"Forget it, forget it," Lucy waved her hand, a look of utter disdain on her young face as she addressed Turk. "You can take it yourself. Don't worry about what the young master eats. I've brought my baked honey biscuits—they're a hundred times better than your wolf leg!"
If anyone else had said that, Turk might have erupted in fury instantly. But faced with the twelve-year-old maid, no fire could stir within him. He shrugged helplessly, muttering under his breath, before turning back along the path from which he had come. Halfway, he hoisted the wolf leg and sank his teeth into it with abandon.
Immediately, dozens of eyes turned to him again, heavier with scrutiny than before.
Turk, unflinching and unashamed, met each gaze with defiance, bellowing loudly, "What are you staring at? I'm eating your meat! This wolf leg was only given to me because young Master Richard refused it!"
"Hey!" The members of the First Guard shouted, a mixture of jest, disbelief, and mockery in their voices, before bowing their heads to continue tearing into their own wolf meat and bread.
Far away on a rock, Richard remained completely oblivious to the outside world, utterly absorbed in his research.
His current focus was the challenge of delayed detonation for Explosive Fireballs—achieving simultaneous explosions to compound destructive power. It was not a fantastical theory, but one with immense potential if successfully realized. And yet, the difficulty of success was equally immense.
"Scratch, scratch, scratch," went the quill on the papyrus, slowing as Richard stared at the densely written notes, deep in thought.
The key to increasing the power of the Explosive Fireball lay in releasing multiple fireballs simultaneously. In simple terms, this meant casting multiple spells at the same exact moment.
To accomplish this, he had to maintain several streams of magical energy—mana flows—inside his body simultaneously. Each flow circulated through specific channels, and only after completing a certain number of cycles could it reach an activation state capable of releasing damage.
These channels were not strictly defined; any passage within the body could serve as a conduit—blood vessels, meridians, or nerves. Thousands of possible channels existed, but only the thicker, more robust passages allowed mana to flow efficiently. Quality conduits were therefore rare.
According to the notes in Human Skin Records, the most utilized channels were the body's major arteries and veins—the "highways" of the circulatory system.
Richard's problem was how to use this limited "highway" system, supplemented with a few "side roads," to guide multiple mana streams, ensuring they reached activation nearly simultaneously and released in unison.
One stream was easy. Two streams complicated matters. Three or more made it extremely complex. The difficulty increased geometrically as the number of streams grew. Beyond that, the human brain itself became a limiting factor: each mana stream required precise control, or failure—or worse, backlash—could occur.
Most people could only manage one or two streams at a time. Controlling ten or more simultaneously seemed impossible. After all, the human brain was not a computer, incapable of parallel processing at such a scale.
But nothing was absolute.
Richard's eyes narrowed as his fingers tapped the papyrus. Through the thin sheet, he felt the chill of the stone beneath, and an idea slowly took shape:
What if he treated ten or more streams not as independent entities, but as a single, integrated system? Precise control over each individual stream might be unattainable, but defining fixed motion points for each stream in time could be feasible. The flow would only need to reach the specified positions at the specified intervals. The process between these points could be largely ignored.
Yes, this could introduce minor errors, even risk systemic collapse. But if the intervals were short enough, the probability of failure could drop below one percent—enough to justify the attempt.
In short, he could convert a complex system into a rigorously executed model—a mana model. If the model was properly designed, the spell could succeed.
Richard's tapping ceased. His eyes gleamed. He immediately began estimating the calculations required to construct the model—thousands of possibilities to test.
Taking a deep breath, he lifted his head to glance at the night sky, then lowered it again, speeding up his quill as he dove into furious computation.
Nearby, Lucy, for the third time, had brought honey biscuits, only to see Richard completely absorbed and oblivious. She shook her head, replaced the treats, and rested her chin in her hands, pouting and glaring at him, making faces.
Richard remained unaffected, continuing his relentless calculations.
"Scratch, scratch, scratch…"
Night passed without incident.
By morning, as Richard mounted his horse with the First Guard assembled and ready to depart, he had determined that his eighth hundred sixty-third attempt at the mana model had failed. The simultaneous control and release of multiple mana streams was not achieved.
He exhaled softly and looked toward the caravan camp. His eyebrows lifted slightly—today, the caravan performed better. Though still not rising at dawn, they were significantly quicker than yesterday.
The improvement was thanks to Mura, the caravan supervisor. The previous night, he had quietly instructed his team to rise half an hour earlier, carefully keeping Melissa unaware.
When the morning arrived, Mura was the first up, kicking each worker awake, urging them to pack and dismantle tents efficiently. Once nearly everything was ready, he took a deep breath, carried the wash water, and hurried to Melissa's tent.
"Melissa, get up! Everyone's ready to depart. If you don't wake up now, we'll be late."
"Huh? What?" Melissa emerged, first inspecting the now-packed camp, then glancing at the eastern sky.
Her brow furrowed as she turned to Mura, grumbling angrily. "Mura, are you crazy? The sun isn't even up yet! How can we leave so early? Ahh… haaa…" She yawned dramatically before finishing her sentence.
Mura, unfazed, shrugged. "Melissa, it's overcast today. There is no visible sun. Normally, we depart at this hour; it's not much earlier than usual."
"Really?" Melissa blinked, unconvinced. "Then why do I feel so tired? I don't feel awake at all." She yawned once more, a long, deep stretch.
"Uh… perhaps you stayed up too late yesterday," Mura suggested carefully.
Melissa paused, recalling the events of last night…