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Chapter 81
Thirteen Loaves of Bread. The Tower Built on a Swamp (1)
Until the natural starter could be recreated, Cookie Walking and two other branches had no choice but to shut down.
Making a liquid starter, then turning that into levain, took at least a week even in the best-case scenario.
While waiting for fermentation, all one could do was let time pass—but to Ellie, the glass jar that stubbornly showed no bubbling foam felt unbearably suffocating.
“If only I had dried some starter in advance and kept it stored…”
She felt pathetic for not preparing anything.
Even without this current situation, accidents could have happened at any time.
Contamination from stray bacteria, or someone accidentally breaking the levain jar. No one knew better than Ellie just how easily a starter could die—yet she had done nothing.
By the time the liquid starter was fermenting into levain again, dessert orders—once steady—began to drop.
Just as she had feared, ugly rumors were spreading.
The desserts of Cookie Walking were indeed delicious and addictive, but what had made them so explosively popular was the fact that they were the trendiest items.
Tasting the newest menu first, or serving Cookie Walking’s products at a party, was considered the height of sophistication.
But once there was nothing left to brag about, there was no need to keep buying them in droves.
Negative rumors spread faster and nastier than positive trends. Like living organisms—or infectious disease.
Just as fads had spread outward from high society, so too did malicious gossip. Only this time, the speed was twice as fast, and strange embellishments attached themselves.
Soon enough, people began to claim they had fallen ill after eating bread from Cookie Walking.
The supposed victims were mostly nobles.
“I thought I was going to die, throwing up everything in my stomach all day!”
“I did have stomach pain… turns out it was from that bread.”
“This is why you shouldn’t trust things that haven’t been tested…”
“My maid stole a piece of bread and the next day—she was dead!”
Ellie wanted to scream that no one could die just from eating a little moldy bread, but no one would listen.
“Ridiculous!” Ellie cried, outraged.
“You don’t die even if you deliberately let bread spoil first and then eat it!”
“I know,” Morris replied calmly. “Even the ones spreading it don’t truly believe a maid died from your bread.”
“Then why…?”
“Because it’s more entertaining if she did.”
Morris’ voice was unnervingly matter-of-fact.
“And because it makes for a better story.”
“This is insane…” Ellie whispered.
It was proof that many had already been looking unfavorably on Cookie Walking’s sudden growth. Any nail that stuck out was bound to be hammered down.
Morris muttered with a displeased look.
“No wonder Seth Hastings gave in so easily.”
“Is this that pig-nose bastard’s doing?”
“He’s making a racket. Ever since he was driven out from his successor position, no one paid him any attention. But now that he’s slandering us, people are responding.”
“I should have beaten him up back then…”
“And then they’d call you violent, say the bakery’s owner is a barbaric, ignorant thug.”
“……Where is that bastard right now?”
“And what will you do if you find him?”
Ellie said nothing.
Hearing Morris’ cold tone was like having icy water dumped on her head; the heat of her anger was suddenly doused.
She bit down hard on her lips.
“So we just… have to sit here and swallow this injustice?”
“For now.”
“If only we could at least explain ourselves…”
“No one can actually prove they got sick—or died—from your bread. Which is why no one is directly suing or protesting your bakery. The rumors just spread.”
“That’s defamation! It’s interfering with business!”
“Or simply people telling their ‘experience.’”
“This is a smear campaign.”
“Exactly. A malicious one. But since no one’s filing a formal lawsuit, you don’t even get an official chance to clear your name. We need those investigation results from the Mage Tower as soon as possible…”
But there was no news.
Not even a confirmation that they had accepted the request.
“Still no contact from Eddie?”
Not only Edmund.
There was no word from Ban, either.
“Ban too? No contact at all?”
Both of them—who had always either made time to show up or, if too busy, at least sent word—had suddenly cut ties completely.
Morris spoke grimly.
“He even filed for leave from the Badger Knights. Within the order, people are saying he quit as captain and is becoming a live-in son-in-law, just as his family wanted.”
“That doesn’t suit him…”
“The Cronin family had let their third son run far too free until now.”
“……”
“Still, the fact that he’s cut off all contact is strange.”
“……”
“As for Edmund… the Mage Tower itself is functioning fine. It’s only him who can’t be reached. But everyone shrugs it off. The Master of the Tower has always been known as an eccentric hermit. They say he’s just locked himself away again. For the record, they said the same even back when Eddie was glued to your side.”
In other words, it was her own fault.
No one thought it strange that the Tower Master disappeared. So no one was searching for him.
Ellie’s unease grew.
There was no way Edmund and Ban had cut ties of their own will.
The likelier explanation was that they were being confined—Edmund in the Mage Tower, Ban at the Cronin estate. Otherwise, this made no sense.
No matter how much people said misfortune came in waves, Ellie wasn’t naïve—or stupid—enough to believe this was all coincidence. Someone’s shadow loomed too clearly behind it all.
Her hands, cold as ice, trembled as she clasped them together.
“Morris… nothing’s happened to you, has it?”
“Me? Oh, are you worried about me?”
“I’m not in the mood to joke.”
Morris chuckled lightly.
“No, nothing’s happened. Not for now. My base may be in Rosso, but most of my dealings are in Jan. I’ve lost a few patrons who used to buy up art pieces, but that’s hardly crippling.”
It wasn’t harmless either. Ellie’s face darkened.
“They must have been under Duke McClure’s influence. You’ve guessed that too, haven’t you?”
“Son of a bitch…”
Ellie spat the curse through clenched teeth, biting her lips hard.
“I thought he wouldn’t dare, not when he feared Lord Damian. Guess he’s got more guts than I gave him credit for.”
“The Duke hasn’t done anything. Just a few words, a few disapproving looks, and giving Seth Hastings an opening. You can’t really say your business collapsing from bad rumors is his fault.”
“What are you saying—are you defending him?!”
“Of course not.”
“Then what? You’re saying even Prince Damian’s name can’t protect me?”
“He’s being careful in his own way. Not sending soldiers to crush you outright—that restraint is intentional.”
“It’d be better if he did! At least then I could fight back!”
Duke McClure knew better than anyone how to fight dirty.
In this small kingdom, on this small land, he had been born into power and had ruled with it all his life.
Even if he did nothing, people read his expressions, anticipated his will, and acted accordingly.
And he knew very well how easy it would be to crush a mere Ellie. Which was why he simply stepped aside, choosing the time and place where he could move most freely.
“My plan was to establish a new identity and ask Prince Damian for sponsorship. If the Crown Prince of Jan backed you, Duke McClure wouldn’t dare pick a fight. But then Prince Mark assaulted his daughter… and now, unless the Duke personally moves against you, Damian can’t afford to interfere. He has to make allowances.”
In other words, Damian was telling her to deal with this herself.
Morris scowled.
‘No doubt, he wants Ellie to leave Rosso one way or another.’
As long as her life and talent weren’t harmed, Damian didn’t care whether she was wounded in the process.
Morris was certain that during their private talks, Damian and Duke McClure had drawn some unspoken boundary: as long as Ellie’s life and gifts weren’t destroyed, anything else that happened in Rosso was off-limits for interference.
Morris wanted Ellie to go to Jan too—but not like this.
If he hadn’t realized his feelings for her, he might have agreed with Damian’s approach. He’d had enough bitter experiences to know the futility of clinging to pride.
But now it was different.
Ellie’s face was pale as she said,
“I want to go to the Mage Tower.”
“Alright, we’ll go together.”
“…Can we also visit the Cronin estate?”
“I’ll find us a way to sneak in.”
It had been Ellie’s own lips that told Duke McClure: “Do your worst.”
Then what should I have done? Should I have begged him on my knees to let me go? Or…
Should she have clung to Elaine’s legs, sobbing and pleading never to let her leave the Duke’s side for as long as she lived?
All Ellie had ever wanted was to be simply herself.
But that alone was proving to be impossibly difficult.
