"Hmm?" Richard turned his head to see Mular beside his horse. His eyes flickered curiously as he asked, "What's the matter?"

  "Um, it's like this, Young Master Richard," Mular wiped his face and took a deep breath, pointing toward the road ahead. "The rain is coming down too heavily; it's hard to make any progress. Even if we push on, we wouldn't make more than ten miles today. So, I was thinking we could stop for a bit until the road improves. What do you think?"

  After finishing his explanation, Mular looked nervously at Richard, awaiting his response. After the lesson from yesterday, he didn't have the courage to defy Richard if he insisted on moving forward.

  However, Richard wasn't unreasonable. Glancing at the flooded ground, he recognized that Mular's concerns were valid and nodded in agreement.

  Just then, the sound of hooves echoed nearby. With a clop, clop, clop, Tuku appeared, returning through the pouring rain to report.

  Richard looked toward Tuku, silently inquiring whether there had been signs of anyone along the roadside. Understanding the question, Tuku shook his head and replied, "No sign at all, Young Master. It seems your suspicion was correct; those people were definitely not just passing by. We must remain vigilant."

  "Mm." Richard nodded and turned back to Mular, affirming, "The rain is indeed heavy. It's reasonable to stop for now…"

  "Good!" Mular sighed in relief upon hearing that.

  But then Richard's brow furrowed slightly, as if he had just noticed something amiss, causing him to halt mid-sentence. Mular's heart skipped a beat, fearing Richard might reverse his decision.

  Richard did not change his mind nor did he say anything further; he simply frowned and tilted his head to listen intently at the dense trees lining the road.

  Silence enveloped them as no one spoke. The only sounds were those of nature—the autumn rain pattering down and splattering against the trees. Some birds and insects disturbed by the rain chirped and called out.

  "Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo…"

  Time passed slowly.

  Richard maintained his listening pose for quite a while, and Mular dared not make a move, lest he disturb Richard's concentration. Meanwhile, Tuku stood at the ready, not knowing what had alerted Richard, but determined to ensure Richard's safety.

  Eventually, after the bird calls ceased, Richard turned slightly, looking at Mular and Tuku.

  Mular wondered if he could confirm whether Richard's previous promise still stood. Tuku, on the other hand, was curious about what Richard had observed that was out of place.

  But Richard spoke first, asking both of them, "Did you hear that sound just now? What do you think it was?"

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  "Huh?" Mular was taken aback. "What sound? It seems just like the rain, the bugs, and… oh, some bird sounds?"

  "It was the bird calls," Tuku replied, more accurately. He had keenly observed that Richard's alert expression came only after he heard the bird sounds, and it was at the cessation of those calls that Richard had chosen to speak. Though he didn't understand why the bird call was suspicious, Tuku felt his answer was the closest to the truth.

  Upon hearing this, Richard nodded and looked at Tuku, asking again, "What kind of bird was it?"

  "That…" Tuku hesitated before answering, "It sounded like a cuckoo." He added affirmatively, "Yes, definitely a cuckoo. Very ordinary, a common bird."

  "Half right," Richard raised an eyebrow, pointing out the flaw. "A cuckoo is indeed common, but not usually seen around here. More precisely, it shouldn't be here at this time of year! Any closer examination shows that it doesn't belong in this particular season and location!"

  "Hmm?" Tuku was taken aback, and Mular's eyes widened in surprise, both struggling to comprehend Richard's reasoning.

  Richard slowly explained, "There is a large type of bird known as migratory birds. They earned their name because they migrate according to the seasons: during spring and summer, they dwell in warmer areas, while in autumn and winter, they collectively fly to even warmer territories to survive. They don't return until spring.

  Such migratory birds occupy a significant portion of all avian species—nearly half. The cuckoo belongs to the cuckoo family, which is classified as a migratory bird—cuckoos tend to start migrating early in the autumn and are usually long gone by the end of the season."

  "What if that cuckoo just happened to be a late mover…?" Mular interjected, but he trailed off, feeling a disapproving glare from Tuku. Having followed Richard for years, Tuku immediately sensed that Richard was about to convey something important, which was the reason for his displeasure with Mular's interjection.

  Mular didn't know why the other two were looking at him like that, but after receiving the stern gaze, he quickly fell silent.

  At that moment, Richard spoke again, delivering a compelling explanation: "For various reasons, I tend to pay attention to many things around me. I've collected plant specimens and various minerals. I've also made notes about the migration dates of cuckoos and other birds.

  The earliest records I have go back six years. In those six years, the latest cuckoos have departed by mid-October and the earliest by the end of September. In other words, even considering the latest departure, the cuckoo that called out just now is already over ten days late. Rather than speculate a series of low-probability events, I prefer to consider a more significant possibility."

  "What?" Despite his apprehension toward Tuku's stare, Mular couldn't help but ask out of curiosity.

  Richard's eyes narrowed to slits at Mular's question. He wasn't angry; it was just a natural reaction to the situation.

  A moment later, Richard spoke again, his expression taking on a dangerous quality, "The more likely possibility is that the cuckoo's call was fake—someone is deliberately mimicking the sound to convey some kind of message."

  "Message? What kind of message…" Mular asked, puzzled, but his expression froze mid-question as he began to realize what Richard was suggesting.

  Richard continued, "The cuckoo called out a total of thirty-six times."

  "Thirty-six times?" Tuku frowned, trying to decipher what that signified.

  After several seconds of thought, he still couldn't ascertain the answer. Richard, however, supplied it directly: "I believe that represents our numbers."

  "Our numbers?"

  "Yes, the numbers. The caravan consists of twenty-five people, and if we exclude Lucy, we have a total of eleven remaining. Together, that totals thirty-six."

  "This…" Mular's demeanor shifted to one of seriousness. Though he was baffled by Richard's unusual reasoning, he found it hard to doubt his conclusion as well.

  Compared to Mular, Tuku's belief shifted to absolute conviction. His expression grew grave, and he instinctively reached for the knightly longsword at his back.

  Just at that moment, a series of bird calls rang out again—shorter and sharper than the cuckoo's sound, sounding almost like the shrill notes of a flute.