Chapter 331 - Three Hundred And Thirty

Chapter 331: Chapter Three Hundred And Thirty

Camilla turned her head very slowly. Her eyes searched the area frantically. She followed her ears, trying desperately to find exactly where that strange, unnatural sound had come from.

She looked past the carriage. She looked toward the side of the dirt road. She looked at a large old oak tree standing just a few yards away in the shadows.

Up in the high branches of the oak tree, partially hidden by the dark green leaves, she saw another masked man.

He was crouching carefully on a wooden branch. He held a long, heavy wooden and metal weapon tightly in his hands.

He was loading a musket.

The long, hollow metal barrel of the weapon gleamed very brightly. The smooth metal caught the orange and red light of the setting sun, making it shine clearly through the green leaves.

An overwhelming flood of panicked questions rushed into Camilla’s mind all at the exact same time. Her brain struggled violently to process what her own eyes were seeing.

"What is going on?" she asked herself silently. The panic rose high in her chest.

She stared at the long metal barrel.

"What is a musket doing here?" her thoughts raced wildly in disbelief. "This isn’t the era for it! This is a historical world with swords and arrows! How do these mercenaries have this weapon out here? Why is it here?!"

The sudden shock of seeing a weapon from the future, a weapon that did not belong in this current timeline, entirely broke her mind’s ability to cope with the situation.

Her brain instantly went into a state of tonic immobility.

It is a deep uncontrollable human survival response to extreme, inescapable fear. When the brain realizes it cannot fight and cannot run, the body shuts down to prepare for death.

Camilla could not move.

Her muscles became stiff, heavy, and rigid. Her joints locked in place. She felt as heavy as a solid stone statue sitting in the dirt. She tried to tell her brain to lift her arms. She could not lift her arms. Her hands hung uselessly by her sides. The dagger felt heavy in her fingers. She tried to tell her feet to run behind the carriage for cover. She could not move her feet. She was rooted firmly and permanently to the dusty ground.

Her heart rate became rapid. Her heart hammered against her ribs so hard and so fast that it physically hurt her chest. Her breathing turned into very short, very shallow, panicked gasps against her corset.

She could not take her eyes off the gleaming metal barrel in the tree. She was a sitting, helpless target, paralyzed by terror.

Across the wide dirt road, Damon had just finished his own fight.

He swung his sword one final time, cutting down the last masked man that surrounded him. The man fell heavily to the dirt.

Damon stood tall in the middle of the road. His chest heaved up and down with intense exertion. His military uniform was covered in brown dust and enemy’s blood. He breathed heavily, glad the ambush was finally over.

He was about to turn around to check on Kade and help his aide, when he heard it too.

Click. Clack.

Damon froze. He knew exactly what that sharp, mechanical sound was.

He had heard the terrible reports from the General of the Eastern Border. He had seen the captured weapon sitting on the dark canvas in the royal throne room just a few hours ago. He knew it was the weapon that shot fire and metal balls. He knew it was the weapon that punched clean holes through solid steel armor.

He spun his body around instantly. His eyes searched the dusty area with frantic, desperate speed.

He looked toward the carriage.

He saw Camilla standing alone near the open door of the carriage.

He looked at her condition. He saw her dress torn at the sleeve and ruined by the fight. He saw the blood staining her gloves and her face. He saw the dagger gripped tightly in her hand. He saw that she had just fought a brutal battle to survive.

But what scared Damon the most was how unnaturally still she was.

She was not moving. She was not stepping backward to find cover behind the wheels of the carriage. She was not raising her hands to defend herself. She was totally frozen in place, staring blankly into the trees.

Damon could feel her emotions.

He heard her frantic, terrified thoughts echoing clearly inside his own mind. He felt her overwhelming confusion. He felt her paralyzing fear. He felt the rapid, painful beating of her heart in his own chest.

Damon immediately followed the direction of her wide, terrified gaze. He looked up past the carriage and into the high branches of the tall oak tree.

He saw the bright gleam of the setting sun reflecting sharply off the long metal barrel.

He saw the masked assassin crouching in the green leaves, aiming the musket carefully.

And he saw that the dark, hollow barrel of the weapon was pointing at the center of Camilla’s chest.

A crashing wave of agonizing terror struck Damon.

It was a fear far greater, far deeper, and far more painful than anything he had ever felt on any bloody, dangerous battlefield in his entire life. The fear gripped his throat and squeezed his lungs tightly. His heart dropped into his stomach.

The very thought of losing her, the thought of seeing her fall to the dirt dead right in front of his eyes, shattered his entire world into a million tiny pieces. He could not live without her.

He did not think about military strategy. He did not think about finding his own cover. He did not think about taking a bow from one of the dead men to shoot the assassin. There was no time for anything except desperate action.

His right hand simply opened.

His sword slipped from his fingers. The weapon fell to the dirt road, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

He did not care about his own safety. He only cared about reaching her in time to push her out of the way or take the metal ball himself.

"CAMILLA!!!" Damon screamed at the top of his lungs.

His voice tore violently from his dry throat. It was loud and filled with heartbreaking desperation. The scream echoed loudly across the quiet dirt road and through the trees.

He pushed off the dusty ground with his leather boots.

He raced toward her with all the speed and all the physical power his legs could generate. He ran like a madman. He pumped his muscular arms, kicking up thick clouds of brown dust behind him. His dark brown eyes were fixed only on his wife.

He pushed his body to its physical limit, trying to cross the wide dirt road in a single second.

But the distance between them was great.

Time seemed to slow down. Everything moved at a painful, agonizing crawl.

Camilla heard his loud, desperate scream. She saw him running wildly toward her from the corner of her eye. She saw his dark blue coat flying behind him.

She wanted to run to him. She wanted to move her feet. She wanted to throw herself onto the dirt to avoid the line of fire.

But her frozen muscles refused to obey her brain’s commands. Her body was locked. She just stood there, staring helplessly at the metal pipe in the tree.

Up in the branches of the oak tree, the masked man adjusted his grip on the wooden stock of the musket. He looked straight down the long metal barrel. He locked his aim firmly and perfectly on the center of Camilla’s torn dress.

He pulled his finger back. He pulled the small metal trigger.

BANG.

The deafening, explosive sound of the musket firing shattered the evening air like a crack of thunder. A bright, blinding flash of orange fire erupted from the end of the metal pipe. A thick cloud of white smoke poured out of the weapon, obscuring the tree branches.

The metal ball flew through the air.