Now that Leon's inventory had been cleared of the accumulated treasure, he had vastly more storage capacity available. He moved with systematic efficiency, his hands touching items that would vanish instantly into his personal space. Entire stacks of grain sacks disappeared at his touch, followed by bundles of tools, rolls of cloth, and containers of preserved food.

The sheer volume he could now accommodate was staggering. Crates of seeds meant for underground cultivation vanished in rapid succession. Building materials—planks of various woods, bags of mortar, bundles of iron nails—all disappeared into that mysterious space only he could access. Medical supplies, cooking implements, and even some of the lighter furniture pieces were absorbed into his inventory.

Finally, having clear space makes such a difference, Leon thought with satisfaction as he continued his systematic collection. By his estimation, he was managing to store perhaps five percent of the total supplies—a seemingly small percentage, but given the enormous quantity the merchant had assembled, it represented enough goods to sustain hundreds of thousands of people for weeks.

That was overkill for the couple of hundred people inside, but he was certain it wouldn't be the case for long.

Beside him, Seraphine worked with equal focus, though her spatial pouch's limitations were far more pronounced. The enchanted container was a valuable tool, certainly, but it couldn't compare to the vast capacity of Leon's unique inventory system. She had to be highly selective, choosing items with the practiced eye of someone who understood exactly what would be most valuable in establishing a new settlement.

She moved through the supplies with confident decisiveness—rare medicinal herbs that couldn't be easily cultivated, specialized tools for delicate work, precious seeds that could grow in the most adverse conditions. Her military mind automatically calculated value-to-weight ratios, ensuring every item earned its place in her limited storage.

Both of them worked in comfortable silence, each knowing exactly what they were doing. There was no need for discussion about what to prioritize—they both understood that everything would eventually make its way into the dimensional space. Whether something went into their personal storage or would be transported later through the portal was largely irrelevant to the final outcome.

Seraphine added several vials of what appeared to be alchemical compounds, their contents glowing faintly through the glass. A set of precision instruments used for enchantment work followed, then several sealed scrolls that likely contained valuable information or maps.

Alchemy was very undeveloped and unpopular in her world; however, she believed it had massive potential.

Her spatial pouch gradually grew heavier, though its enchantment distributed the weight evenly, preventing it from becoming cumbersome. Still, she could feel it reaching its capacity, the magical space within growing increasingly resistant to accepting new items.

"My pouch is nearly full," she reported, adding one final item—a small chest containing what appeared to be rare gems specifically used in high-level enchantments.

Leon continued for a few more minutes, his inventory's vast capacity allowing him to be less discriminating. Entire sections of supplies vanished at his touch—barrels of oil, crates of candles, bundles of rope, even dismantled pieces of larger equipment that could be reassembled later.

The tent, which had been packed to capacity, now showed noticeable gaps where supplies had been removed. Though they had taken only a fraction of the total—Leon's five percent plus whatever Seraphine had managed to fit in her pouch—the absence was visible, creating corridors of space between the remaining stacks.

Through it all, the portal remained stable behind them, a constant drain on Leon's mana but far more efficient than repeatedly opening new gateways. The silver-white energy swirled hypnotically, maintaining the connection between worlds with Leon's power as its anchor.

"This should be enough for the first load," Leon announced, finally stepping back from the remaining supplies. His inventory wasn't completely full—he'd learned to always leave some emergency space—but it was carrying more practical supplies than it ever had before.

Seraphine adjusted her spatial pouch, now heavy with carefully selected items. Despite its weight, she showed no sign of strain—years of combat training had given her strength that her elegant appearance might not suggest.

The constant pull on his mana from maintaining the portal was noticeable but manageable, like a stream flowing from a vast reservoir. Leon could maintain this for an hour if necessary, though he planned to complete the transfer much sooner than that.

"Ready for the next phase?" he asked Seraphine, who nodded immediately, her eyes bright with anticipation for whatever came next in this remarkable undertaking.

But then suddenly, the sound of urgent footsteps thundered through the tent entrance, heavy boots striking the ground in desperate rhythm. Both Leon and Seraphine turned simultaneously to see eight knights burst through the canvas opening, their armor clanking with each labored movement.

Kaela led them, her usually pristine silver armor now streaked with road dust and sweat. Her short silver hair was plastered to her forehead, and her chest heaved with exhaustion as she struggled to catch her breath. Behind her, the other seven knights were in similar states—their faces flushed red from exertion, sweat pouring down their faces in rivulets, their bodies trembling from what had clearly been an all-out sprint to reach this location.

The moment they saw Seraphine and Leon, all eight knights immediately dropped to one knee in perfect unison despite their exhaustion. Their heads bowed low, water dripping from their faces onto the tent floor as they fought to control their ragged breathing.

"Commander! Lord Leon!" Kaela gasped out between gulps of air, her voice hoarse from exertion. "We… we humbly beg your forgiveness for our delay!"

The other knights echoed her words in a ragged chorus, their voices overlapping as they too sought absolution for their perceived failure.

"Forgive us, Commander!"

"We came as quickly as we could!"

"Please pardon our tardiness!"

Their exhaustion was palpable—legs trembling from the effort of maintaining their kneeling position, shoulders heaving with each desperate breath, armor that felt impossibly heavy after their frantic journey. Yet none of them dared to rise or even look up without permission, their sense of duty and obligation overriding their physical distress.

It wasn't their fault—Leon could see that clearly. They had obviously pushed themselves to their absolute limits and beyond to arrive as quickly as possible.

They were late only because he and Seraphine were too fast; they had more than made up for it with the intensity of their effort to reach the meeting point. Their clothes beneath their armor were completely soaked through with sweat, and more than one of them looked on the verge of collapse.

Kaela's hands trembled against her knee, where she braced herself, droplets of sweat continuing to fall steadily from her chin. "We have let you down!" she managed to explain through her labored breathing. "Please forgive us for our lack of strength."

The dedication was admirable, if unnecessary. They had nearly passed out while coming here, driven by their loyalty to Seraphine and their fear of disappointing her. Even now, in their state of near-collapse, their primary concern was seeking forgiveness for a delay that had likely been entirely beyond their control.

"Please, Commander," another knight added weakly, his voice barely above a whisper as exhaustion threatened to overtake him. "We accept any punishment you deem fit for our failure."

The tent fell silent except for their heavy breathing, eight of Seraphine's most loyal knights awaiting judgment while sweat pooled beneath them, their bodies pushed to the very edge of endurance in their desperate attempt to fulfill their duty.

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