"Ah?" Lucy queried, puzzled.
Richard clarified, "Typically, when an individual recalls a genuinely occurring event, their eyes instinctively shift to the upper right. Conversely, when fabricating a story, they tend to look down to the lower left."
"Ah, but why is that?" Lucy probed further, even more confounded.
Richard paused upon the stairway leading to the attic, gesturing toward his own forehead. "Permit me to elaborate. The human brain can be simplistically divided into the left and right hemispheres. The left hemisphere governs memory, while the right hemisphere oversees imagination. When engaging in each function, the eyes will subconsciously drift toward the corresponding hemisphere."
"Yet, that seems to contradict what you suggested earlier," Lucy noted.
"Indeed, it does." Richard did not deny it, but upon observing Lucy's further confusion, he sighed softly, "The divergence between theory and outcome stems from a feature of the human brain known as cross-lateralization. In plain terms, during physical activity, the left hemisphere controls the right side of the body, whilst the right hemisphere commands the left side. Thus, it is true that the eyes may veer toward the functional areas; however, the final results will be quite the contrary."
"Oh." The young maid nodded, feigning understanding, yet comprehending little.
"Moreover, regarding why the eyes look upward or downward in conjunction with left or right orientations, it pertains to the human instinct to minimize visual stimuli. The cross-lateralization of the brain relates to fields of evolutionary biology and neuroscience. Alas, it may still be too premature to delve into such concepts with you; I shall explain those in detail at a later time."
"Oh." Once more, Lucy nodded obediently, holding her tongue from further inquiries, though she remained entirely baffled.
Terminologies such as "cross-lateralization," "evolutionary biology," and "neuroscience" were foreign to her ears; their meanings eluded her, let alone grasp their implications. Though such conversations had often unfolded, the outcome remained unchanged—Lucy felt ever the stark contrast between herself and her master, sensing herself simply a dim-witted servant, failing in her duty to alleviate Richard's burdens.
Thus, she resolved to memorize those terms, trusting time would elucidate their meanings, so that she might render assistance whenever required, perhaps even supplying answers to earn a smile of approval from Richard.
When one reminisces, their gaze shifts to the upper right; when they concoct tales, their eyes wander downward to the left. This indicated that to gaze upward right was to speak truth, whilst downward left would signify deceit. Was this truly the case? Did Richard's contemplations manifest in downward glances as well?
Lucy mused upon these thoughts when suddenly Richard halted, glancing backward and reminded her, "Ah, regarding the eye-based method of lie detection, remember this: It is effective solely upon those unacquainted with this theory. Those who have knowledge of it can easily learn to feign contrary expressions, as I can."
Upon perceiving the teasing glimmer in Richard's expression, Lucy instinctively recoiled, fearing her master possessed some arcane insight. She hastily shook her head, "Nay, I... I promise I shan't."
"That shall suffice," Richard replied, dismissing the concern with a wave as he pushed open the door to the upper chamber of the side castle—the so-called "laboratory." Though simple in its construction, the technologies contained within far surpassed the advancements of this world by many centuries.
"If we intend to capture the fire bear, we must prepare adequately; it shall not be as simple as with the werewolf, given the bear's bulk and ferocity exceed that of a mere werewolf. Hence, it stands to reason that... we must distill more alcohol, as well as…" As Richard spoke, he busied himself with various tasks within the laboratory.
Lucy, entering the "laboratory," swiftly assumed her role as a maid. While she could not perform experiments in Richard's stead, she could at least lend a helping hand—passing instruments, washing used apparatus, and liberating Richard from the burdens of minutiae. This had been Richard's intent in personally training a maid.
Within the flurry of activity, Richard's voice resonated continuously.
"Bring me the largest crucible."
"The glass flask—yes, the one labeled as 'Number 3.'"
"Go yonder, and hold that shaking bamboo tube steady for me."
"And wash these ceramic jars; remember to use the clean water from 'Number 8' jar for the final rinse."
"…"
Days swiftly passed.
The sun hung high in the sky, a colossal fireball scorching the entirety of the realm. The air stood still; nary a breeze stirred, and even the treetops remained unmoving.
The small river in the meadow flowed serenely, while the dust upon the road leading to the Baron's castle lay still, as if poised for an event.
Suddenly!
"Creak, creak, creak!"
With a crash, the drawbridge of the castle lowered, the gates flung open, and the thunderous clatter of hooves echoed—a cavalry unit surged forth into the open.
Dust swirled up from the path ahead!
Leading the charge was Tuku, appearing conspicuous as he towered upon his steed. Midway through the troop, Richard sat expressionless upon his mount, watched closely by the surrounding cavalry.
Bringing up the rear was the unfortunate hunter, recently retrieved from the dungeons, still adjusting to the harsh glare of daylight. His hands bound, he was dragged along by the ropes tied to his mount's girth, pulled along as he stumbled out of the Baron's castle.
This was Tuku's master plan. In his eyes, a commoner—a man bold enough to spread rumors that deceived the Baron's second heir—had been fortunate enough to escape with merely a few lashes; riding horseback was an impossibility for him.
As for Richard, his stance was markedly different—he cared not for the man's fate, so long as the fellow lived and could guide him to the legendary fire bear.
Thus, the party sped northwest across the Baron's domain like the wind.
An hour later, a verdant forest materialized before them.
Before their eyes stood rows of black pines, trunks darkened as though singed, their needles pine-green as if infused with smoke—this was precisely from whence the "Black Forest" derived its name.
The company halted before the edge of the forest; the hunter, having run tethered behind the horses, was at last granted a moment to catch his breath, gasping for air.
With a thud, Tuku—encased in heavy armor—leapt from his steed, causing the ground beneath him to sink slightly. He looked upward at Richard.
Richard understood the unspoken query—whether the hunter should be sent ahead to lead the way. Without hesitation, he nodded slightly in affirmation.
Upon receiving Richard's signal, Tuku's expression hardened. He strode to the rear of the group, unbinding the ropes tethering the hunter, yanking him forward with a forceful tug, devoid of sympathy. "Enough of your whimpering like a dead dog! Get to the front and guide us! Should you fail to lead us to the fire bear today, your life shall be forfeit!"
The hunter recoiled, trembling, uttering not a word of defiance. Nodding submissively, he dashed toward the forefront, leading the band onward.
Numerous riders dismounted, guiding their mounts into the periphery of the forest.