Chapter 45

With a loud thud, Melissa's butt hit the ground. Although she was uninjured, the sharp pain made her eyes water, and her teeth were bared in a grimace, she stood up, casting a fierce glare at Richard. However, the experience had drained her of the courage to continue taunting him—after all, she was afraid of being thrown around by Tuku once more.

Grinding her teeth, she shot one last angry look at Richard and declared, "You wait, Richard! I hate you! Just you wait!"

"Hate me? That's your business, not mine. If it makes you happy, go for it!" Richard replied, his tone disinterested.

"You!" Melissa's frustration mounted as she turned sharply and ran back to the caravan's camp, shouting, "I'll hold a grudge against you for life!"

Richard shrugged, unconcerned. "But what does that have to do with me?"

Lucy, the little maid, glanced after Melissa's retreating figure, crossed her arms, and let out a defiant humpf, sticking her tongue out playfully.

Richard shook his head and returned to his calculations. With Melissa's interruptions, he had barely managed to finish one of the eight plans, leaving seven more for evaluation.

The quill resumed its rhythmic scratch, scratch against the papyrus.

Meanwhile, Lucy quietly set down a plate of honey biscuits, resting her chin on her hands as she watched Richard work.

After a long while of silent observation, Lucy finally spoke up. "Master, do you think that girl named Melissa has a crush on you?"

"Hm? Why would you say that?" Richard asked without looking back, focused on his calculations.

"I read it in a book!" Lucy replied earnestly. "In a knight's romance novel, it said that if a woman shouts at a man and purposely does annoying things, it's to attract his attention, which means she likes him."

"…" Richard didn't respond immediately, his brow furrowing as he focused on the complex calculations in front of him.

Lucy cautiously peeked at him and asked in a whisper, "Master, am I right…?"

Just then, Richard relaxed his expression, having concluded one of the complex calculations. He jotted down the final numbers on the scroll and turned to Lucy, responding, "There is a branch of psychology called romantic psychology. Studies show that in certain cases, someone pursuing another might behave in ways contradictory to normal logic just to grab the other person's attention—even if it means provoking annoyance.

This indicates an immature mindset; for instance, elementary school boys often do this to attract girls' attention by pulling their hair or hiding their pencil cases. If anyone else does it, they might be either delusional or as childish as elementary schoolers."

"And what about that girl, Melissa? Which category does she fall into?" Lucy probed insistently.

"Who knows?" Richard shrugged, indifferent.

"Oh," Lucy nodded, seemingly comforted momentarily, but before she could relax, Richard suddenly regarded her keenly.

"What's going on, Master?" she asked, a spark of nervousness in her voice.

"Nothing much. Just pondering how interested you seem in matters of love," Richard teased lightly.

"Uh, well…"

"And also, how you have time to read knightly romance novels. Have you memorized all the knowledge I've shared with you?"

"That… um…"

"Seems you have taken it to heart since you're so free to read novels. Looks like I'll need to schedule some time for a thorough evaluation of your understanding."

"Ah!" Lucy gasped in surprise.

"Let's make it tomorrow," Richard declared, cutting off any refusal.

Lucy's face fell, and she pouted in discontent. "Master, you're being mean!"

"Mm-hmm," Richard nodded in affirmation without apologizing, then returned to his calculations.

The night passed in silence.

With the break of dawn, the caravan and the members of the First Guard set off toward the Baron's ominous castle.

As they walked along the route, they were enveloped by the sweltering heat, becoming drenched with sweat after just a short distance. Looking up at the sky, it was filled with heavy, leaden clouds that promised an impending downpour.

Clip-clop, clip-clop—the sound of horse hooves echoed as Tuku rode back to report to Richard. Sweat dripped from his face, and his expression was serious as he said, "Young Master Richard, we haven't found any trace of the group that was following us. After discovering the last sign yesterday afternoon, it's as if they vanished into thin air."

"That raises several suspicions," Richard replied, narrowing his eyes. "If they left consistent traces, it could merely mean they were traveling ahead of us by coincidence. But the sudden disappearance of their tracks indicates they're intentionally hiding, likely preparing to launch an ambush."

"What should we do?" Tuku inquired thoughtfully.

"Continue onward," Richard instructed. "No matter what their motives are, we must hasten to deliver the cargo back to the castle. Also, stay alert—be ready to engage in combat at a moment's notice."

"Understood," Tuku nodded, turning his horse around and signaling to the others as he relayed Richard's orders to the entire First Guard.

The caravan resumed its march.

An hour passed, then two, and three…

Three hours later, nearing midday, everyone felt exhausted and overheated, on the verge of heat exhaustion. Some pulled out their water flasks, greedily gulping water, when suddenly they felt a chill against their faces, as if something was falling.

Huh?

The drinkers lowered their flasks in curiosity and looked up, noticing cool drops of water falling steadily onto their faces, necks, arms, and bodies…

A grand autumn rain had commenced.

At first, the rain started as a mere drizzle, hardly more than a fine mist, yet it possessed a surprising potency. The continuous small drops quickly dispelled the oppressive heat.

Those who had been sweating profusely stretched out their arms and relished the rain soaking into their clothes, feeling a refreshing coolness wash over them. Grateful exclamations echoed throughout the group, as they expressed their appreciation for nature's generous offering.

However, this gratitude would soon fade.

The gentle autumn rain morphed into a relentless downpour, its cooling effect escalating until it became bone-chillingly cold. Soaked clothing offered no insulation; rather, it drained warmth from their bodies, and soon some caravan members began to shiver.

To make matters worse, the rain turned the ground into a muddy quagmire, making it difficult for the horses to pull their loads. At times, a pony would stumble into a mud pit, requiring ten men to pull it back onto solid ground.

After ten minutes, the water began pooling noticeably, causing the horses pulling the carts to slip with increasing frequency. Mular assessed the situation and realized they could not proceed any longer. He glanced at Richard, perched atop his horse, and tentatively approached him.

At that moment, Richard was riding, still refining the magical model for "simultaneous release of Explosion Fireballs." After last night's calculations, he had already selected the most optimal plan from the eight available. Now, he was using his mind to simulate the effects of the chosen magic model running within him, identifying further areas for improvement. Meanwhile, Lucy held onto Richard's waist, riding along, her eyes closed as she recited the lessons he had taught her, preparing for the upcoming assessment.

Just as Richard identified a third area that could use adjustment and completed a successful correction, a voice called out, "Young Master Richard!"