Among a convoy of merchant carriages that had just left the docks and departed the lower district, one large crate wrapped in heavy canvas bounced with the jolts of the carriage, wobbling with the springy elasticity of jelly.
"Damn it, Mark, d-didn't you see that? That crate seemed to move on its own just now!" One of the escorts rubbed his eyes and said incredulously to the companion beside him.
The warrior named Mark chuckled and patted his companion's shoulder. "I told you not to get so drunk yesterday. Look at you now, you're hallucinating. If you delay the convoy, Mr. Jonathan definitely won't let you off."
The escort muttered, "I only had a little, really, just a little... Oh, right, don't tell that miser I was drinking."
"Of course not. If I wanted to tell him, Mr. Jonathan would have known long ago that you call him a miser behind his back."
"..." The escort was instantly struck speechless.
Inside the canvas-wrapped crate, Arthur and the others were squeezed into the cramped space, quietly listening to the merchant convoy's conversation outside, seemingly trying to identify their surroundings by sound.
Count Bran stood on Arthur's arm, clicking his tongue in wonder as he stared at the verdant space.
"I never thought Your Majesty could become this large. Those idiots did not even inspect it before letting us through."
"In this Count's opinion, they are not very clever either."
Calvin, however, seemed deep in thought. He said with a headache, "It seems it was not their carelessness. Trouble appears to have come looking for us."
"Perhaps it is another group here to fight over the Crown of Ignis. Damn it, how many hands has this news passed through? How does everyone know about it?"
Arthur hugged his knees and quietly squatted