Wizard from The Modern

Mular, unable to overlook the unfolding situation, approached with a pained expression and a hint of helplessness. Turning to Richard, he said, "Ri… Richard, I implore you to show a bit of patience. I truly cannot depart any sooner. The circumstances of the caravan are quite complex, thus…"

Mular droned on with explanations, but Richard merely replied succinctly, "This shall not happen again." With that, he turned and spurred his horse forward, setting off to escort the caravan.

Mular stood frozen, the words he had hoped to convey caught in his throat as he watched Richard's retreating figure, the realization dawning that the situation was indeed rather precarious.

"Uncle Mular, what are you dawdling for? We must resume our journey! The Bauhinia Merchants' Guild prides itself on its efficiency; we cannot afford to waste time. Mount your steed!" Suddenly, Melissa's voice cut through the air.

Mular, momentarily taken aback, turned to see Melissa, her serious demeanor a stark contrast to the girl who had protested about missing breakfast that morning.

"Uh, yes, yes! My apologies! I must mount up at once!" Mular managed a wry smile, hastily mounting his horse as he led the caravan onward, his head shaking involuntarily as he did so.

The caravan spent a whole day traversing a mere thirteen miles, a tedious progression that felt akin to a turtle strolling.

As evening approached, the caravan came to a stop by the roadside, and the members began bustling about, energetically setting up camp.

Having sat idle in the wagon all day, Melissa clearly had pent-up energy to release. As soon as the caravan halted, she leapt from the wagon, commanding the workers with gusto.

"You! Set up a tent here."

"You! Dig a ditch over there."

"And you…"

Truth be told, much of Melissa's direction only served to create confusion.

Richard dismounted his horse, coldly observing the scene before he finally rode up to where Mular was genuinely overseeing the efforts.

Upon Richard's approach, Mular paused and turned towards him, inquiring, "Richard, is there something you need?"

"Nothing of great import, merely wishing to inform you that the caravan's pace… is rather slow."

"Mmm?" Mular blinked in surprise.

Richard proceeded to lay out the facts. "According to standard statistics, the average pedestrian can walk a distance of fifty-five kilometers in a day; with proper training, this can extend to seventy kilometers.

Given that you, as the denizens of this world, possess lesser stamina, I shall deduct ten kilometers. Considering the weight of your cargo and the subsequent sluggishness, I will subtract another ten. Given the poor condition of the road that may hinder progress, I shall once again reduce ten kilometers.

And finally, accounting for any additional factors that might impede travel, I shall cut yet another ten kilometers from your total. Thus, within a day, you ought to cover thirty kilometers—roughly eighteen miles.

Yet, as of now, you have only managed to traverse a little over thirteen miles—merely two-thirds of the expected speed. At this rate, reaching your destination—the baron's castle—will take at least two weeks. Therefore, I would urge you to increase your travel distance from tomorrow onward."

Mular listened, initially taken aback but gradually grasping Richard's implication—his dissatisfaction with the caravan's lack of speed.

As this sank in, Mular's cheeks flushed slightly. As a prominent merchant of Myron, he held a sense of pride, steadfastly adhering to the Bauhinia Guild's reputation for efficiency, traditionally completing business and returning to the headquarters ahead of schedule. Yet this time, the predicted return had been delayed time and again, the reason glaringly evident—Melissa's presence.

Desiring to explain himself, Mular felt the words die on his lips, settling for a meek, "I understand, Master Richard. We shall certainly increase our travel distance tomorrow."

"Then I hope your caravan achieves the minimum I require—eighteen miles."

"Uh… I will do my best."

"Not merely your best—there must be an assurance."

"Alright… I shall comply." Mular, after a moment's hesitation, acquiesced.

"Good. Farewell." Richard nodded, then turned his attention to Tuku and the others, instructing them to begin establishing their camp.

As Tuku hammered stakes into the ground, he cast a disapproving glance towards the caravan, muttering to Richard, "Hmph, how odd! We haven't yet stopped, yet they are the ones who halted to set up their camp. I cannot fathom who profits more—us from them, or they from us!"

"Regardless of who profits, I care for but one purpose: to secure my prize from the Black Castle without incident. Their slow pace is indeed troublesome, but I have already addressed this with their overseer. And you—Tuku, do not stir any trouble for me. You understand my distaste for complications," Richard cautioned.

"But, Master Richard…" Tuku opened his mouth to protest, only to find himself halted by Richard's impassive visage. He recognized that this expression boded ill; raising a point of contention often did not end favorably.

Tuku recalled that the First Guard had not always consisted of just ten members; there had once been twelve or even more. Yet, at the time of his joining, only twelve remained, and eventually, it dwindled to ten—the "timely" ten who understood the gravity of their situation. Those who had departed had met their yet undeserved fate through missteps taken at inappropriate moments.

Pondering this, Tuku wisely nodded with earnestness, "I understand, Master Richard! I assure you, I will not cause trouble! I promise!"

"Then that is well." Richard nodded approvingly, then addressed the rest of the group. "You too."

"Yes, sir!" they responded in unison.

At that moment, a still youthful voice spoke up, and Richard turned to see Lucy, the young maid, earnestly shaking her fist. "Master, I shall also refrain from causing trouble!"

Richard couldn't help but smile, "You, my dear, are exempt."

"Why not? I am quite obedient!" Lucy countered, her wide eyes pleading for recognition.

Richard shook his head, unwilling to delve into that discussion further. "Very well, let's agree on that. Since you are obedient, assist me by retrieving the papyrus scroll from yesterday—the one I previously used. And bring the quill along with the ink, which should be resting upon that stone over there."

"Master, are you preparing to conduct research again?"

"Indeed." Nodding, Richard said no more as he approached a flatter stone nearby. Unrolling the papyrus scroll Lucy handed him, he began writing while contemplating the previously established research topic—how to achieve delayed release of the Explosion Fireball, amplifying its destructive capacity through simultaneous explosions.

Time was of the essence; even amidst their escorting duties, Richard was determined not to waste a moment.