Helena was walking down the street of Capital City Grant with a paper bag full of bread in her hand. The bag was stuffed with all kinds of shapes—round buns, long loaves, twisted strings, donut-like rings. Every single one was sweet. Every single one was good.

  She had escaped from Laysandra’s wrath not long ago. The lecture had been slowly grinding down her mental strength. Laysandra really did sound like someone’s mother when she got serious. Helena had not eaten anything since yesterday. No dinner. No breakfast. No lunch. She had planned to eat after the auction, but no one had been in the mood. Back at the manor, food had been ready. Elowen had mentioned it. Helena simply never made it to the table before being cornered by an angry Laysandra and choosing survival over lunch.

  She took another bite and muttered with her mouth full, “You’re not my mom, Lyasi.”

  The word mom lingered longer than she expected.

  Her thoughts drifted into older, foggy memories. She did have a mother. Strict. Proper. More like a teacher than a parent. Back then, Helena’s manners were perfect. Posture straight. Words measured. From the outside, she had been the ideal daughter. From the inside, she had felt hollow. Too much structure without warmth turns a child into a machine. She had been closer to a machine than spoiled.

  It wasn’t as if she carried trauma from it. Most of it was blurry. Helena had a bad habit of forgetting things she did not care about. Faces faded first. Even now, when she tried to picture her mother’s face, it was nothing more than a blur.

  Her brows tightened as she tried to remember. She gave it three seconds. That was enough effort for something she had already decided was unimportant. The taste of bread pushed the thought away easily.

  “It’s YUMMY!” she mumbled, crumbs falling. “How do they make simple bread taste like this? I should take more home.”

  She turned around and hurried back into the alley where the small bakery was located. The bell rang when she pushed the door open.

  “Hey, old man!” she called loudly, still chewing. “I need more of this. Everything you can make!”

  The owner was indeed old. Thin, slightly bent—the kind of man who looked like a strong wind might knock him over. But the moment Helena stepped inside, she realized he was not alone.

  One man had him by the collar and was about to punch him. The other was behind the counter, digging through a wooden box where the old man kept his money.

  The old man looked terrified.

  For a moment, everyone just stared at Helena, who stood there with bread still in her mouth.

  The two robbers exchanged a glance. The one searching the cash box signaled to the other to ignore her. One girl was not a problem. The shop owner was just an old man.

  Suddenly, the old man grabbed the robber’s wrist with both hands and shouted, “Run away, girl! I’ll hold them off! Go call the guards!”

  The robber struggled, trying to shake him off. “Unhand me, you old stick! Let go!”

  Despite his age, the old man did not release him.

  Helena swallowed her bread and asked calmly, “Are you getting robbed, old man? Want some help?”

  The old man’s fear turned into anger. “Does this look like I’m meeting my long-lost brother? Of course I’m being robbed! Run and get the guards!”

  The second robber clicked his tongue. “You can’t even handle an old man?”

  Frustrated, the one being held reached into his pocket and pulled out spiked knuckles. “I didn’t plan to spill blood today,” he muttered, raising his fist. “But you leave me no choice.”

  He swung toward the old man’s face.

  And Helena’s voice came from behind him.

  “Nah. You’re the one leaving me with no choice, buddy.”

  The robber didn’t even see it coming.

  Something long and solid slammed into his face.

  A baguette.

  The impact made a sharp cracking sound, and his ears started ringing from the shock. He dropped straight to the floor, clutching his head. It felt less like bread and more like someone had swung a club at him.

  The shop owner blinked in confusion. Helena was now standing behind the fallen robber, holding one of the bakery’s long loaves in her hand.

  The man on the ground groaned, holding his skull like it might split open. He looked as if an ogre had struck him.

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  The owner looked from Helena to the bread and back again. “Does… does my bread do that much damage?”

  Helena took a bite from a donut-shaped piece in her other hand. “I dunno,” she said casually, chewing. The baguette remained steady in her grip like a proper sword.

  She turned toward the second robber, who was staring at both her and the bread with equal confusion. Helena pointed the baguette at him.

  “Surrender?”

  The robber glanced at his unconscious partner, then at the bread, then at Helena. At this moment, the bread looked more dangerous than she did.

  He dropped the coins he had grabbed and pulled out a short sword instead.

  “You want a fight?” Helena asked. “Wait. Let me finish this.”

  She stuffed the rest of the donut into her mouth in one bite, wiped her fingers on her thighs, and grabbed the baguette with both hands.

  The robber hesitated. Fighting a woman was one thing. Fighting a woman armed with bakery goods that knocked people out was another.

  “Come at me,” Helena said.

  With her mouth still full, it sounded like, “Fum aw mee.”

  Author Note - Damn, I tried so hard to remove that handle, but it just wouldn't come off.

  The robber charged.

  Helena shifted into a simple defensive stance. The sword came down and struck the bread.

  Sparks flew.

  Both the robber and the shop owner froze for a second. Why were there sparks? It was bread. The sound was like metal clashing with metal.

  The shock of the clash traveled up the robber’s arm and rattled his shoulder. Helena did not move at all. She stood as steady as a statue.

  He took a step back.

  “My turn,” Helena said.

  She stepped forward, and in the next second she was already in front of him. The robber barely reacted in time, lifting his sword to block the incoming baguette.

  The bread hit.

  The sword snapped in half.

  The robber’s face turned pale. Before he could process it, the baguette struck his stomach with enough force to fold him in half. The second hit landed on his chin.

  He collapsed.

  “DODGE!” someone shouted.

  Helena turned.

  Too late.

  Something soft smacked her across the face.

  The first robber had regained consciousness and grabbed another loaf from a basket. He swung it at her head in panic. The shop owner had tried to warn her.

  The bread hit her squarely.

  The robber braced himself, expecting the same devastating reaction.

  Nothing happened.

  Helena blinked.

  There was now a bite missing from the loaf in his hand.

  She was chewing.

  The robber stared at his bread. Then at Helena. The loaf felt completely normal.

  “That one’s tasty,” Helena said thoughtfully. “Want to trade?”

  He looked utterly confused. Why didn’t his bread work like hers?

  “Never mind,” Helena added.

  She tapped him once on the forehead with her baguette.

  He dropped instantly.

  Helena stepped over him and hopped onto the counter. Behind it, the old man was crouched down, having taken cover when the fight started.

  “Did you take both of them out?” he asked cautiously. “Are you an adventurer? Why didn’t you say so before? And… thank you. I would have lost everything.”

  Helena waved it off. “Putting that aside, I came to buy more bread.”

  The old man stared at her.

  She had not asked for payment. Not even hinted at it. Some adventurers would stage a rescue like this and then demand compensation. For a moment, he wondered if that was the case.

  But Helena was already looking at the shelves like a normal customer.

  It did not look staged.

  It looked like she genuinely just wanted more bread.

  The old man decided to forget about the robbers for now and focused back on business. “How much do you need, young miss?”

  Helena’s ear twitched slightly.

  Young miss? Me?

  She didn’t say it out loud, but she liked the sound of it. Of course, she wasn’t actually young. She was more than a century old. But her appearance was still that of a woman in her twenties. One of the small privileges of immortality she enjoyed the most.

  She giggled. “Hehe, no need to butter me up, old man.”

  The shop owner looked confused. He didn’t remember flattering her at all.

  “How many breads do you have right now?” Helena asked.

  The old man pointed to the shelves behind him and the baskets near the wall. “This is everything left for today.”

  “I’ll take all of them.”

  “All?” he repeated.

  “All.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “How are you going to carry that much?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just tell me the price.”

  Still confused, he started calculating. After a moment he said, “Fifty silver coins for everything. But for you, young miss, only twenty-five silver coins today. You saved my shop… and maybe my life.”

  Helena extended her hand slightly.

  All the bread in the shop lifted into the air at once. The loaves floated toward her and vanished one by one into the ring on her finger. Within seconds, the shelves were empty.

  The old man stared at her hand. “A storage magic item?”

  He hadn’t seen one in years. They were rare.

  Helena placed money on the counter.

  Five gold coins.

  The old man blinked. He had just given her a discount, and she had paid far more than he asked.

  “I said twenty-five silver coins, young miss.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Helena replied. “I’m paying in advance for future bread. Take it as sincerity.”

  He hesitated.

  “Just take it,” she added casually. “I have plenty. It’s better if some of it leaves my hands.”

  His hesitation slowly turned into a smile. He picked up the coins carefully. Maybe it really was his lucky day.

  Helena looked down at the two robbers still lying unconscious on the floor. “What are you going to do with them?”

  “Hand them to the guards,” the old man said. “They’ll handle it.”

  Helena stepped over one of the robbers and walked toward the door. The old man followed behind her out of habit.

  Outside, evening had settled in. The sky was turning red, and the first few stars were beginning to appear.

  “Please come again anytime,” the old man said with a small bow.

  Helena smiled. “Sure.”

  Then something caught her eye.

  A golden glow moved across the sky. It wasn’t very high. Even the old man could see it clearly.

  “What is that? Some shiny bird?” Helena muttered.

  The old man suddenly dropped to his knees and began praying.

  Helena looked around. Other people in the street were kneeling too.

  She focused properly this time.

  Not a bird.

  A person.

  Eight wings spread wide.

  Her ears caught the low murmurs of people praying. She didn’t understand at first. Then something from her old memories surfaced. Back when she lived in the convent, they had drilled knowledge of the Goddess and her angels into their minds again and again. Lessons forced, repeated until impossible to forget.

  That was why she recognized the figure.

  “Holy Archangel Riona…” Helena muttered quietly, her eyes narrowing just a little as the golden figure passed overhead toward the Noble District.