Elsewhere in the caravan camp, Melissa cast a sidelong glance at Richard, hunched over a stone, writing and sketching, the glow of his wax candle flickering against his concentrated face. Suspicion knitting her brows, she approached Mura. "Uncle Mura, what exactly was that Richard doing with you earlier?"
Mura hesitated briefly, a small, forced smile tugging at his lips. "Oh… nothing much, really. Just discussing the caravan's daily progress. Richard thought we were moving too slowly. I agreed there was room for improvement. After all, we are the famed Magnolia Chamber. So, he suggested that starting tomorrow, we cover sixty li a day."
"Sixty li?" Melissa's brow furrowed, doubt flickering in her eyes. "Can we even manage that?"
"Absolutely. If we start earlier and end later, it's doable. Back when I was young, I led the caravan eighty to ninety li a day. Ah… those were the days." Mura's voice carried a nostalgic lilt.
Melissa, however, did not take him at face value. Her gaze darted from Mura to the surrounding camp. "You're lying," she stated with certainty. "We've been traveling over half a month on land. You've only ever demanded forty li a day. That's the fastest pace you've ever managed. Now, all of a sudden, you want sixty? That Richard must be forcing you, right?"
"Melissa… actually, that's not—" Mura tried to explain.
"Don't bother," Melissa interrupted sharply. "You don't have to lie to me. And don't worry about him. He's just a noble's son. Even with a dozen men, they are half our number. Tomorrow, we'll go forty li, not one li more. Let's see what that Richard does then!"
Mura's face reddened. He wanted to caution her properly: We're here for business, not to pick a fight. This isn't Mailen, and it's not your place to do whatever you please. Yet, seeing her stubborn glare, he decided to bide his time. "Fine, fine. Forty li tomorrow it is," he muttered, relenting.
Melissa's smile widened. "That's the spirit, Uncle Mura! That's the Magnolia Chamber's style!"
"Uh…" Mura's protest died in his throat as she darted off toward the tents, ready to command the setup. At that moment, a figure sprang from behind a tree—Emmy had appeared.
Watching Melissa's triumphant expression, he grinned, stepping closer. "Melissa, what's got you in such high spirits?"
"Guess."
"I… can't."
"Then I'll tell you." Melissa's eyes sparkled with mischief. "That Richard tried to secretly order you to push the caravan to sixty li tomorrow. I wouldn't allow it. Who is he, to command our caravan? So, I insisted we go forty li—let him lose face!"
"Melissa, you're amazing," Emmy said earnestly, trying to display his devotion. "By the way, what would you like for dinner tonight? It's not fully dark yet—I could try finding some wild mushrooms nearby…"
"Can you catch a wild rabbit?" Melissa interrupted, grinning slyly.
Emmy hesitated, uncertain. But looking into her expectant eyes, he pounded his chest. "Absolutely!"
"Good. Then tonight's dinner will be your rabbit." Melissa laughed, striding to the partially assembled tents to issue orders. Emmy gave a rueful smile and disappeared into the forest. Catching a rabbit was no simple task, and failure meant losing face in front of Melissa.
Hours passed.
Night had settled, and the campfire glowed in the dark.
A sharp "thunk" cut the quiet—the dagger sank into the belly of a gray-backed wild wolf. Swift hands reached in, removing the organs, and then the wolf's skin was stripped away. Soon, the wolf was impaled on a spit over the fire, turning golden as its fat sizzled and hissed, filling the night with a rich, savory aroma.
The members of the First Guard worked methodically, ensuring the meat roasted evenly. Finally, Tuku, holding a thirty-centimeter carving knife, pulled the nearly cooked wolf from the spit, slicing generous portions for each member.
"Hughes, this one's for you," Tuku said casually, tossing a chunk to the still-recovering soldier. "Eat up, you've been injured. Need the strength."
"My wound's already healed!" Hughes protested, but he didn't refuse the extra portion. He bit into the meat alongside a half-baked piece of bread.
"Red-Eye, this one's yours."
"And Old Matt, this one's for you."
"Philip…"
When it came to the last and plumpest leg, Tuku held it up with a grin. "Don't look at me like that. This isn't for me—it's for Master Liçar. Got it?"
He carried the glistening leg toward Richard, who sat on a large stone, absorbed in a scroll under the flickering light of a beeswax candle. Since halting the day's travel, Richard had remained in this position for over three hours, not a drop of water consumed.
Though Tuku knew Richard would never starve himself to fainting, he couldn't help but worry a little. As he approached with the wolf leg, thoughts raced: Hope this is to Master Liçar's taste…
Before Tuku could complete his internal monologue, a small figure stepped into his path.
Lucy, not yet chest-high to Tuku, stopped him. With a soft but determined voice, she said, "So you brought a wolf leg because Master Liçar hasn't eaten?"
"Y-yes," Tuku stammered. "I wasn't sure if he—"
"I'll try it first." Lucy grabbed the leg and bit into it with determination. She chewed, swallowed, and wiped her greasy mouth. A frown formed, her eyes glinting in judgment. "Too tough, unevenly salted, and way too greasy. I wouldn't even like this. Master Liçar? He probably wouldn't either."
"Uh…" Tuku could only gape, speechless.