Mican sat in the large wagon, watching the scenery pass by through the opening in the back while Harold’s two children played in the background. He was thinking back to his encounter with Melinda, seeing whether he made the appropriate choices or not.

It was Mican’s first time interacting with someone who acted so genial towards him from their very first meeting. It completely threw him off guard. He had been expecting a mysterious and cold woman, full of authority, and the contrast came off as strange to him. He didn’t dislike it though.

There were several reasons as to why the young man hadn’t rejected the warmth of the woman and stayed in the caravan.

He had been greatly disturbed that the caravan leader knew of his past actions, and still let him stay. Unless diverse language skills were truly that valued in the world, then there wouldn’t be any value in taking him in.

Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been better than the pursuit of the Church of War, but if she had wanted to turn him in then she could have several times already. Whatever it was, he would still remain wary.

Her amiable attitude had confused him out of his wariness. Even despite the touchiness to the point of hugging him and stroking his hair, he hadn’t felt uncomfortable at all. He would have never let anybody do such a thing to him usually, but he sensed absolutely no animosity from the woman.

Was this the charm of a beautiful woman? The young man shook his head humorously.

The most important factor through the entire conversation was that, throughout every single sentence the caravan leader had spoken, none of them were lies. It was to the point he had wondered if his strange new lie detection skill was faulty or didn’t work. How could such an amiable young woman survive in this world? Let alone thrive.

“Hey Harold, your caravan leader is pretty strange isn’t she.”

“Strange? Well I suppose you could say so. I’d call her more mysterious than anything.”

“I guess she is.”

“Wait, why’re you asking? Don’t tell me you fancy her… already?” Turning his head from the reins, Harold gave the young man a toothy grin. “Well good luck buddy. Just so you know, her suitors come from all across the lands and there’s probably enough of them to fill a town. You’ll have to get in line!”

“…” Mican stared at the blacksmith expressionlessly, unamused.

“Hahahaha!” Unfazed, Harold continued laughing.

“Mister Mican, Boss Melinda has solidly rejected all of her suitors with no exception. I’m sorry to say this, but your love has ended before it even began.”

Turning his head, Mican noticed even Duarte had taken part in teasing him, and even little Sarah was smiling gently at him from the side.

Ever since he had informed them that he had been accepted, it seemed as if a wall had been broken between him and the family. They were much friendlier to him than they were in the past.

“Listen, stop joking around and let’s get to more important matters. I’ve been accepted into the caravan, but I still don’t know that much about it. More importantly, I don’t know where we’re headed from here on.”

“Oh, yes, I had nearly forgotten. Sorry about that. The caravan is currently headed to the major city of Gaspereau, the city of rich wine.”

“Gaspereau? Can you tell me more about it?” Mican sat up straighter at the mention of new information.

“You haven’t even heard of Gaspereau? You’re truly a strange person Mican. Duarte, let’s see if your memory is fresh. Tell us about Gaspereau.”

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“Alright father. From what I can remember, Gaspereau is a special city in the fact that it’s classified as major, but it’s not large. It’s classified as major because it’s a major economical city in the Million region.”

“Correct my son, but you forget that the city is only a source of riches for the rich people. It’s a vineyard city, for the large-scale production of expensive wines. Merchants and powerful aristocrats of various cities trade or gift each other the surrounding vineyards there, and the common folk don’t know this, but it’s also a place where they do under-the-table deals for other darker resources.”

At this point it wasn’t only Mican listening intently, but Duarte had perked his ears up too.

“It’s pretty small for a city, but there’s tons of large and fancy buildings there. Mostly only rich people live there or have property in the area. It’s an area that’s very well taken care of, and normal merchants wouldn’t really be able to get in. We wouldn’t be able to either if not for our boss.” The blacksmith paused afterwards, counting with his fingers and thinking visibly. “We’ll be there in a couple days or so, depending on the pace of our caravan.”

The three continued chatting into the day as the caravan continued its journey, until a sharp chime sounded out from the front of the caravan.

It was the signal for the caravan to stop as they had found a good place to set up camp for the day.

Leading all of the wagons to the shade beneath a small hill in the plains, Harold instructed his son to set up a tent, with Mican helping.

The darkness came quickly despite the warm season, and night blanketed the great plains. The moon wasn’t in sight, and several clouds drifted by lazily above them. The giant dragon head floated high in the sky, surrounded by twinkling stars. Its glowing blue runes shining down a soft light on the earth.

There was a slight chilly wind blowing over the plains, and the members of the caravan had to sit around several campfires in groups, warming themselves up in the night.

The Ashleye family had their own campfire with Mican as a group of four, and the young man had decided to take it upon himself to tend to the campfire, getting Duarte to teach him while Sarah watched at the side.

He had been prodding and poking the fire with a little stick for over thirty minutes now. The two children had warmed up to Mican a considerable amount after learning that he had been accepted into the caravan.

Footsteps sounded out into the air and Mican turned his head up to find Harold walking towards them, coming back from visiting then other members of the caravan.

“It’s truly surprising to see that you can’t tend a fire, Mican.” A thud sounded out as Harold plopped himself onto the ground near the fire, warming his hands up. “You truly weren’t lying about being a scholar. Were you perhaps a noble in the past? Heh.”

“…” Not knowing what to say, the young man decided that it would be best to keep silent.

“Dad, really?.” Coming to Mican’s rescue, Duarte elbowed his father in the side, giving him a look.

“Sorry about that, don’t answer that.” Realizing he had accidentally pried too far in his jest; the blacksmith quickly changed the subject. “I’ve visited the other members, and I think it’s best if we save the introductions for tomorrow. We had left on too short of a notice, everybody is still a bit hungover or tired.”

“That’s fine.” Mican nodded in response.

Turning a plank over in the fire, a growl sounded out, breaking his concentration.

“Hungry are you? If you haven’t brough any food then you can go visit Becket for a meal. He’s the caravan’s cook so to speak. Everybody visits him anyway, even if they did bring food.” The rumble had sounded out from Mican’s stomach. “You can find him at the far end of the camp, near the large wagon. I’ll come over later with my kids, I want to get warmed up a bit more first.”

“Alright, thank you Harold, Duarte.” Standing up, Mican handed the stick to Duarte, heading off into darkness.

A bit of wind blew past Mican on his little walk, chilling him slightly. On his way, he gave the camp a cursory overview.

Not counting the adventurers that had been hired to escort the caravan, Mican counted over a dozen heads sitting at various campfires in the groups. There weren’t any elderly people in the group, aside from maybe Graham, who appeared well into his forties.

The camp wasn’t large, and Mican quickly reached a roaring fire at the opposite end of the camp, a large pot boiling on top of it.

Several people passed by him, holding steaming bowls of stew and looking very cheerful. They quickly greeted him before they went off towards their respective campfires, chatting along the way.

“I’m truly grateful that we have you, Becket. I can’t imagine going back to the hard jerky and stale bread we used to eat.” A warm voice sounded out near the campfire, revealing Graham sipping from a wooden bowl with a smiling face.

“You say that every day, Graham. I appreciate it, but doesn’t it get old?” Another voice rang out opposite from him.

“As the old sayings go, never anger the cook.”

A young man was tending to the steaming pot of stew at the campfire, stirring it gently. As there were only three people around the fire, including Mican himself, this figure could only be Becket, the chef of the group.