"There's no need to be so afraid of us. We are the righteous knights of the Church — we would never harm a faithful believer," Pablo said with a gentle smile, his tone smooth and almost soothing.v"However," he continued softly, "if we discover that someone dares to shelter a witch… then our swords will show no mercy."
"Y–yes, of course, my lord! Even if I had ten lives, I'd never commit such a reckless sin!" "That's good to hear."
Pablo nodded in satisfaction. Not everyone had the protection of an angel behind them — and for these small, powerless lords, there was no need for him to be polite.
"Bring everyone in your castle here. We'll begin the test." At his command, one of the Justiciars hoisted up a massive cross and slammed it into the ground with a heavy thud, sending dust billowing through the air.
The loud crash made Count Cinnamon jump in terror — his legs buckled, and he fell to the floor. A puddle of yellow liquid quietly spread from under his robe.
Pablo wrinkled his nose in disgust and stepped back a few paces, expression unchanged. "All right," he said calmly. "Let's begin."
At his word, the surrounding knights began rounding up every woman in the manor.
Though Cinnamon was only a small town, it was the Dessert Kingdom's largest cinnamon plantation. As one of the most prized spices in western confectionery, it made the region extremely wealthy.
And Count Cinnamon, naturally, was filthy rich — with twelve wives and mistresses to his name. Including his daughters, the castle's maids, and the female relatives of his retainers, there were nearly two hundred women in total.
Testing each of them one by one would take quite a while.
As the tests began, Pablo turned toward Count Cinnamon, speaking in a casual, conversational tone: "Tell me, Count, have there been any outsiders or strange events in your town recently?"
"Outsiders?" Count Cinnamon blinked blankly. Truth be told, despite being the lord, he knew little of the town's daily affairs.
Most of the town's administration had been delegated to his wives — the few he trusted. The only thing he still directly commanded was the town guard.
Ask him about bandits in the nearby hills, and he could answer. But about happenings within the town? He hadn't a clue.
So instinctively, he turned to one of the women who had been dragged into the hall with him. The woman, trembling, was clearly terrified — but at least she kept her wits better than the count.
Bowing nervously, she stammered, "M–my lord… aside from merchants coming to buy cinnamon, we rarely get outsiders in Cinnamon Town. In the past half year, no new arrivals at all. And as for strange events… there haven't been any, either."
"None at all?"
Pablo's eyes narrowed, studying the woman carefully. Something in his gut told him she knew more than she was letting on.
Under his piercing gaze, the woman shivered violently. Her mind raced — had she overlooked something? The longer she hesitated, the darker Pablo's expression became. Cold sweat rolled down her forehead.
If I don't say something… I'll die.
But… what was strange in Cinnamon Town? Then suddenly, a small, seemingly trivial memory popped into her mind.
"Ah—! The… the bakery on West Street — Jenny's Bakery! They changed their bread recipe recently, and now their sales have skyrocketed!"
"What? That's it?"
Alec groaned, rubbing his temples. He was almost certain the woman had been scared witless — babbling nonsense just to save her life.
But Pablo's expression didn't change. Still smiling faintly, he asked, "And how exactly did their sales skyrocket?"
"E–everyone who buys their bread says it's amazing," she stammered. "They eat one loaf and immediately want another. Truly, my lord, it has a… a very special flavor!"
"I see."
Pablo smiled pleasantly — not angry at all. Then, turning to Alec, he said lightly: "Alec, go and bring everyone from that bakery here."
"Ah?"
Alec blinked in surprise. Of all things, he hadn't expected his commander to care about bread. But after serving Pablo for over ten years, he knew his captain's word was absolute. So he simply bowed and replied,"As you command, Sir Pablo."
Before long, he returned with a group of townsfolk — and a basket of bread.
"Sir Pablo," Alec reported, "this is their new bread recipe."
Pablo's gaze swept indifferently across the trembling bakers before falling upon the basket in Alec's hands. Inside were small white loaves — simple, unadorned, only slightly smaller than ordinary bread.
He picked one up, examined it briefly, then took a bite.
As the bread touched his tongue, his half-closed eyes suddenly snapped open. A glint of sharp light flashed in them.
After finishing the loaf in a few bites, Pablo looked toward a middle-aged man in the group and asked kindly, "I've heard your bakery's new recipe has made you quite a bit of money. Is that true?"
"Y–yes, my lord," the man replied, his voice shaking.
"I see. And who came up with this new recipe?"
"T–that would be me, sir," the man stammered.
"Oh?" Pablo smiled again, voice still gentle. "Are you sure about that? Because this isn't something an ordinary person could've created."
The man froze, startled by the question — but after a brief pause, he gritted his teeth and said, "My lord, the recipe truly was made by me. If it pleases you, we'd be honored to serve under you — we can bake for your knights exclusively!"
"Is that your final answer?"
"I'm sure of it."
The man nodded again, thinking that by claiming the recipe as his own, he could curry favor with these powerful knights.
But before the last word had even fully left his mouth—
A streak of cold light flashed.
His head tumbled from his shoulders and hit the floor with a thud.
"Now," Pablo said softly, his voice still calm and polite,"can anyone tell me where this bread really came from?"
The same gentle tone — yet in the ears of everyone present, it now sounded like the whisper of a demon.