Chapter 25
Perhaps the rumor would spread further, with people adding fuel and distorting it into nonsense.
And that was extremely fatal in business.
No customer would bother to buy from someone with a bad reputation.
If it couldn’t be sold, no matter how delicious it was, it would be no better than useless.
And the shrewd merchants would seize this chance to set their eyes on chocolate.
It was obvious without even looking.
Whether it was her, or her parents—someone pretending to be kind would surely approach and try to steal the chocolate recipe.
Especially after the recent incidents.
“Who says I’d let that happen?”
Emilina planned to run the chocolate business by herself.
She’d only tell her parents when she judged the time was right.
How hard had she worked to discover this vein of profit? She couldn’t let it leak and be snatched away so absurdly.
For the time being, it was best to keep it secret.
She also hated standing out.
For that, she needed someone who could sell the chocolate on her behalf.
The problem was—there was no one trustworthy enough to handle it.
‘If I knew someone in a dessert shop, I could have at least asked them…’
…Huh?
“Oh my gosh. That’s it!”
Emilina clapped her hands, exclaiming.
Yes, there was that method.
The dessert shops!
She could make prototypes and request consignment sales through one of the central patisseries in the capital.
It was a system that commoners often used for additional income.
Of course, it only worked if the product was unique or suited noble tastes.
But chocolate would have no trouble getting approved.
‘If I use that system, I don’t need to hire anyone, and I can avoid troublesome situations.’
It was precisely the ideal solution she had been seeking.
If she requested anonymous sales, the commission would be a bit higher, but that didn’t matter.
As long as she profited, monopolizing cacao was more than worth the small price.
Having settled her plan, Emilina ended the day by sitting at her desk and taking out her writing tools.
Since she would be terribly busy starting tomorrow, she decided to write a letter to Rosie in advance.
“To my dearest darling.”
Good grief. This was even more cringeworthy than she had expected.
Her fingers curled in on themselves as if they’d shrivel, but she forced them straight and gripped her quill.
She had resolved to write, but it was far harder than she thought.
Still, since she had promised Peter, she would have to see it through somehow.
Steeling herself, Emilina pressed on to the next line.
“…I still feel your absence, and it makes me terribly lonely.
But thanks to Peter, I think I’ll feel a little less lonely for a while.
I’ve found something wonderful, so I’ll be busy from now on.
That doesn’t mean I won’t think of you, so don’t be too hurt.
Please, just focus on returning safely in good health.
I want to see your face soon.
I’ll write again next time.
—From your loving Milly.”
“Has she lost her mind? Why on earth would she write something like this…!”
From the very first line to the very last, every word practically invited misunderstanding.
Reading through it again, the man cursed under his breath in sheer frustration.
It was enough to drive him up the wall.
‘Did that damned girl swallow some strange drug or what?!’
So thought the man glaring daggers at the letter as though to kill it.
That man was none other than Rosie.
Because of this, he was about to face ridiculous misunderstandings that would become a terrible headache.
“…I’m really going to lose my mind.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
One of his fellow knights beside him shot him a questioning glance.
Rosie forced an awkward smile, brushing it off as nothing.
To be precise, he couldn’t say. He avoided answering.
How could he possibly explain?
That the noose around his neck wasn’t only being tightened by the enemy outside, but also by an enemy within.
And that enemy was none other than the master of their knightly order—the man who would one day be his lord.
Even if he wanted to talk, he could never reveal that.
“…Haa.”
Rosie let out a deep sigh and looked up at the sky.
No matter how he thought about it, there was no solution.
He really felt like crying.
Because the whole mess had begun only a few days earlier.
Even in wartime, letters could be delivered to individuals.
Usually tucked in with the regular supplies.
Sometimes through people who felt a sense of duty to deliver news.
For such reasons, messages reached every battlefield from time to time.
The camp of Duke Ditrio, positioned near the Genoa border, was no exception.
Since it was located at the very front lines, when supplies arrived, they received all the piled-up letters at once.
And now—
Looking at the mountain of letters just delivered to the barracks, the men in charge groaned aloud.
The thought of censoring all that made their heads spin.
It would take days, sleepless nights guaranteed, to get through it all.
Jerome, assigned to duty that day, knew this and grumbled in discontent.
“Is this a joke? A man of my talents stuck here censoring letters?!”
He scoffed at his position as deputy commander, claiming it was nothing but menial work.
One of the subordinates checking alongside him replied indifferently.
“We’re short-handed. We have to use whoever we can.”
“But they’re mostly just greetings or love letters! Why the hell should I dig into someone’s private life?”
Jerome complained that even on the battlefield, soldiers’ privacy wasn’t respected.
His subordinate sighed and answered quietly.
“You never know. There could be spies hidden among them.”
And occasionally, dangerous letters embedded with attack magic slipped in, which was precisely why censorship was indispensable.
If they failed to prevent such incidents, they could lose soldiers—and morale.
There were other reasons as well, but that was the most critical.
No one knew this better than Jerome.
Which only made it feel all the more tedious.
“Ugh. At this rate, I’ll die young thanks to our lord.”
“Better this than deserters. You know how much these simple letters can mean to the troops.”
“Like I don’t know? I’m just venting.”
“Then bear with it. You won’t be able to do this forever anyway.”
His subordinate tried to soothe him gently.
Jerome rolled his eyes but gave a small grin.
As the duke’s intelligence officer, he skimmed through letters faster than anyone.
When Jerome was on duty, the other censors found it easier.
By the time they finished sorting, Jerome had already processed most of the pile.
So even when he complained, the others could only humor him.
The censorship proceeded smoothly, and they were nearly done when—
“…Hm?”
Jerome picked up a letter sealed with a familiar crest.
‘Where have I seen this before?’
He racked his brain, but nothing clear came to mind.
Then he glanced at the addressee. In neat, compact handwriting was written Rosie’s name.
A fellow commoner, and one of the subordinates he had kept an eye on.
Jerome’s lips curled into a mischievous smile as he inspected the letter.
He had a hunch.
Normally, he didn’t care about others’ romances. But when it involved one of his men, that was different.
Under the pretense of censorship, Jerome unhesitatingly tore it open.
Just then, the tent flap rustled and someone stepped inside.
“Jerome. You in here?”
It was none other than Kirzen.
Jerome clicked his tongue and set the letter down.
“What is it?”
“Sorry to interrupt the censorship. I need to discuss the supply lines…”
Kirzen abruptly fell silent.
His eyes had caught on the envelope Jerome had just set aside.
Partially opened, with a very familiar crest stamped across the seal.
Kirzen tilted his chin toward it, his eyes glinting.
“Is that from someone in the order?”
“Well, yes. One of the youngest, actually.”
“The youngest?”
