Annan had known about the bakery owned by the so-called "Baker from the Capital" for some time.
During his first conversation with Salvatore, he had made a point of remembering all the places and characters that might have a story to tell.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to introduce them to the players one by one when they arrived...
It was just that before, Annan hadn’t realized the importance of the plot surrounding this "Baker".
His original plan was to arrange for players who had nothing better to do to gather information around Frostwater Harbor. Those secretive characters could wait until the players had done enough investigating, then Annan would come along, offer them a quest, take the intelligence, and reward them with some rare rewards and a lot of favorability.
Consider it a hidden quest.
Annan was certain that if he threw in buzzwords like "rare", "hidden", and "exclusive", even if the rewards were mediocre, a lot of players would come to farm them. Not to mention if the rewards were very generous...
...But who could have thought that this baker would actually be a damn monk sweeping the floor?!
Annan gritted his teeth in frustration.
At that moment, he was sprinting hurriedly down the deserted streets in a rather thin coat, amidst the December chill. Thankfully, the moonlight in Frostwater Harbor was bright enough to differentiate the roads without illumination.
It was already half-past ten at night... Frostwater Harbor was nothing like Roth Fort. There wasn’t much nightlife, and the fishermen had long since gone to bed.
Only the stores that were going to open early in the morning were still diligently preparing the things they needed for the next day.
They seemed somewhat surprised to see Annan running past.
After a moment of astonishment, they somewhat apprehensively bowed to him.
Annan, too, very politely bowed back to each of them.
Half an hour later, Annan finally arrived at the bakery, which was not too far from the Lord’s Mansion.
——The Authentic Capital Bakery.
The name of the signboard was very simple and powerful.
Just like the Authentic ○○ Buns or Authentic XX Pork Sandwiches... Plain and unadorned.
However, the bread here was indeed quite delicious.
Several players had bought bread from here for Annan as breakfast and snacks. Gotta say, it did taste pretty good...
At eleven o’clock at night, the bakery’s door was tightly shut. However, some light could still be seen inside.
Annan called out, knocking heavily on the door, "Anybody home!"
It took a while before a puzzled and slightly impatient voice came from inside, "We are sold out already — what time do you think it is!"
"I am Tan Juan Geraint."
After receiving a response, Annan promptly revealed his identity, "Please open the door."
If Annan had directly knocked on the door using his own name, and Baccara didn’t want to see him, he could have pretended to be out or already asleep...
Better to wait for him to respond, then reveal his identity.
At least that way, Baccara would not be able to feign death.
After about seven or eight seconds, Annan heard the sound of the door lock turning.
The wooden door opened.
The "Baccara" who appeared before Annan did indeed look quite a bit like the big hammer brother from the instance. The only difference was that forty-five years ago, the hammer brother appeared to be in his thirties... But forty-five years later, he looked as if he was over fifty, almost sixty.
Though his hair was mixed with some white and many wrinkles had appeared at the corners of his eyes, his presence was still very stable, and he looked quite energetic, showing no sign of tiredness even at eleven at night.
And the biggest difference was that he no longer had the violent killing intent and hostility he had forty-five years ago. His entire atmosphere had become calm and peaceful.
...It seemed there was no danger, after all.
Annan breathed a slight sigh of relief.
But looking at Baccara’s face, the first question to come to Annan’s mind was:
Just how old is this guy this year?
Baccara’s gaze subconsciously swept in front of him, then after a pause, he lowered his head imperceptibly to look at Annan.
His gaze first landed on the bronze bracelet on Annan’s wrist before quickly shifting away to the floor.
"...What can I do for you, my lord?"
His voice was very respectful.
"Indeed, I have some matters. But may I come in?"
Annan nodded, his voice youthful, polite, and slightly frail, "It’s a bit cold outside..."
Upon hearing this, Baccara hesitated for a moment.
He quickly consented, "It’s a bit messy; please wait while I tidy up... I’ll be quick."
With that, he closed the door again.
Annan raised an eyebrow slightly —
— this wasn’t exactly polite behavior.
Normally, you would lead a guest to the living room, right? At the very least, you wouldn’t let a guest stand outside in the cold wind...
Baccara came from the Capital, not the countryside. Didn’t he know these etiquettes?
Or was there something in there that Annan wasn’t supposed to see?
Was he destroying evidence?
But that thought was quickly dismissed.
Because Baccara was tidying up too quickly...
He had shut the door for about four or five seconds, then opened it again. Annan hadn’t heard any noise from him and hadn’t seen any sound or light effects inside. It even felt quieter inside than before.
"Please come in, my lord..."
Baccara respectfully welcomed Annan inside.
He led Annan through the bread-selling shop into the backyard, through the yard to the rear building.
After ushering Annan to sit down in the living room, he went to brew a fresh pot of black tea for him.
Annan was somewhat curious as he looked at the tea caddy.
While it was true that every household in the Noah Kingdom had the habit of drinking tea, if Annan hadn’t remembered it wrong... the tea that Baccara drank was even better than what Salvatore had brought over.
Is the bakery business really that lucrative?
It wasn’t until Baccara had poured Annan some hot tea that Annan spoke up gently, "I’ve only heard some sayings. Let me put it upfront, please don’t take the content of our conversation too seriously thereafter..."
Without waiting for Annan to ask, Baccara directly stated his full name: "You can just call me Joseph, sir."
"Then so be it, Joseph."
Annan readily agreed.
He asked softly, "I want to know, how many years ago did you come to Frostwater Harbor?"
"About... over forty years ago."
Annan pressed on: "Was it...
"—Forty-five years ago?"
Upon hearing this, Mr. Joseph Backer fell silent.
He paused for a moment, then let out a sigh.
He leaned back wearily in his chair.
"Are you asking whether I know Amos?"
Joseph’s lips curled into a faint, bitter smile as he said, "If that’s the question, then yes, I indeed knew him."
As he spoke, he glanced at Annan’s bracelet again.
Seeing that Annan didn’t immediately respond, he countered, "May I guess you’ve just come out of a nightmare? Did you... enter the nightmare by yourself?"
"I entered the nightmare under the protection of Priest Louis."
Annan nodded and replied softly.
He had opted for a relatively low-key way of putting it.
Sensing Annan’s demeanor, Joseph relaxed a little and chuckled, "Did I... scare you in the nightmare, by any chance?"
"I too entered that nightmare once. I was quite frightened by myself at the time... but I cheated and directly convinced myself."
He took a sip of tea and said this.
Annan caught a particular word sharply.
"You said... back then?"
He also noticed that Joseph was not wearing an artifact.
Whether bronze or silver... he had nothing.
At home, he was dressed in a thin shirt, and the silver bracelet he had seen in the nightmare had also disappeared.
Joseph didn’t seem to shy away from this topic.
He nodded, "I gave it up. I’m no longer a Transcendent now."
...You say that all too lightly.
Annan’s eyelid twitched.
Transcendent—could one really just decide to stop being one?
Wasn’t it an occupation that, once you’re in, you can’t turn back?
"If you’re considering recruiting me... I can only say, I’ll definitely help with anything I can,"
Joseph smiled bitterly, "But now I’m broken. There’s not much spellcasting ability left in me, and what I can do is probably limited..."
While saying this, he gestured towards the kitchen and commanded:
"[Continue working]."
In the kitchen not far away, the dough suddenly came to life and began kneading itself. Those doughs that had finished fermenting lined up and crawled into the oven of their own accord—before the bread that had been baked earlier had to jump out.
First out, then in, like riding the subway.
"A simple ’temporary animation’. My artifact can no longer be used, and the leftover spellcasting ability is just enough to keep me from starving... I’m not even at the silver level anymore."
Joseph spread his hands out: "I didn’t know your intentions just now, turning to enter the room was to stop them... to prevent scaring you in the middle of the night."
"What exactly happened forty-five years ago?"
Though Joseph’s spellcasting had many loopholes, Annan ignored this and prioritized a more pressing question: "What was the final, true outcome?"
He unbuttoned his coat and turned his back to Annan.
His back was covered with a dense web of scars.
But those were not knife scars.
They resembled more the web-like marks left by a bullet on bulletproof glass. All those webs were the veins that had burst out, leaving behind dark blue, slightly throbbing ridges on his back that followed his heartbeat.
And at the center of the web of scars...
That place was approximately where his heart was.
"I was actually killed once by Amos. He launched a sneak attack from the future, armed with a powerful cursed weapon. I couldn’t avoid it, nor defend against it. I was hit in the heart by ’that sect’s’ secretly passed cursed weapon, the ’Dirty Blood Bullet’. I was stricken with a strong curse and fell into a near-death state—"
Joseph let his coat fall, turned back towards Annan and slowly, earnestly replied:
"But after that, he didn’t kill me. The reason was... if I died, the curse contained within my artifact would leak."
"—Yes, he stole my cursed artifact."