In the blink of an eye, many days had passed.

  Fearing the “mystical power” wielded by Richard, Mular and the members of the caravan dared not waste any time. They hastily delivered the goods safely to the baron's castle several days ahead of schedule before quickly returning to Myron.

  Upon receiving the shipment, Richard selected certain materials and began the meticulous process of crafting two alloy long swords for Baron Leo. And so, time slipped by little by little.

  Quickly, over a month had elapsed.

  Amidst the waters between Prue and Myron—the Gem Sea—a mighty vessel sailed onward.

  Upon the deck, Mular, the steward of the Bauhinia Guild, silently calculated the remaining time until their return to the capital of Myron. After a painstaking reckoning, he turned to glance toward the passenger cabin but could not suppress a deep sigh.

  In the cabin, the eldest daughter of the Bauhinia Guild, Miss Melissa, appeared lost in a trance, her brow furrowed with burdensome thoughts. This melancholy had lingered for quite some time.

  Mular was well aware of the ponderings that plagued Melissa and understood their origins, yet he felt powerless to provide a solution. With another sigh, Mular stepped into the cabin and addressed her gently, "Miss Melissa, cease pondering those matters regarding Prue; come out and bask in the sunlight."

  “Huh…” Melissa’s voice emerged softly as she slowly lifted her gaze to meet Mular's, her eyes gradually clearing, yet the depths still reflected an unresolved turmoil. After a moment, she inquired, "Uncle Mular, do you really believe that wizards exist in this world, apart from Richard? Are the tales of wizards I once heard actually true?"

  "Err..." Mular hesitated, rubbing his temples as he met the determined look in Melissa's eyes, feeling rather helpless. "Perhaps there are, and perhaps there aren’t; I... cannot say for certain. However, I can assure thee that there are certainly no wizards in Myron."

  “Then where might they be?” Melissa pressed, her curiosity surging.

  "Ah, well..." Mular turned his gaze toward the vast sea beyond the ship's railing and replied in a contemplative, subdued tone, "They might exist far, far away from Myron."

  “I must go to this place then, and find these wizards!” Melissa declared emphatically.

  "Ah!" Mular exclaimed, his surprise evident as he turned back to Melissa, furrowing his brow. "Miss Melissa, why dost thou feel compelled to seek out these wizards? Notwithstanding the fact that the existence of wizards is fraught with danger, associating too closely with them is ill-advised..."

  “I cannot say for certain.” Melissa shook her head, a hint of confusion mingling with her resolve. “Yet I must find them, to see what manner of people they truly are.” As she spoke, vivid imagery surged in her mind: fireballs, countless fireballs! They launched, howled, and exploded! Roofs were blown away, houses ablaze, flames soaring toward the heavens...

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  As the visions replayed in her mind, Melissa's gaze grew resolute. Yet within her heart lay unspoken wishes that she feared would startle Mular: she wanted to discover wizards to comprehend who they truly were and, if possible, she... desired to become a witch herself. At the very least, she craved the power to wield fire, much like the striking images swirling in her thoughts…

  Mular, unaware of the depths of Melissa's aspirations, endeavored to persuade her gently. "Miss Melissa, do remember that your father, Mr. Tyrone, the guildmaster, awaits your return. I advise thee to set aside thoughts of wizards; after all, such matters are rather bizarre and exist worlds apart from our own. It would be prudent to settle your heart and focus on more pressing concerns. You are no longer a child; I fear that upon your return, Mr. Tyrone shall make arrangements for your marriage. In sum… I implore you, cease your distractions…”

  As he concluded, Mular shook his head, fully aware that his words might wield little influence. He sighed and exited the cabin.

  Back within the cabin, Melissa frowned, observing Mular’s departing figure. She clenched her delicate fist and muttered to herself, “Settle down and wait for a marriage arrangement? Hmph, I wish not! I must leave Myron and find the true land of wizards, no matter how far it may be…”

  Meanwhile, in the lowest hold of the ship.

  Chilly, damp, and dark...

  Sea water trickled through the crevices of the wooden planks, creating puddles that barely reached above the ankles. The air carried the briny scent of the ocean mixed with the stale odor of fish, causing most to avoid this level of the vessel.

  Yet here was Alex.

  Formerly, during the caravan’s journey from Myron to Prue, Alex had strained to ingratiate herself with Melissa. However, owing to his clumsy handling of matters concerning Richard and a momentary lapse in judgement, he had clashed directly with Melissa. Since then, despite his efforts to seek reconciliation, Melissa remained aloof in her cabin, denying him any opportunity. Consequently, he simmered in frustration until this very day.

  Throughout this period, fragments of flame-filled scenes periodically played out in his mind: fireballs! Explosions! Flames…

  Unlike Melissa, however, these visions often invaded his dreams, where he would awaken mid-scream, then instinctively touched his pants, discovering a damp piece of fabric. Such humiliations remained secrets he never shared with the others in the caravan, and to avoid discovery, he opted to sleep alone in a decrepit, cluttered section of the hold.

  And then... he awoke.

  Slowly opening his eyes, confusion clouded his vision as he surveyed his surroundings, noticing the dimly lit ceiling of the hold. He quickly recognized that the space did not resemble the one he had occupied before sleep.

  Three seconds later, Alex confirmed his suspicions, suddenly jolting awake as he struggled to rise, only to find himself bound tightly to the bottom of the hold by ropes, incapable of movement.

  Panic surged within him as dread filled his mind. He surmised he had been ensnared by an unknown assailant. The seawater had risen, now nearly covering half of him as he lay flat, sending a shiver down his spine.

  He shook his head, awareness dawning upon him as he recognized a dizzying sensation akin to that of intoxication from inferior ale. The speculations of his predicament deepened: someone must have taken advantage of his slumber, drugged him, and bound him in this forsaken space, perhaps intent on torturing or even killing him!

  But... who could possibly harbor such malevolence?

  Terrified, Alex's mind raced as he mentally revisited each member of the caravan, attempting to assess who might possess a motive against him. He discerned that, despite his conflict with Melissa and Mular viewing him with disdain, neither Melissa nor Mular would resort to such barbarity.

  Then who could it be?

  Confounded, Alex pondered deeply before calling out desperately, “Is anyone there? Help me!”

  “Stop shouting; we’re all here.” Just as Alex’s voice echoed through the cramped space, a chilling voice responded beside him, followed by a foul, dirty cloth being violently shoved into his mouth.