Mura's expression twisted into a mixture of helplessness and frustration as he trotted his horse closer to Richard. "Ri… Richard, you have to forgive us a little," he said, voice tight with resignation. "It's not that I don't want to get moving early—but this caravan… it's complicated. There are many things to consider, and—"
He stumbled over his words, trying to explain a situation that had been gnawing at him since dawn. Richard, however, only responded in the most concise terms, voice flat yet authoritative: "Noted. This must not happen again." Without another word, he nudged his horse forward and led the First Guard to the head of the caravan, taking up the position to escort the merchants.
Mura froze for a moment, the rest of his objections swallowed back into his throat. He watched Richard's calm figure moving ahead, eyes flickering with a barely perceptible realization. Quietly, almost to himself, he muttered, "This… is not simple at all…"
"Uncle Mura! Why are you standing there? We need to get moving!" Melissa's sharp voice rang out suddenly, carrying over the bustle. "Our Magnolia Chamber is known for efficiency! We cannot waste time—mount up!"
Mura blinked, momentarily stunned. He turned his gaze toward her, and his jaw tightened. This was the same girl who had protested not having breakfast just a few hours ago—yet now, she radiated a seriousness that left no room for debate.
"Ah… yes… of course," he murmured, forcing a small, embarrassed smile. He quickly swung himself onto his horse, leading the caravan forward, all the while shaking his head in disbelief.
The day dragged on. The caravan moved in fits and starts, halting to adjust loads, tending to animals, or simply waiting for slower members, making little progress. By evening, they had covered only a little over forty li. The road ahead was still long, and the sun hung low in the sky when the caravan finally drew to a halt, setting up camp by the roadside.
Melissa, having spent the entire day perched in the wagon, brimming with unspent energy, leapt down and began issuing orders in all directions. "You, pitch that tent over there!" "You, dig a drainage ditch here!" "And you—"
It was chaos disguised as leadership. Her gestures and commands often complicated the work rather than aid it. Richard watched from his horse, expression neutral, calculating and observing. Finally, he rode up to where Mura was genuinely coordinating the labor.
"Everything all right.?" Mura asked politely, pausing in his direction.
Richard shook his head slightly. "No urgent issues. Only… your caravan's pace is slow."
Mura stiffened, blinking.
Richard continued, calm and precise. "Based on widely recognized calculations, an average person on foot covers roughly fifty-five kilometers per day. With training, that can increase to seventy kilometers. Taking into account your physical condition, subtract ten kilometers. Additional burdens from the cargo, another ten. Rough terrain—ten more. Other potential delays—ten more. This leaves a baseline of thirty kilometers per day, approximately sixty li. Yet today, you have traveled just over forty li. At this rate, reaching Baron Leo's castle could take two weeks or more. From tomorrow, I expect you to increase your daily travel distance."
Mura swallowed, feeling his face heat. He was proud of the Magnolia Chamber's efficiency, usually completing deliveries ahead of schedule. Today, however, he realized that the single most disruptive factor was Melissa's presence. He opened his mouth, thought better of it, and muttered softly, "Understood. We will increase the pace tomorrow."
"Good," Richard replied simply. "I expect the minimum—sixty li per day. Not an attempt. Not a hope. An expectation."
Mura hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded. "Yes… sir. Understood."
Richard turned back to the First Guard. "You all know your duties. Follow orders. No trouble."
"Yes, sir." The team responded in unison.
From the rear, Lucy, still young but resolute, raised her small fist. "Sir, I won't cause any trouble either."
Richard allowed himself a small smile. "You may let that one slide."
"Why? I'm very obedient!" Lucy protested, eyes wide, determined to prove herself.
Richard shook his head, amused but unconcerned. "Very well. If you're obedient, then fetch the scroll I prepared yesterday. The one with the notes."
Lucy tilted her head. "Research again, sir?"
"Yes," he said, nodding. He laid the scroll on a flat stone nearby, opened it carefully, and began to write, focusing once again on his experiment—developing a method for delayed detonation and synchronized explosions of the Blast Fireball spell. Even in transit, time was precious. Every moment could be used to push the boundaries of his research.
The evening settled over the campsite. The firelight flickered across the tents, casting long shadows. Soldiers and merchants alike worked under the fading sun, while Richard wrote, calculating, and planning, every detail of the next stage in both the journey and his experiments with methodical precision.
Time could not be wasted—not on human stubbornness, nor on the constraints of the world he now inhabited.