That's right, that's what adventure is like!

Chapter 124 Dinner is served!

After the decision was made, the entire convoy began to operate smoothly.

The cooks deftly set up the cutting board, and with a flash of their knives, the smoked meat was diced into even, fine pieces, alternating between lean and fatty meat.

Several teenagers, carrying cloth bags, ran towards the distant meadow. They were very willing to learn something under the guidance of experienced foragers, but they would never leave the designated area at will.

The guards remained standing in place, leading their horses, but their eyes kept drifting towards the cooking area. No one left their posts, and no one urged them on; they just occasionally swallowed and their Adam's apples bobbed.

Even the ordinary people didn't move around randomly; they just stayed quietly on their carts, waiting for the next instructions.

Such a disciplined scene did not come out of thin air, but was thanks to the true owner of the convoy.

"The Migrant Wolf" Starlo.

This professional was renowned throughout the kingdom for his expertise in organizing caravans and escorting merchants. Although he only had five core members who truly followed him, his methods of managing the caravans were exceptionally skillful.

It is said that three months ago, he led a caravan of 35 refugees across the entire kingdom from west to east, and no one died during the journey.

It's important to understand that this was during the most critical period of the war between the two countries, so achieving such a feat was truly remarkable!

Only someone like him would dare to casually accept a mission that starts from Broken Rock Town and traverses the vast plains and whispering forests.

Dangerous areas such as Chiffon Canyon, and challenging missions to reach the Baron Alliance.

Glug glug—

After adding all the ingredients, the water in the iron pot finally boiled completely again. Habi sprinkled some salt into the pot, white smoke rose, and the aroma began to drift into the distance.

"Dinner's ready!"

With a shout from the halfling, the entire convoy sprang into action, like a tightly wound spring.

The guards split into two groups: one group remained in place, on alert for any potential enemies, while the other group jogged towards the cooking area.

No one cut in line, no one scrambled, and even their conversations were kept very low. They took out their bowls from their pockets; some were made of wood, some of iron. One orc even pulled out a helmet, which drew suppressed laughter from the others.

At this moment, the halfling wanderer finally revealed some of his true strength.

His large ladle flew up and down, first scooping up a bowl of thick soup, then a spoonful of smoked meat and wild vegetables, and finally placing two black breads on top. His movements were so fast that they left afterimages, making it difficult for ordinary people to see clearly.

In fact, if Roland hadn't been so perceptive, he might have suspected that Habib was secretly shaking the spoon.

The guards took their food, thanked them, and then happily went to get a bowl of ale, squatting by the roadside to eat it.

The orcs sat in a circle, their bowls much larger than the others', and they ate with much more gusto. One young orc ate ​​too quickly and burned his mouth, grimacing but refusing to spit it out. In the end, an older orc patted his back and finally managed to swallow it.

Dwarves generally don't like soup, so Harpy would hand them a bucket of dried salted fish, which they would eat with black bread and ale, and they found it quite delicious.

After the guards had eaten, it was the ordinary people's turn.

Strictly speaking, they actually spend more money joining the team than the superhumans, some even going bankrupt.

Even so, Staro would not guarantee their absolute safety, and even stated that he would abandon them immediately if they encountered any unexpected risks.

But—if not forced to, who would willingly abandon their hometown and migrate to the Baron Union?

For people like this, Habi wouldn't give them any special treatment or shortchange them. He would just estimate that if there was enough food left, he would take more pieces of meat for the children who hadn't grown up yet.

"Take it, eat it while it's hot," the halfling always had that same smile. "After you finish eating, we'll continue our journey this afternoon."

Ordinary people who receive the bowl will pause for a moment, then whisper their thanks and return to their carts, afraid of disturbing the chatting and laughing guards.

Roland stood at a distance, watching quietly.

Aleta stood silently beside him, offering him the food she had collected for him, and asked in a low voice, "Those people are still following us, should we deal with them?"

"Don't worry about it, just follow along if you want."

Roland took the soup, tasted it, sighed softly, and glanced at the rear of the convoy.

There, about two hundred meters away, were twenty or thirty people scattered around.

They were all people who couldn't afford to join a caravan but wanted to go to the Baron Alliance, hoping to get some help from the guards and find a safer route.

Among these people were elderly people carrying tattered cloth bags, women holding children wrapped in faded old cloth, and several teenagers who were so thin that their ribs were faintly visible.

They dared not get too close, and usually just hung at a distance, walking in the ruts left by the convoy.

At this time, they were also eating, but mostly dry, cracked black bread, while some were following the caravan to find food in the wilderness.

A few kind guards would occasionally lend them a hand, reminding them what was edible, sharing some dry rations with them, and persuading them to leave.

Roland never intervened in this situation.

But that's all he could do.

These people will most likely fall behind and get lost in the wilderness without any obvious landmarks before they even reach the Whispering Forest.

The broth was finally gone.

Habi added another ladle of water to the pot, took out some of the ingredients he had brought with him, cooked the remaining rice crust and meat scraps, served them to himself and the cooks, and squatted by the pot to eat.

As the sunlight gradually shifted and the midday warmth began to fade, the guards put away their bowls and chopsticks, brushed the grass off their clothes, and led their horses back to their mounts.

"Pack your gear! We're leaving in ten minutes!"

Staro's voice came from the front of the convoy, not loud, but clearly penetrating everyone's ears.

The cooking area instantly sprang into action, with cooks quickly washing pots and clearing away dishes, reloading the remaining dry rations onto the carts, and guards returning to their posts to check the horses' girths and the cargo's ropes.

Roland finished the last sip of soup and handed the bowl to Aletta.

Just then.

-

A young guard in light armor trotted over, a golden ear of wheat embroidered on his chest.

He stopped in front of Roland and bowed slightly: "Mr. Karan, Lady Lucia requests your presence."

Roland raised an eyebrow.

"What is it?"

"The master didn't say," the young guard stood ramrod straight, his face respectful, "he only said that you must come over, there's something to discuss."

Roland nodded, leaned back against the cargo, stretched, and his bones cracked slightly.

He jumped off the carriage, brushed the bits of grass off his clothes, and walked toward the front of the convoy.

At the very front of the convoy was a horse-drawn carriage that was noticeably more refined than the other carts.

The carriage was made of dark brown wood with dark bronze metal trim. Light gray curtains hung from the windows. The two or four horses pulling the carriage were all silver-gray with glossy coats, standing quietly in place, occasionally flicking their tails.

A young woman was standing next to the carriage.

Her light golden hair was styled into a simple bun, revealing her slender neck. Her features were delicate and gentle, with a noble air about her.

The dark blue riding outfit was well-tailored, with silver thread embroidered along the edges, and clung tightly to the body.

A slender sword hung at his waist, its hilt inlaid with a pale blue gem that gleamed warmly in the sunlight.

Lucia Goldstalk.

The only nobleman in the caravan.