Chapter 41

"How dare you cut off Pascal's tongue, you... damned guy!" Alex shouted with rage, wielding a wooden club with all her might, about to bring it crashing down upon Richard.

But in the next instant, Richard's body surged in an uncanny movement, causing the club to miss him entirely.

Such audacity!

As Alex stood momentarily dazed, a glimmer of cold light flashed through the air. The unsheathed longsword, lacking adornments, was pulled from its scabbard for the third time by Richard, and in a swift motion, it found its resting place at Alex's throat, halting just a millimeter from piercing his flesh.

The razor-sharp blade met his skin, drawing forth a trickle of blood. Alex trembled all over, paralyzed with fear, too terrified to move lest Richard's sword advance a fraction further.

The merchant caravan was equally taken aback by this sudden turn of events. Before any could react, Tuku was the first to unsheathe his knight's greatsword with a sharp swish, leading the First Guard to encircle them menacingly. At Richard's command, they could unleash a slaughter upon them. Even the injured Red Eye struggled to rise, clutching his longsword and casting a fierce glare at the others.

The tension in the air thickened to a near suffocating degree, with none of the caravan daring to move, fearing the impending doom that loomed.

Melissa stood there, transfixed, as if she had lost his soul. his gaze was fixed upon Richard, his mind replaying Richard's rapid draw of the sword to subdue him.

After what felt like an eternity, Melissa managed to utter, barely above a whisper, "So… fast…"

At that moment, Mular, who was no longer a youth, finally returned. He took in the scene and nearly fainted. Though he did not know precisely what had transpired, his years in trade endowed him with an unparalleled ability to read situations. In the blink of an eye, Mular glanced toward Richard imploringly.

With utmost sincerity, he intoned, "Respected Master Richard, I know not what grievance our caravan holds against you, but I implore your magnanimity—do not take offense. Should there be any losses incurred, the Bauhinia Merchants' Guild will make full amends. Pray, let us forego the fees for this shipment?"

"No need for that," Richard replied softly, slowly advancing his sword, inch-by-inch, as it sliced through the skin at Alex's throat, allowing the blood from the ruptured capillaries to flow freely, though intentionally sparing his life from fatal injury.

"Truth be told, this matter is not of great concern; merely a case of someone wishing to besiege my dignity, causing deliberate turmoil. The motive for such disruption is simple enough: a childish desire to reduce their daily distance traveled. How laughably naive," Richard remarked, though no humor graced his visage—indeed, the air around them was void of merriment.

The members of the First Guard bore fierce expressions, while the caravan's folks quaked in their boots. The man who had lost his tongue stifled a muffled cry, and Alex, cloaked in the pallor of death itself, dared not utter a sound. Melissa was as stiff as a statue.

"Regarding the distance the caravan travels each day, we have already discussed this, and you, as the steward of the caravan, agreed it to be eighteen miles a day. Given your capabilities, this should be easily achieved. Of course, I am not entirely inflexible. Should genuine issues arise, we can deliberate further to make adjustments," Richard stated, his tone eerily calm.

"However, at no point should today be marred by malice aimed at me. I am a man with many matters I consider pressing, thus I detest disturbances yet am unafraid of them. If you find it necessary to provoke me, I shall entertain such folly and ensure all troublemakers learn their lesson—be they friends or foes."

"This..." Mular faltered, uncertain of how to respond.

"Fear not, Steward Mular, I will not take lives today. Not out of fear, but rather due to certain… individuals with ill intentions lurking nearby. I am concerned that should I harm any of you, it would create a significant rift between your caravan and my First Guard, leading to distrust and consequential internal strife. Until the goods reach the castle, I wish to see none of that—no forces wasted unnecessarily, compromising our safety."

"Very well, very well," Mular exhaled, visibly relieved at Richard's words, repeating, "Master Richard truly understands reason; truly understands."

"All right, this concludes our exchange today. I trust you will make up for the delay before nightfall. Since we had already agreed upon an eighteen-mile travel per day, coupled with the recent threats, the caravan must cover an additional three miles today, camping by the riverbank three miles hence. That shall be our course," Richard stated with finality, nodding slightly at Mular, before sheathing his sword and mounting his steed to depart. The First Guard followed closely behind.

Once the First Guard had completely left, a collective sigh of relief escaped the caravan's members.

The man who had lost his tongue raced toward Mular, incessantly waving a hand toward Alex, "Urrgh, urrgh!" he attempted to convey something.

Alex, however, collapsed on the ground. After a moment, he touched the wound on his neck and realized he had not died—only a little blood had flowed from the cut. He sighed in relief and turned to look at Melissa, who now appeared to awaken from a deep slumber. Melissa seemed to intentionally avoid Alex's gaze, quickly turning to run toward the last wagon in the caravan.

Alex stood momentarily frozen. In the next instant, he was tackled to the ground by the angry man who had lost his tongue, who rained heavy blows on his face and eyes.

Struggling to rise, Alex looked on as the man was pulled away from her by the caravan members. Mular glanced over with an enigmatic expression but said nothing. He simply shook his head and let out a barely perceptible sigh before turning to leave.

Alex found himself in a state of bewilderment once more.

In the distance, the men of the First Guard halted their march, with Red Eye sitting atop his steed, clutching his wound, blood flowing profusely from it.

"Dismount," Tuku commanded, and along with Hughes, they swiftly helped Red Eye down from his horse, stripping him of his iron armor to prepare for bandaging. Tuku was oblivious to the reasons behind Red Eye's injury and curiously inquired while loosening the armor, "Red Eye, how did you get hurt by those Myron folks? Their shabby weapons could hardly pierce your armor."

"It was not the Myron individuals but Master Richard," Red Eye replied, lowering his head, shame evident in his tone. "I did not heed Master Richard's words, so…"

The air fell silent, and Tuku and Hughes paused in their movements. The other members of the First Guard turned their gazes toward Red Eye as well.

After a minute, Tuku listened attentively to Red Eye's account of the incident. Clearly taken aback, he swiftly delivered a powerful elbow strike to Red Eye's mouth before anyone else could react.

With a "thud," Red Eye fell back, spitting bloodied saliva, one of his teeth mixed in with the spittle.

"Red Eye, your mouth has landed you in trouble yet again. You ought to learn some sense!" Tuku coldly remarked, glaring at him. "You were fortunate this time—for Master Richard must have realized someone was following us and deemed it better to spare your life. But next time may not be so fortunate. Take heed of your actions."

With that, Tuku roughly ripped off Red Eye's clothing, then took a cloth from Hughes to bandage his wounds. After finishing the bandaging, he reforged Red Eye's armor and hoisted him back onto his horse.

The First Guard resumed their journey. Red Eye's eyes flickered, the usual volatility replaced by a newfound composure.