Chương 5: The Bread Alchemists

A warm scent drifted between the trees, slipped through the park gates, and blended with the dampness of the morning air. Aldric opened his eyes. For several seconds, he didn't move, still trapped in a sleep haunted by collapsed walls, blood-covered figures, and black flames crawling across stone. Then birdsong replaced the cries of war, and the branches above him came into focus beneath the gray light of dawn. His back ached from the root he had been leaning against, while pain still throbbed beneath his armor.

The blanket Michel had lent him had slipped down over his legs. He picked it up, folded it neatly, and turned toward the nearby bench. The man was sleeping on his side, his face half hidden beneath his beanie. One hand rested on one of his bags, fingers wrapped tightly around the strap, as though he feared someone might steal it while he slept. The smell returned, stronger this time.

It carried the warmth of freshly baked flour, the richness of butter, and a hint of sweetness that seemed to settle on his tongue before he had tasted anything at all. Aldric inhaled deeply. His stomach clenched so violently that a low growl echoed from beneath his breastplate. He rested a hand against his stomach and scanned the area. The park was slowly coming to life. Joggers were already making their way along the paths, their steady footsteps crunching over the gravel.

A woman walked a dog whose leash kept wrapping around her legs. Farther away, a man dressed in green was picking up litter from the grass with a long grabber. There were no campfires, no camps, no merchants. Yet the scent lingered, carried by the breeze from beyond the park gates. Aldric rose to his feet, fastened his pauldrons, and tightened the straps of his armor. The Demon King's black blood coating the metal had dried overnight, forming cracked flakes that broke away with every movement.

He tried scraping one off with his thumb, but it remained stubbornly stuck to his breastplate. Michel stirred on his bench, cracked open one eye, and watched as Aldric fastened his sword back onto his belt.

"You're leaving already?" Michel asked.

"The scent of food is coming from the east." Michel sniffed the air, then let his head fall back onto the cardboard.

"A bakery."

"A what?"

"A place where they make bread." Aldric turned toward the source of the aroma once more.

"At this hour?"

"This is exactly when they work."

"So they prepare the city's food before its people awaken."

"That's pretty much the idea." Aldric picked up the folded blanket and set it beside Michel. Without opening his eyes, the man raised a hand.

"Keep it until tonight."

"I will return it to you."

"Do whatever you want." Aldric inclined his head, then left the park. The moment he passed through the gates, the rumble of the city surrounded him. Vehicles were already moving through the streets, fewer than the day before but just as fast. Men and women hurried along the sidewalks, some carrying a steaming cup in one hand and their memory artifact in the other. The traffic lights alternated between red and green, directing the flow of both machines and pedestrians with flawless precision.

Aldric waited for the green figure to appear before crossing with the crowd, watching every vehicle until he reached the opposite sidewalk. The smell grew stronger with every step. It drifted from a narrow street lined with pale stone buildings. Most of the windows remained dark, but one shop cast a warm golden glow across the sidewalk. Painted letters above the door displayed the name of the establishment. Aldric paid them little attention. His eyes had already settled on the display window.

Dozens of loaves of bread were arranged inside. Some were round, dusted with a fine layer of flour. Others were long and golden, their crusts scored with neat slashes. Darker loaves, studded with seeds, rested in woven baskets. Beside them were glossy rolls, spirals, and soft pillows of dough lined up on trays. Some were coated in sugar, while others gleamed beneath a shiny glaze that reflected the light from the lamps. Farther back, a second display showcased pastries.

Bright red fruit rested atop pale cream, chocolate shavings covered elegant cakes, and small tarts were decorated with patterns so intricate that Aldric hesitated to believe they were meant to be eaten. He stepped closer to the window. In his world, not even the royal kitchens displayed so many different kinds of bread at a single banquet. The bakers of Asteria usually made only two types of loaves: a dark, dense bread for soldiers, and a lighter loaf reserved for nobles and feast days.

Here, every shape seemed to follow a different recipe. Some of the pastries were so perfectly uniform that they looked as though they had been made with enchanted molds. A small bell chimed as a woman pushed open the door. A wave of warm air escaped from the shop, carrying with it the rich aroma of butter, sugar, and freshly baked dough. Aldric closed his eyes. Hunger twisted in his stomach. When he opened them again, he spotted a man in a white apron behind the counter.

Flour coated his forearms, and pale streaks dusted his cheeks. He was arranging freshly baked baguettes in a basket, taking them from an opening at the back of the shop. A reddish glow of heat poured from within. An oven. Aldric watched the man pick up a mound of dough, stretch it, fold it, and place it onto a baking tray. His movements were swift, precise, and effortless, the product of thousands of hours of practice. Behind him, a woman brushed a glossy glaze onto several pastries.

Farther back, a machine slowly kneaded dough inside a large steel mixing bowl. He stood before the window for several long seconds, captivated. These people transformed white powder, water, and a handful of ingredients into dozens of different kinds of food. They relied on heat, metal tools, and mixtures whose composition Aldric could only guess at. In his world, alchemists worked much the same way.

They combined ordinary materials, heated them, mixed them together, and produced potions capable of healing, strengthening, or killing. The difference was that these alchemists fed an entire city. Aldric pushed open the door. The bell chimed overhead. The conversations inside stopped almost instantly. Five customers were waiting at the counter. A woman clutched a small paper bag against her chest. A man in a dark business suit glanced back at Aldric over his shoulder.

Two teenagers exchanged a look before pulling out their phones. The baker looked up. His gaze slowly traveled from Aldric's face down to his bloodstained armor before finally settling on the sword.

"Good morning," he said cautiously. Aldric placed his fist against his chest.

"Greetings, Master Alchemist." Silence fell over the bakery. The woman behind the counter stopped arranging the pastries. The man in the business suit turned all the way around. One of the teenagers struggled to hold back a laugh. The baker blinked.

"I'm sorry?"

"Your creations caught my attention from the park. I would like to purchase one of them."

"You mean the bread?"

"The bread, the flaky rolls, and those fruit-covered creations. Your mastery appears to be remarkably broad."

"Is this some kind of hidden camera show?" the baker asked. Aldric scanned the ceiling. He spotted a small black sphere in one corner, a red light glowing behind it. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"Your establishment is indeed under surveillance," he confirmed. The teenagers burst into laughter. The baker ran a hand across his forehead, leaving another streak of flour near his temple.

"All right," he said.

"What can I get you?" Aldric stepped up to the counter. His gaze drifted over the baskets and trays. He hesitated between several choices. A long baguette looked well suited for a traveler's meal, but the golden croissants caught his attention. Their shape reminded him of a young dragon's horns, though they appeared far more delicate.

"This creation," he said, pointing to a croissant.

"What is its function?"

"Its function?"

"Does it increase endurance? Concentration? Resistance to cold?"

"It fills your stomach," the baker replied.

"Though not for very long."

"Then it is a preparation meant to raise one's spirits."

"Sure. You could say that."

"I will take one."

"One euro twenty." Aldric reached into his coin pouch. He brushed aside several coins bearing the face of King Edrian and selected one of the smallest. Even that one was probably worth more than all the bread on display in the bakery, but it was the smallest denomination he had. He placed the gold coin on the counter. The metal rang softly against the surface. The baker looked down at the coin, then back up at Aldric. The woman beside him leaned in for a closer look.

The man in the business suit took a step forward, clearly intrigued.

"What's that?" the baker asked.

"A Crown of Asteria."

"Is it chocolate?"

"No." The baker picked up the coin between two fingers. He turned it over, examined the engravings, then tried to bend it.

"It's heavy."

"It contains very few impurities."

"You really want to pay for a croissant with this?"

"Its value should be sufficient."

"Sufficient," the baker repeated. He held the coin beneath the light. The king's portrait gleamed on one side, while the sun of Asteria shone on the other.

"Is this real gold?" the woman asked.

"Yes." Another silence settled over the bakery. One of the teenagers raised his phone even higher.

"This has to be a video," he muttered.

"Sir," the baker said, "I can't accept this." Aldric frowned.

"The coin is genuine."

"That's not the problem."

"Is its value insufficient?"

"No, that's exactly the problem. If it's real gold, it's worth far too much. And if it isn't gold, then it's worth absolutely nothing." Aldric looked at the coin between the man's fingers. In his world, a merchant would have accepted the gold, weighed the coin, and returned the difference in silver or copper. Here, the baker refused both a coin that was too valuable and one that was completely unfamiliar.

"Could you deduct the value of your creation and return the remainder in your local currency?" Aldric asked.

"I'm a baker, not a money changer."

"Yet you practice alchemy." The baker closed his eyes. The woman behind the counter burst into laughter. She immediately turned away, but her shoulders continued to shake.

"I make bread," he said.

"I don't turn gold into euros." Aldric took back his coin.

"I understand. Your specialty is limited to food."

"Exactly."

"Do you know of an alchemist capable of converting metals?"

"A bank."

"A bank," Aldric repeated.

"Yeah. But I doubt they'll accept your medieval coin." The man in the business suit stepped forward. He looked to be in his forties, with neatly trimmed black hair and a carefully folded coat draped over one arm. An amused smile rested on his lips.

"I'll buy him the croissant," he said. Aldric turned toward him.

"That won't be necessary."

"Think of it as a diplomatic investment between Paris and Asteria." The baker sighed, picked up a croissant with a pair of tongs, and slipped it into a small paper bag. The man handed over a coin, then took the bag and offered it to Aldric.

"Here you go, Sir Knight." Aldric did not take it immediately.

"Why are you offering me food?"

"Because this conversation is worth far more than one euro twenty." Aldric accepted the bag and inclined his head.

"Thank you. Once I have obtained your currency, I will repay you."

"Don't worry about it."

"A debt must be honored."

"Then one day, buy a croissant for someone else."

"I shall." He took the croissant out of the paper bag. The pastry was still warm. Delicate layers covered its surface, so light they crumbled beneath his fingers. The scent of butter rose to his face. He brought it to his mouth and took a bite. The crust gave way with an almost imperceptible crackle. The flaky layers melted across his tongue, warm, airy, and filled with a flavor unlike anything he had ever tasted. Butter infused every bite, balanced by the faintest hint of salt.

The texture was both crisp and tender, unlike anything the kitchens of Asteria had ever served him. Aldric stopped chewing. He looked down at the croissant as though he had just uncovered a legendary artifact hidden beneath an ordinary appearance. He took another bite, more slowly this time. The flavor spread across his tongue once again. For a few precious seconds, the pain in his ribs, his exhaustion, and the distance separating him from his world all ceased to exist.

He thought of the dry rations he had swallowed in the rain. The watery soups served in military camps. The charred strips of meat shared around a campfire while demons howled in the hills. Even at royal banquets, he had rarely taken the time to savor what was placed before him. He ate to restore his strength, then left as soon as another mission appeared.

Here, ordinary people prepared food like this every morning and sold it for such a small coin that a complete stranger could buy it for someone else without a second thought.

"The gods must live here," he murmured. Aldric finished the croissant. He gathered every last crumb from the paper bag and tipped them into his mouth.

"You've never had a croissant before?" the baker asked.

"No."

"You really did come from far away."

"Farther than I realized." The baker gestured toward his armor.

"And that's really blood?"

"Yes." The man's smile faded.

"Are you hurt?"

"My wounds are healing."

"You should still go to a hospital."

"A healing temple?"

"Something like that." Aldric nodded, but he had no intention of going. He knew neither the healing methods of this kingdom nor the price they demanded in return. The system indicated that the demonic contamination was fading, and his fractures were not life-threatening. His stomach let out a loud growl.

"So you really don't have any euros?"

"Not yet."

"And where did you sleep last night?"

"In a park." The woman behind the counter stopped smiling. The man in the business suit studied Aldric more carefully.

"You're serious?" he asked.

"It was quiet and sheltered from the wind."

"You don't have a hotel?"

"They asked me for a bank card and a reservation." The baker exchanged a glance with his coworker. He picked up a baguette shorter than the others, wrapped it in paper, and set it on the counter.

"Take this." Aldric shook his head.

"I cannot accept a second gift without offering something in return."

"It was baked yesterday evening. I won't be able to sell it."

"It still appears perfectly edible."

"Exactly. So take it before I change my mind." Aldric looked at the loaf of bread. Part of him refused to accept any more without offering something in return. Yet his quest demanded that he survive, and he needed to preserve his strength. He placed his gold coin on the counter.

"Keep it as collateral." The baker immediately pushed the coin back toward him.

"Put that away."

"I will return to pay you."

"Come back when you've got euros."

"I always honor my commitments."

"Then consider that you owe me a baguette." Aldric took the bread and bowed his head deeply.

"Your generosity brings honor to your order."

"My bakery," the man corrected.

"Your bakery." He tucked the baguette under his arm. The customers stepped aside to let him pass. As he reached the door, the man in the business suit called out to him.

"Aldric." The hero turned around.

"If you're looking for a bank, find a building with an ATM outside."

"An ATM?"

"A machine that gives you money."

"A machine dispenses the kingdom's currency?"

"Only if you have an account."

"What is an account?"

"Ask the bank."

"Thank you for your guidance." Aldric stepped outside. The bell chimed behind him, and the cool morning air brushed against his face. He stopped in front of the bakery window, the baguette tucked beneath his arm. Inside, the customers resumed their conversations. Aldric took a bite of the bread. The crust cracked, thicker than the croissant's, revealing a soft, tender crumb. The flavor was simple, yet far superior to the travel bread he was used to.

△ QUEST PROGRESS △ Acquire Money Current Funds: 0 EUR △ NEW OBJECTIVE △ Acquire Legal Currency Suggested Methods — Employment — Exchange — Sale of Property — Other △ WARNING △ Counterfeit Currency Is Illegal Aldric read the final warning again. He reached into his coin pouch and rolled a gold coin between his fingers. The system did not recognize his currency as legal tender. He could neither buy food nor rent a room, nor could he use the city's transportation. His gaze drifted to the sword hanging at his waist.

Its hilt was set with Sunstones, and its blade had been forged from the metal of a fallen star. Kings had offered him entire kingdoms in exchange for this weapon. Even damaged by his battle with the Demon King, it was worth more than the wealth carried by several caravans. Aldric rested a hand on the scabbard. If he needed to sell one of his possessions to obtain this kingdom's currency, he possessed exactly what he needed.