“The story you’ve conceived is truly… incredible.”
The light in François’s eyes flickered, clearly still immersed in the wild and tragic world Allen had just described.
“That knight charging at the windmills—he’s clearly mad, yet it makes one feel that he is a true knight. That sense of tragedy and poignancy is truly wonderful.”
Allen had just shared the concept for a new story with him.
Indeed, it was the classic *Don Quixote*.
Allen knew his printing press was in its final testing stages. It was time for him to step into his role as a literary thief.
For the Kingdom of Lorraine, where the system of knighthood had long since become rigid and corrupt yet was still held up as a sacred standard, the story of ‘Don Quixote’ would be nothing less than a stinging slap to the face.
Since he was determined to drive the Enlightenment in this era, he would naturally use various literary works as shells to blast through the mental cages people were trapped in.
Watching François’s moved expression, Allen smiled slightly and intentionally left him wanting more.
“This story is just one of my many ideas. Perhaps there is another tale regarding revenge that you might enjoy even more.”
“Oh?” François’s curiosity was piqued. “I am all ears.”
As they spoke, they arrived at the entrance of the dining room.
Before they even entered, a refreshing and sweet breeze brushed against their faces, instantly dispelling the last trace of summer heat.
Allen sniffed the air, confused.
The Laval House didn’t have an ice cellar, so where was this chill coming from?
He stepped into the dining room, and the sight before him made him pause.
Anna and several servants were gathered together, each holding a brightly colored iced drink, their faces glowing with a happiness he had never seen before.
“Allen, come quick! There’s something delicious!” Anna’s sharp eyes caught him, and she immediately waved him over happily.
Allen scanned the room and quickly locked onto a restless figure. Chef Robert was standing beside him, seemingly trying to comfort the man.
Allen looked closer and grinned.
It was an old acquaintance.
It was the ice vendor he had “scammed” with a business plan when he and Marianne were leaving the Judgement Court that day.
Though not much time had passed, the Laval House was no longer what it used to be.
‘This guy might actually be a lucky star for the Laval family,’ Allen thought to himself before walking up with a teasing tone.
“You certainly are a busy man to have forgotten me. I’ve been waiting for you to come discuss the ice drink business until the flowers have almost withered.”
The moment the vendor saw Allen, he nearly jumped out of his chair in fright, his words stumbling.
“You… you are the prominent one! Making… making you wait was my fault, entirely my fault!”
The butler quickly stepped in to provide an introduction. Only then did Allen learn the vendor’s name was Martin Lemans, and he hailed from the kingdom’s most important wine-producing region—Champagne Province.
If the Capital Lucien was the center where nobles gathered and luxury goods converged, then Champagne Province was the heart of the kingdom’s fine spirits.
The region had a deep tradition of winemaking, with many monasteries establishing vineyards for self-sufficiency.
It was the monks there who first mastered the secondary fermentation process in the bottle, creating sparkling wines that were popular across the continent and became a major export for Lorraine.
In an era where hygiene was a concern, people often drank alcohol instead of potentially unclean water.
Alcohol acted as a disinfectant and allowed for long-term preservation, making wine a safer and more practical choice.
Consequently, almost everyone in this era drank, even children.
Due to the massive market and consumption, the Kingdom levied high taxes on alcoholic products. The tax for sparkling wine entering the Capital was as high as three times its original price!
In addition, recent natural disasters had caused agriculture to shrink and wine production to drop, causing prices to skyrocket.
Martin had originally intended to come to the Capital to sell wine, but he found that he wasn’t even earning enough to cover the taxes. In the end, he was forced to pivot to the low-margin ice drink business.
Just as his business was starting, he ran into Allen.
The recipes Allen gave him for sorbet, ice cream, and other new iced drinks were truly unique and held massive commercial potential.
However… Allen had played a rather unkind trick on him before leaving.
Martin was an honest man; he had no idea that the Inquisition was a den of monsters.
When Victor and his men came looking for him, he stubbornly assumed they were scammers trying to steal trade secrets. He dug his heels in and pushed back, creating a massive misunderstanding.
In the end, when he finally handed over the recipes in a daze, the Inquisition actually gave him a full 1,000 Livre as “compensation for trade secrets”!
1,000 Livre! To him, that was an unimaginable fortune!
When he actually withdrew the money, he was stunned.
He quickly realized things weren’t simple and went to ask around about the rumors regarding Allen and the Inquisition.
The rumors and gossip about the Laval House were so terrifying that he couldn’t sleep for several days.
This wasn’t money; it was a death warrant!
He feared he had offended the Inquisition and that he might wake up in a dark dungeon one night.
Holding the huge sum, he considered running away every day, but he felt that since the money came from that noble young master, his conscience wouldn’t let him just take it all.
More importantly, having offended the Inquisition, if he offended a noble on top of that… he likely wouldn’t live to see next spring.
Besides, he felt that the Young Master Laval… might not be as bad as everyone said. After all, he had treated Martin like a brother, and the young master hadn’t gotten angry.
While he was agonizing over this and scouting the market in the Lower City, he unexpectedly witnessed Allen’s public confession.
Allen’s sincere repentance deeply moved him and convinced him that the partnership could continue.
So, after much thought, he plucked up his courage today and brought all his assets—including the insulated containers improved according to Allen’s suggestions, various prototype iced drinks, and expensive ice cream and sorbet—to the Laval House.
However, as he was hesitating at the door, several suspicious-looking characters approached him.
“New here? Which house sent you? Hanging around the gate like this—you’re clearly inexperienced in this line of work.”
Martin was baffled. It took a few moments of conversation to realize these people were spies!
In a moment of madness, he simply decided to sell the iced drinks to the spies.
To his surprise, they were a massive hit. The commotion grew so loud that it eventually alerted the estate guards, and he was “invited” inside by the old butler.
By an even greater coincidence, he ran into a fellow countryman in the dining room—Chef Robert.
The two had been playmates in their youth. Later, Robert learned culinary arts and went to the Capital to make a living, while Martin stayed home to grow grapes and make wine.
Who would have thought that Robert had become the head chef for a noble family?
Meeting an old friend made Martin feel a bit sentimental.
Although he had somehow earned a fortune of 1,000 Livre from the Inquisition, that money ultimately belonged to the young master of the Laval House; it had nothing to do with him.
Perhaps he really should cooperate with this young master, expand the business, and make something of himself.
After hearing Martin’s twisted and bizarre tale, Allen didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
‘How is this honest man’s life so full of drama?’
He smiled and comforted him. “Don’t worry. The Inquisition is rich and powerful; they won’t take back money they’ve given out. They don’t care about such a small amount.”
He tilted his chin toward Anna.
“See that red-haired maid over there? She’s a sister from the Inquisition. So, you really don’t need to live in fear anymore.”
“Eh?”
Martin looked in that direction and saw Anna licking her ice cream with a tiny spoon, looking perfectly harmless and happy.
He couldn’t possibly associate this young girl with the rumors of the bloodthirsty Inquisition.
If Allen knew what he was thinking, he would have complained: ‘No, the rumors are mostly true. Anna is just an exception.’
As it happened, Allen was thinking about the opening of the Continental Hotel tomorrow and realized he was missing some signature desserts to round out the menu.
Martin and his iced drinks had arrived at the perfect time.
Allen believed that even if the hotel was in the Lower City, it would surely attract noble gourmets seeking new experiences with its unique service and food.
“Mr. Lemans,” Allen’s tone became serious. “Tomorrow, a hotel I’ve taken over in the Lower City will be opening for business.”
Martin was stunned.
“I need someone who can command the scene to manage the hotel’s specialty cold drinks and desserts. This won’t just make my hotel more popular; it will allow you to grow your business into something grand.”
Allen looked at him, his eyes carrying a persuasive power.
“That 1,000 Livre isn’t a death warrant; it’s your start-up capital. Now, I am giving you a choice.”
“Will you continue making a small living on the streets, dodging tax collectors in fear, or will you become a partner of the Continental Hotel and have all the nobles in the Capital clamoring for your craft?”
Martin’s mind went blank.
He looked at the excessively young noble before him. The man’s commercial vision was unfolding on a level he couldn’t even imagine.
The opportunity had never been presented so clearly.
His heart began to pound violently.
Naturally, the vendor was willing to showcase his skills at the Continental Hotel and let everyone taste the most unique desserts in the world.
Allen generously declared that the 1,000 Livre would count as Martin’s investment, making him one of the minority shareholders of the Continental Hotel from then on.
Martin was so excited his lips trembled. He kept bowing, nearly hitting his head on the table leg.
He had never dreamed that a street vendor like himself could become a “partner” in a major hotel.
Allen’s magnanimity and vision for shared prosperity moved him beyond words.
Therefore, when Allen casually mentioned wanting to buy his ice cellar that could dig up “white crystals,” Martin agreed almost without thinking.
“Young Master, if you find it useful, please take it!” Martin puffed out his chest, seemingly afraid Allen would change his mind.
“That old cellar is worthless compared to the future you’ve given me! Besides, that method of making ice with saltpeter is far too inefficient; it only fools country folk who haven’t seen the world. In the Capital, every noble has seen the power of an Ice Crest. My little trick doesn’t even deserve to be mentioned.”
Allen smiled and didn’t take advantage of him. “Business is business. I will buy it at market price. The butler will handle the payment.”
What he wanted was exactly that “trick” that didn’t deserve mention.
Those seemingly unremarkable white crystals were, to Allen, the true priceless treasure—the key ingredient for manufacturing gunpowder: saltpeter.
With the deal finalized, a confident smile belonging to a villain spread across Allen’s face.
He began to imagine the “surprise” the future revolutionary army’s combination of bayonets and firearms would bring to those heavy cavalry knights still stuck in the Middle Ages.
François watched from the side as Allen effortlessly won people over and laid out his plans for the future, filled with a thousand emotions.
He vaguely guessed that this young noble master was planning something huge—so huge it might be a crime like treason that would get his entire clan executed.
‘But so what?’
‘If one hears the Way in the morning, one can die content in the evening.’
Everyone tasted the ice cream and sorbet Martin had brought, giving them high praise.
Anna’s eyes lit up as she ate, her small spoon clinking against the porcelain bowl. She looked like she wanted to bury her head in it.
After finishing her portion, she gazed longingly at the insulated box, which still had more than half left.
If Master Bernard and Marianne hadn’t been away, Allen might have actually been moved by the little creature’s pitiful look and waved his hand, telling her she could have it all.
But Anna soon remembered something and looked toward the door.
‘Master Bernard and Sister Marianne aren’t back yet.’
Anna felt like she was a part of the Laval family now. After all, the Grand Inquisitor had personally said she would be under Allen’s direct command from now on.
Rounding it off, that basically meant she was Allen’s person.
Since she was family, she had to be sensible.
Sister Marianne treated her as well as Sister Sophia did, and Master Bernard always secretly slipped her treats.
At that thought, the little nun puffed out her chest, using every ounce of her strength to suppress the urge to have another serving, and pushed her small bowl aside.
Allen saw right through her little internal struggle and felt both amused and touched.
“At least you’re being sensible,” he said, tapping the table. “I’m making dinner in a bit. You can come be my assistant. I’ll let you be the first to taste my special ‘curry’.”
“Curry?” Anna’s eyes instantly lit up again, her previous small disappointment vanishing into thin air.
Allen had the butler take François and Martin on a tour of the house, inviting them to stay for dinner.
This equal treatment from a noble left them overwhelmed with favor. Although they were from different social classes, their common “patron,” Allen, helped them quickly grow comfortable with one another.
Hungry enough that his stomach was sticking to his back, Allen felt his culinary soul burning brightly.
Surrounded by Anna, Robert, and several kitchen assistants, he tied on an apron and stepped into the bustling kitchen.
The cost of this single meal would have made an ordinary family gasp—expensive spices, rare rice… but the current Laval House lacked anything but money.
Allen even felt a bit of “humble brag” sentiment. ‘Sigh, who understands the troubles of being filthy rich?’
‘I’ve fought all my life. Can’t I enjoy myself for once?’
In the kitchen, the symphony had begun.
Chef Robert handled the knife personally. In a flash of blades, the tender chicken was broken down into uniform pieces.
An assistant held a stone mortar, vigorously grinding expensive spices like pepper, cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg into a fine powder.
A young apprentice carefully melted large chunks of butter, the rich aroma of cream instantly dominating the space.
Allen personally took the pan. He tossed the chicken into the frying pan where the butter was sizzling.
The surfaces of the meat quickly turned golden brown, perfectly sealing the juices inside.
In another pot, a rich chicken broth mixed with a large amount of milk and cream was bubbling with milky-white foam.
The sautéed chicken went into the pot, followed by the spice powders, while a splash of lemon juice brought out a more complex aroma.
Finally, Allen instructed the crew to use ground almonds and breadcrumbs to slowly thicken the sauce.
The stew in the pot gradually thickened into an inviting creamy yellow. Spicy, sweet, creamy… countless aromas interlaced, collided, and merged into a dominant fragrance that drifted through the hallways and reached every corner of the manor.
This “curry” special was more like a Lorraine-style white sauce chicken stew with extremely heavy spice notes.
But its unparalleled deliciousness left even the widely traveled Chef Robert stunned.
He felt more and more that what was hidden in this young master’s head was an entirely new world of gastronomy.
Robert had guessed to some extent that Allen was doing something big.
But he was a cook, and a cook’s duty was to fill the master’s stomach so that everyone would have the strength to do what needed to be done.
In Robert’s eyes, the taste of food could carry time and emotion.
In the past, the dark and villainous Allen de Laval had very few people he was willing to be close to. Besides the old butler, it was likely only his cook.
Robert always remembered.
Because the stews he made tasted very much like those made by Allen’s late, gentle mother, Lady Elena.
On many nights, the young master would sit alone at the dining table eating that stew, his shoulders shaking as he shed silent tears.
That hidden longing and regret for his mother let Robert know that the young master’s nature had never been truly bad.
He had simply lost his way. Unable to find inner peace, he had inflicted his pain on others, especially the Head Maid, Marianne.
Robert looked up and saw Allen standing by the stove with a peaceful smile, focused on tasting the sauce. A warm current flowed through his heart.
‘The lost son seems to have finally found his way home.’
He finally understood why Marianne, despite being hurt so deeply, still loved this young master.
Happiness, perhaps, truly could heal everything.