Wizard from The Modern

Last night, she had awaited Amy's return with the rabbit for dinner, yet when her stomach grumbled in protest, she saw nothing but empty hands and a contrite smile from Amy. In a fit of anger, Melissa had lambasted Amy as a liar and proceeded to scrounge for whatever morsels she could find to fill her belly, retreating into her tent. She had suppressed her frustration, ultimately falling into a restless sleep only in the deep of night.

Reflecting upon these events, Melissa felt her expression soften a touch.

Seeing her mood shift, Mular seized the opportunity to prompt, "Miss Melissa, if all is well, let us dismantle the tent and set forth. The others are waiting, after all."

Melissa lifted her gaze to the road and beheld the caravan's members, all prepared and casting inquisitive eyes her way. A flush crept onto her cheeks. Although willful and often heedless of the situation, she was not as uncouth as many nobles. Realizing the entire caravan awaited her, she felt a twinge of embarrassment and, after some hesitation, finally acquiesced to Mular's suggestion.

Mular exhaled a sigh of relief, directing several hands to swiftly take down the tent while he escorted the washed and ready Melissa to a cart as they began their journey.

Meanwhile, Richard and the First Guard commenced their duties, escorting the caravan onward.

Thus began an interminably sweltering day.

Perhaps in deference to Mular's fibs, the skies remained overcast, never letting the sun peek through. The air cooled, yet the oppressive humidity made breathing laborious and rendered all the more uncomfortable.

By the afternoon's zenith, the caravan was drenched in sweat, and even Melissa, seated in the cart, felt lethargic.

During this time, Amy approached several times, merrily attempting to tell jokes to uplift Melissa's spirits, only to be shooed away by Melissa's irritable responses.

Seated within the cart, Melissa closed her eyes for some time before reopening them to observe the caravan continuing its march. Unable to stifle her curiosity, she turned toward Mular, who led the procession. "Uncle Mular, when shall we halt for a rest?"

"Not yet, I fear; we must trek an additional two hours before evening descends."

"Yet I feel we have been traveling for ages!" Melissa furrowed her brow, suddenly inquiring aloud, "By the way, Uncle Mular, how far have we gone?"

"Ah, that…." Mular hesitated, for he understood Melissa could read the caravan's simplified itinerary. She would see through any attempt to mislead her—should she suspect something and glance at the map, she would expose the truth.

Noticing Mular's hesitance, Melissa's eyes gleamed as if she understood something. "Have we already traversed over thirteen miles?"

"Um… well…"

"Do we or do we not, Uncle Mular!"

"Indeed…" Mular sighed, admitting, "We are nearing sixteen miles now."

At this revelation, Melissa's eyebrows shot up, and she cried, "Then what are we waiting for? Did we not agree to only travel thirteen miles yesterday? Stop at once; let us rest!"

"However…" Mular stammered, caught between his promise and her demand.

"However, what, Uncle Mular!" Melissa interrupted, her brow furrowing as she disregarded all else and shouted for the entire caravan to come to a halt.

As the caravan ceased its motion, Mular could not restrain a sigh, turning to Melissa. "But Miss Melissa, I promised that noble youth Richard that we would travel eighteen miles today."

"How could you do such a thing, Uncle Mular!" Melissa's frown deepened in indignation. "Enough! I do not blame you; it must be that Richard pressuring you to agree! Nonetheless, we shall only walk thirteen miles today, and we shan't travel further. If that Richard has any objections, let him come to me!"

Melissa's assertive demeanor left Mular in a state of exasperation. He cast his gaze forward and saw Richard approaching, his expression darkening.

Master Richard rode swiftly toward the caravan, his brow knitted in concern. The caravan had been performing adequately today, yet it had abruptly come to a stop, and he suspected some trickery at play—he needed clarity.

As he approached the caravan, Richard soon spotted Melissa rising from the cart, glaring defiantly at him.

What did this mean?

Richard's eyes flickered as he sought an explanation and looked toward Melissa.

She wasted no time, bluntly declaring, "Hey! You are Richard, right? The one who threatened Uncle Mular to travel eighteen miles! Listen here; the Bauhinia Merchant's Guild is not your household's possession; we travel but thirteen miles each day—no more, no less."

"Why?" Richard asked, seeking a reasonable explanation. He regarded Melissa coolly and stated, "I am not interested in knowing who the owner of the Bauhinia Guild is. What concerns me is why a promise made yesterday is suddenly being disregarded. Why?"

"Why?" Melissa retorted, anger igniting within her. "This sweltering heat causes dizziness and sickness. I do not desire anyone to fall ill, can you understand?"

"Dizziness? Sickness?" Richard remarked, swiftly surveying the caravan once more. The laborers glistened with perspiration, yet none appeared unwell.

Turning back to Melissa, he stated, "Dizziness could stem from inadequate blood circulation, while sickness may emerge from viral concerns. The heat indeed creates discomfort, potentially leading to mild dehydration from excessive sweating, yet as long as you ensure ample access to diluted saltwater, all should be well. I observe none amongst your caravan exhibiting signs of dizziness or illness; they seem completely fine."

"Then my problem must suffice!" Melissa retorted, her fury flaring as she looked at Richard, attempting to uphold her last bit of dignity and exclaimed, "I get motion sickness! If I sit in the cart for too long, I feel dizzy; if we travel over thirteen miles a day, I become utterly ill. I urgently require a rest—can you not understand!"

Richard said nothing at once, instead shaking his head internally. He recognized Melissa's antics for what they were: a tantrum. Who aboard a ship could possibly suffer from motion sickness due to the jolting of a cart? Such claims were transparently false.

And since she chose to stir trouble, there was no need for politeness; even if Mular had backed her claim as the daughter of the caravan leader, Richard would not relent.

In an instant, he fixed his gaze on Melissa, his expression stoic. "Are you certain you experience motion sickness? Motion sickness from riding in a cart?"

"I am sure! Very sure!"

"Then do you comprehend the principle behind motion sickness?" Richard queried.

Melissa blinked, bewildered. "What… what principle?"

Without further attention to her, he elaborated, "Many believe that balance in humans is connected to the cerebellum. Thus, when one drinks excessively or anesthetizes the cerebellum, bodily balance falters, leading to unsteady movement."

Melissa's eyes widened, and she wore a look of sheer confusion. Terms like 'cerebellum' and 'anesthetize' were utterly foreign. While she could vaguely grasp the notion of drinking excessively, associating it with motion sickness perplexed her entirely.