on him?"

She stared at Damon’s perfectly normal lips.

"Has my mouth stopped working?" she asked herself, feeling a sudden wave of deep fear. "Did the magic run out? Do I only get a limited number of curses? Is my battery dead?"