Transmigration: The Tyrant General Can Hear My Thoughts-Chapter 52 - Fifty One

The confusing rules of her newly discovered magical ability were finally starting to make complete, logical sense to her. She was slowly mapping out the exact boundaries and limitations of her power.

"Okay, let us review the facts," Camilla whispered to herself in the dark, organizing her chaotic thoughts.

First, she had tried to use her jinx to completely destroy the fictional world of the book itself. She had shouted her deepest wishes into the open sky.

"Fact one," she concluded, holding up a single finger in the dark. "If I use my curses against the entire fundamental structure of the book itself, the magic absolutely refuses to comply. It summons a lightning bolt, strikes me directly on the top of the head, and I pass out cold."

She nodded her head slowly. The strange thing that had brought her to this world was actively protecting the fictional universe from being destroyed.

Then, she thought about the tea incident and the terrifying snake in the garden. She had tried to use her magic to burn Damon’s lip with the tea. The magic failed completely and burnt her. Then she tried to use a snake to attack him indirectly. The magic rebounded violently, and the snake bit her instead.

"Fact two," she continued whispering, her voice sounding tired but perfectly clear. She held up a second finger. "If I try to use my curses on Damon, it will backfire on me terribly. He is completely immune to my words, and the magic actively punishes me for trying to harm him."

She reached down and gently rubbed her throbbing left leg, being careful not to touch the white bandages directly.

"Fact three," she added, stating the most annoying, physically draining rule of all. She held up a third finger. "Using this magic against the book, or using it against the male lead, completely drains my physical energy. The magical backlash is so incredibly strong that it forces my body to shut down, making me go completely unconscious every single time."

Camilla uncrossed her arms. She reached up and rested her chin heavily on the palm of her right hand. She frowned deeply, her eyebrows pulling together.

"But why?" Camilla asked herself, genuinely confused by the mechanics of the spell. "Why does it work on everyone else so perfectly? I made Nancy burn her hands on boiling soup. I made Isabel break a bone just by looking at her. Why is Damon the only absolute exception to the rule?"

She closed her eyes and pictured his face. She thought about his dark, intense eyes. She thought about his calm, unbothered expression when he deliberately drank the hot tea.

Then, the answer came rushing into her mind, bright, flashing, and completely obvious. She felt incredibly foolish for not realizing the literary rules of her situation much sooner.

"Of course," Camilla groaned loudly, rolling her eyes in the dark room. She let her head fall back against the pillows. "It is so simple. It is so painfully obvious. He is the male lead."

She shook her head in pure frustration. She knew exactly how these cheap romance novels worked. The author always protected their favorite, handsome characters at all costs.

"He is the main character of this entire, stupid novel," Camilla whispered into the silence, feeling a deep, crushing sense of injustice. "He is protected by impenetrable plot armor. The magic of this world cannot break the fundamental narrative rules of the story. The male lead is simply not allowed to die, or be seriously maimed, or be cursed until the plot specifically demands it. My jinxed mouth might be a powerful glitch in the book, but his plot armor is a solid, unbreakable brick wall."

She stared angrily up at the ceiling.

She thought back to her earlier, supposedly brilliant plan in the white gazebo. She remembered how incredibly smart she thought she was being.

"If my magic does not work on him directly..." Camilla thought to herself, overriding her previous logic. "I could use an indirect method, right? What if I use my magic to summon something else to attack him? He might have main character armor against my curses, but can his armor protect him against a wild animal?"

She sighed heavily again, the sound echoing in the empty room. It had seemed like such a flawless, tactical idea.

"But that’s not the case," she grumbled bitterly to the ceiling. "I had already done that and failed miserably. I did not curse his body directly. I just cursed his environment. The snake should have bitten him, he should have suffered terrible pain, and I would have finally gotten my damn divorce papers signed to escape this nightmare."

But then again, she clearly remembered how quickly, smoothly, and violently the snake had turned against her. She remembered those cold, unblinking yellow eyes locking onto her face instead of Damon’s, completely ignoring the man sitting right next to her.

Camilla spoke out loud into the empty, moonlit room. Her voice was incredibly sarcastic, groaning with a tone of pure, heavy, absolute defeat.

"So that’s it," Camilla complained bitterly, throwing both of her hands up into the air in a gesture of total surrender. "I am hopelessly trapped in a terrible historical novel. I have a magical, jinxed mouth that can literally bend reality with a single sentence. But the only single person I actually want to curse... the only man standing between me, my world, and my freedom... is completely, one hundred percent bulletproof."

She let her hands fall back onto the soft bedsheets with a soft, defeated thud.

The harsh reality of her situation was finally settling deep into her bones. She could not cheat her way out of this book using magical shortcuts. She could not force Damon to sign the papers by hurting his body. She could not destroy the fictional world either.

The magic was completely useless for her ultimate, primary goal.

Camilla turned her head slowly on the pillow. She looked at the bright, silver moonlight shining through the glass doors, illuminating the spot where she had dragged the dead assassin just last night.

"I cannot rely on the magic anymore," she thought to herself, her sharp mind slowly shifting gears, adapting to the new rules of the battlefield. The Black Widow was not a woman who gave up easily. If one weapon broke in her hands, she would simply find another, sharper tool.

"Now," Camilla whispered into the darkness, her dark eyes narrowing with cold, hard, terrifying determination. "I have to find completely new ways to turn things around for my good. I have to find a way to end this book properly, using only my brain, my modern knowledge, and my own two hands."

She closed her eyes, ignoring the throbbing pain in her leg.