If there is one thing humans love more than bread, it is gossip.
By the next morning, the story of, The Battle of the Bakery had spread like wildfire. In the original version, Zania tripped a bandit and hit another with a sword hilt. In the current version circulating the market square, Zania had engaged in a three-way duel, deflected a crossbow bolt with her eyelashes, and banished the thieves with a single holy shout.
"I'm telling you, Ren," Zania said, vibrating with excitement as she leaned on my counter. "Captain Orik said he might put me up for a commendation! A Silver Star! Do you know who gets Silver Stars? Knights!"
She was eating a celebratory chocolate croissant. I had made it with extra dark chocolate to help with her dopamine levels.
"That is impressive, Zania," I said, kneading a batch of rye dough. "Just don't let it go to your head. You tripped over a bucket on the way out, remember?"
"Tactical stumble!" Zania argued, pointing a crumb-covered finger at me. "It was to confuse the enemy."
I smiled. "Of course. My mistake."
Inside, I was calculating probabilities.
The bandits were in the town jail. They would talk. They would tell the guards that the floor turned to ice and that a baguette hit harder than a mace. Most guards would dismiss it as the ramblings of concussed men.
But if someone competent listened...
Ding-dong.
The Great Bell at the center of town began to toll. It wasn't the hour mark. It was a slow, heavy rhythm.
DOONG.
The bakery went quiet. Zania froze mid-chew.
"That's the Gate Bell," she whispered. "That only rings for... royalty? Or High Clergy?"
DOONG.
My stomach dropped. I didn't need a bell to tell me who it was. I could feel the mana pressure from a mile away. It felt like walking into a sterilized sick room—cold, bright, and smelling of judgment.
"The Church," I muttered.
"I gotta go see!" Zania shoved the rest of the croissant in her mouth, grabbed her helmet, and ran out the door.
I wiped the flour off my hands.
"Malphas," I whispered.
The shadow behind the oven flickered. "Here, My Lord."
"Go to the back. Hide your aura. If you leak even a drop of demonic energy, I will turn you into a sourdough starter."
"Understood."
I walked to the front window and peered through the blinds.
The main street of Garia was lined with people. They bowed as a procession made its way from the gates.
It wasn't a large army. It was a single, white carriage drawn by four horses clad in gold barding. Flanking it were six Knights of the Holy Order, their armor gleaming so bright it hurt to look at.
The carriage stopped in the town square.
The door opened. A man stepped out.
He was tall, thin, and wore the pristine white robes of the Inquisition. He had silver hair tied back in a severe ponytail and wire-rimmed glasses that caught the light.
High Inquisitor Rael.
I recognized him from the intelligence reports. He was the Church's best "Hunter." He didn't just find demons; he dissected them. He had a unique ability: [Mana Reconstruction]. He could look at a crime scene and "rewind" the magical residue to see what happened.
This is bad, I thought. He is not here for a social call.
Captain Orik, the head of the Town Guard, rushed forward, looking sweaty.
"Your Eminence!" Orik bowed clumsily. "We... we weren't expecting the Inquisition! To what do we owe the honor?"
Rael didn't look at Orik. He looked at the air, sniffing delicately.
"The wind carries strange whispers, Captain," Rael said. His voice was soft, melodic, and terrifying. "We received reports of... anomalies. Fluctuations in the mana weave near this region."
He adjusted his glasses.
"And," Rael continued, "I hear you captured some bandits yesterday under... peculiar circumstances."
Orik blinked. "Oh! Yes! Young Zania, one of our juniors. She apprehended them at the bakery! A true prodigy!"
"A prodigy," Kael repeated. "Interesting. Bring me to these bandits. I wish to hear their confession."
I stepped away from the window and locked the bakery door.
He is going to the jail, I realized. He is going to scan the bandits. He will see the residue of my spells on them.
The [Friction Reduce] spell on the floor. The [Vector Control] on the crossbow bolt.
If he realized a high-level magic user was interfering with fights to protect a local girl, he would deduce two things, the girl is the hero and he might found out my identity…
I paced the floor.
I couldn't kill him. Killing a High Inquisitor would bring the entire Holy Army to Garia. That would ruin the "peaceful childhood" plan.
I had to trick him.
"Malphas!" I hissed.
The General poked his head out of the storage room. "Shall I assassinate him? I have a blowdart."
"No blowdarts!" I rubbed my temples. "I need you to run. Go to the jail. Invisible."
"And free the bandits?"
"No," I said. "I need you to contaminate the crime scene."
Malphas tilted his head. "My Lord?"
"The bandits still have traces of my magic on them. I used Dark Wind and Void Friction. Those are Demon spells disguised as accidents. If Kael scans them, he will see my signature."
I grabbed a jar of Holy Water from the shelf (I kept it to clean mold—it was surprisingly effective disinfectant) and tossed it to Malphas.
"Splash this on the bandits," I ordered. "Then cast a low-level Light spell on their cells. Make it look like a wandering priest blessed them, or like Zania's 'Holy Aura' lingered on them."
"You want me... a Demon General... to cast Light Magic?" Malphas looked disgusted. "It burns my skin. It itches."
"Do it for the cause, Malphas. Overwrite my dark mana with generic holy noise. Confuse the data."
Malphas sighed, the sound of a weary employee asked to work overtime on a Friday.
"As you command. I will be the shiniest demon in history."
He vanished into the shadows.
I leaned against the counter and waited.
Ten minutes later, the bell on the door chimed. But I had locked the door.
I looked up.
High Inquisitor Rael was standing inside my shop. He hadn't broken the lock; he had simply melted the mechanism with a touch.
He stood on the doormat, brushing dust off his white robes.
"My apologies," Rael said, his smile not reaching his eyes. "The sign said 'Open', but the door disagreed. I assumed it was a malfunction."
He walked further in. He didn't look at the bread. He looked at the walls. He looked at the floor where Zania had fought. He looked at the ceiling where the crossbow bolt had hit.
He was scanning.
"Welcome to the Golden Crust," I said, putting on my best 'dumb peasant' face. "Can I... get you a baguette, Your Holiness?"
Rael turned his gaze to me. His eyes behind the glasses were pale gray. They felt like they were peeling back my layers.
"You are the baker," Rael stated. "Ren, was it?"
"Yes, sir."
"The girl, Zania. She fought here yesterday."
"She did," I nodded enthusiastically. "She was amazing! She jumped over the table and—pow! Justice Punch!"
Kael walked to the spot where the Bandit Leader had slipped. He crouched down and touched the floorboards.
I held my breath. Did Malphas clear the residue in time?
Rael rubbed the wood between his fingers. He frowned.
"Strange," Rael murmured. "The wood here... it feels... clean. Sterilized."
Malphas used too much Holy Water, I thought. Idiot.
"Oh, I mopped there," I said quickly. "With... uh... extra soap. Because the bandit drooled when he fell. It was gross."
Kael stood up slowly. He stared at me.
"You possess a very faint mana signature, Ren," Rael said softly.
My heart stopped. Did I leak?
"Most humans have a trace," Rael continued, stepping closer. "But yours is... remarkably stable. Like a pond with no ripples. It is almost... too normal."
He leaned in, his face inches from mine. I could smell the incense on his clothes.
"Tell me, Ren. Did you see a flash of light when the girl fought? Did the air feel hot?"
He was testing me. He wanted to confirm if Zania used Holy Magic.
"I... I was hiding behind the counter, sir," I stammered, widening my eyes to look pathetic. "I was scared. I just heard a lot of crashing. And Zania yelling."
Rael stared at me for five agonizing seconds.
Then, he smiled. It was a terrifying, polite smile.
"Of course," he said, stepping back. "Forgive me. It must have been terrifying."
He reached into his robe and pulled out a coin. It was gold, stamped with the Church's seal. He placed it on the counter.
"I will take a loaf of your rye bread. The Captain says it is divine."
I bagged the bread with trembling hands (fake trembling, mostly) and handed it to him.
"Thank you, Your Holiness."
Rael took the bag. He walked to the door, then paused.
"We will be staying in town for a few days, Ren," Rael said without turning around. "I wish to observe this... Zania. If you remember anything else—anything unusual—you will come to me. Yes?"
"Yes, sir."
He walked out.
As soon as he was gone, I slumped against the back wall and exhaled.
The door to the storage room creaked open. Malphas peeked out, looking slightly singed and smelling of Holy Water.
"Did it work?" Malphas whispered.
"He didn't arrest me," I said. "But he didn't buy the act either. He knows something is wrong."
I looked at the gold coin on the counter.
"He's going to test Zania," I said grimly. "And if she fails to control her power... or if she controls it too well... he will take her."
I untied my apron.
"Malphas, take the counter. I need to go 'congratulate' Zania. And by congratulate, I mean I need to put a magical seal on her aura before Rael invites her for tea."
Malphas looked at the cash register. "But... I don't know how to use the little metal box."
"Figure it out," I snapped, heading for the door. "And don't give refunds."