Several Months Later
Months drifted by, and the once-humble hall Saphy named Sanctum Medca Heim had become a familiar beacon throughout Eddleguard. Its stone pillars, warm light, and ever-present scent of herbs were now part of the city's rhythm — as natural as the morning market bells and the evening harbor calls.
In that time, something interesting happened.
The daily wave of patients, once overwhelming, gradually thinned.
Not abruptly — just a gentle, steady decline.
It made sense, of course.
People didn't get injured every day.
Diseases came and went with the seasons.
And Saphy's treatments were… effective. Sometimes too effective.
Many left completely cured.
At first, Saphy enjoyed the lighter load.
Then she noticed something else.
Even as the locals lessened, the outsiders increased.
Travelers from neighboring towns.
Merchants from inland cities.
Carriage groups arriving dusty and exhausted from long roads.
Sanctum Medca Heim, once a local service, had quietly grown into a regional destination.
Confused, Saphy finally asked one of the visiting merchants, a middle-aged man with sand still clinging to his boots from the northern trade route.
"Why come all the way to Eddleguard? Isn't it tiring?"
The man laughed awkwardly, scratching his cheek.
"Well… Lady Saphy… It's cheaper to travel between cities than hire a healer."
Saphy blinked.
"…Huh?"
He nodded quickly.
"Some healers charge half a month's wages for a simple fever treatment. A carriage ride costs far less — and rumors say your healing is free, reliable, and fast. For common folk, that's a miracle."
And he wasn't the only one.
Others said the same.
It wasn't that Eddleguard had more sick or injured people.
It was that ordinary citizens across the region had done the math — and Sanctum Medca Heim was the logical choice.
Saphy pinched her cheek gently, trying to absorb the situation.
"So it's… cheaper to travel long-distance… than get treated locally?"
"Absolutely," the merchant replied without hesitation.
Her little healer heart trembled.
This world's healthcare system was…
…even worse than she thought.
But the realization sparked something new — a shift in responsibility, in direction, in scale.
Sanctum was no longer just a hall in a city.
It was becoming a lifeline for people far beyond Eddleguard.
And today, as Saphy stepped inside the hall and saw another caravan arriving at the gates, she knew:
The calm of the past few months was changing again.
A new chapter of healing was about to unfold.
In that time, Saphy made an important change — one that surprised everyone at first.
She adopted a clear work schedule.
Open from 9 in the morning, close at 4 in the afternoon.
Two full days off every week.
A perfectly reasonable schedule by her old world's standards.
The citizens adapted immediately.
Travelers from nearby villages, towns, and even far-off cities adjusted their plans to match her hours, arriving early in the morning or waiting patiently until opening time. The consistency brought comfort. People knew exactly when they could receive help — and they respected it.
But the more defined her hours became, the more the city began to transform.
A Growing Web of Opportunity
The first to feel the change were the carriage drivers.
Where they once waited idly at street corners, now they were constantly busy. Every morning, several carriages arrived loaded with passengers seeking treatment. Drivers who previously struggled to earn a few coins a day suddenly found themselves making a steady, reliable income.
Next were the ships in the harbor.
Word spread quickly among coastal towns that it was cheaper to ride a supply ship to Eddleguard than to hire a healer locally. Passengers paid a small fee to board ships that were already traveling for trade, turning unused space into steady profit.
Even the captains laughed, calling it "a miracle route."
And then came the inns.
At first, travelers had to squeeze into the few existing lodgings. But as the flow of visitors increased, new inns opened one after another — modest at first, then gradually more refined. Most travelers stayed only a night or two, but that was enough to bring thriving business to the district.
Sanctum Medca Heim wasn't just a healing hall anymore.
It had quietly become the heart of a new economic cycle.
But in these few months, Saphy hadn't only been busy with her healer duties.
She had been working on something else — something she had kept quiet, even from her family.
And soon, that "something" would come to light.
Saphy leaned over the small glass jar on her worktable, eyes sparkling with triumph.
Inside, the mixture was alive.
The activated yeast shimmered with tiny bubbles, rising and popping in slow, rhythmic pulses.
The surface quivered like a breathing creature — soft, pale, and slightly creamy in color.
Every few seconds, a cluster of bubbles would surge upward, creating gentle ripples that made the mixture tremble, swirl, and dance.
It looked almost… playful.
Saphy couldn't stop smiling.
She had finally done it.
Months of quiet midnight experiments had led to this moment:
Successful cultivation of yeast — created entirely from wine foam.
She still remembered the start.
Late one evening, she had skimmed the frothy foam from the top of a batch of red wine fermenting in the kitchen cellar. It carried a faint aroma of grapes, sweetness, and wild yeast. She had gently collected it, determined to make a starter.
In a small bowl, she mixed:
A spoonful of flour,
warm water,
and a touch of honey.
Then she added the wine foam.
Over the next days, the mixture bubbled, rose, and expanded, proving that the wild yeast was alive and thriving. She fed it, nurtured it, and after it multiplied, she separated a small portion and used it to start a fresh batch.
That was generation one.
Then generation two.
Then three.
Then four…
And now—
Saphy stared proudly at the jar on her desk.
"The eleventh generation…"
This batch was completely different from the first.
No wine aroma.
No lingering grape scent.
No strange undertones.
It was clean, neutral, and pure — exactly what she needed.
A true, stable yeast that she could use for bread, pastries, and anything she dreamed of.
Her heart fluttered with excitement.
"Finally… real yeast," she whispered, clutching the jar with delicate reverence.
This was the "something else" she had been secretly working on for months.
And with it…
Her cooking world was about to change.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The kitchen staff had watched her for months.
Every few days, Lady Saphy would quietly appear in a corner of the kitchen, carrying bowls of warm water, small sacks of flour, jars of honey, or scraps of foamy wine.
She always worked in silence, measuring, mixing, checking, feeding… repeating the same ritual again and again.
None of them dared to interrupt her, but they certainly noticed.
The Maids' Thoughts
She's doing it again…
The maids peeked from behind stacked baskets, wide-eyed as they watched the small noble girl swirl a creamy mixture in her bowl.
What kind of experiment needs this much patience?
She's been nurturing that thing for months… is it some kind of noble alchemy?
Or maybe a magical ingredient? Something only Lady Saphy understands…
They exchanged uneasy glances every time the mixture bubbled on its own.
It's alive… right? It's definitely alive.
Should something in a jar move like that?
Well… this is Lady Saphy. If she's doing it, it must be fine. Probably. Hopefully.
And yet, despite their confusion, there was admiration in their eyes.
She works harder than any adult here… and she's just a child…
Whatever she's making, it must be important to her.
The Chef's Thoughts
The Head Chef had observed everything with a practiced professional eye.
At first, he assumed she was experimenting with a new sauce.
Then a ferment.
Then perhaps… a magical potion?
But as the months passed, he began to understand.
No… this isn't magic. This is craft.
She's cultivating something. Growing it. Refining it.
He watched her separate a tiny portion from one jar and start a new one.
Then again.
And again.
Generation after generation.
His hands, crossed behind his back, trembled slightly.
This level of precision… this discipline…
Even trained culinary masters can't maintain such consistency.
Just what is she trying to create?
And then, one autumn afternoon, he saw the way she lifted the eleventh jar — gently, proudly, like a precious treasure.
The chef's breath caught.
She… succeeded.
Whatever it is… she finally perfected it.
Lady Saphy's "secret project"… it's complete.
He didn't know the name of the substance inside the jar.
He didn't understand its purpose.
But he understood one thing with absolute clarity:
This child is about to change the entire kitchen.
Saphy looked at her finished project and couldn't help the warm swell of pride in her chest. It had been months of trial, error, and stubborn determination. Who would've thought that creating a truly neutral yeast—one without the lingering aroma of wine—would take this long?
Yet there it was.
Inside the glass bowl, the activated yeast shifted softly, like a living cloud. Tiny bubbles rose and fell, the surface trembling with gentle movement. It looked almost alive—creamy, pale, fluffy, and faintly shimmering under the kitchen lights. Now and then, the mixture gave a subtle wiggle, as though breathing.
Finally. Her 11th-generation yeast. Completely neutral. Purely hers.
Saphy's heart thumped with victory.
Now, only preservation remained.
Carefully, she separated the activated yeast into small portions, each placed neatly in a tray. Then, pressing her little palms together, she invoked Ice Magic. A thin sheen of frost swept across the containers instantly, freezing them solid in a blink.
"Now… let's test the shelf life," she whispered to herself.
But the main event was still ahead.
She mixed the fresh yeast with flour, salt, milk, honey, and warm water—then handed the mixture to the chef. The man eyed the strange combination of ingredients as if they were foreign invaders, but he didn't protest. Not out loud, at least.
With practiced hands, he kneaded the dough until smooth. Saphy instructed him to let it rest, and they watched as it puffed up beautifully. Then she told him to punch it down and shape it into a proper loaf, placing it into a bread mold.
Once it rose a second time, she asked the chef to bake it at a higher temperature than usual—an instruction that earned her a skeptical sideways glance. Yeast bread was entirely new to him, after all.
More than thirty minutes later, the bread emerged from the oven.
A golden-brown dome glistened slightly under the kitchen lights, its crust smooth and rounded with fine cracks revealing a tender interior. Warm steam wafted upward, carrying a scent that instantly filled the entire kitchen.
It was rich. Soft. Slightly sweet. A depth of aroma none of them had smelled before—like milk, honey, and warmth woven together into something comforting and nostalgic.
Saphy inhaled deeply.
She didn't cut into it. Not yet.
Fresh bread needed to rest, or it would lose moisture.
For now, she simply admired it—her victory in loaf form.
As the warm aroma of the newly baked loaf drifted through the kitchen, the staff around Saphy quietly reacted in their own ways.
The chef, arms folded, tried his best to maintain a stern expression, but his thoughts were anything but calm. Months. She spent months on… foam. Foam from wine. And now she's freezing dough-alive things and making bread that puffs like a pillow… He had never seen yeast move like that—or multiply like that. No wonder the entire noble district calls her a prodigy. I've cooked for thirty years, and I've never touched anything like this.
One of the senior maids stole a glance toward the bowl where the yeast had once danced. It was wiggling. Alive. Like it had feelings. How does she not get scared? But then she looked at the loaf, golden and perfect. Well… if this is the result, then maybe it's fine…? Hopefully, it won't crawl out of the oven next time.
Another maid pressed a hand over her heart, relieved. Finally. The experiment is over. She remembered the countless days of Saphy entering the kitchen with jars, bowls, cloths, and strange liquids. Maybe we can use our storage room again without worrying that a bowl might explode.
A young kitchen helper peeked over the counter, eyes shining. So this is the thing she was working on… Bread that rises on its own. To him, it looked almost magical. If the lady can make ingredients come alive, what's next? Flying cakes? Talking cookies?
The butler, who had only come to deliver a message, found himself frozen in place as the scent washed over him. Her experiments looked insane. Absolutely insane. But… this smell… It's dangerously good. His gaze softened. The Count won't know whether to be proud or terrified at this point.
All five of them stayed silent, each lost in their private swirl of awe, fear, admiration, and resignation.
Meanwhile, Saphy simply gazed at the loaf with the bright satisfaction of someone who had fought a months-long war and finally won.
The bread rested quietly on the rack.
And Saphy rested quietly in her triumph.
The loaf had cooled just enough. Saphy placed a gentle hand on the crust, feeling its springiness. Then, with a slow, almost ceremonial motion, she lifted the knife and sliced through the center.
A soft shhhk whispered as the blade cut in.
The interior revealed itself—pillowy, tender, evenly dotted with tiny air pockets that glistened with remaining warmth. A faint steam drifted upward, carrying a rich, buttery aroma that wrapped around the room like a warm embrace.
The chef unconsciously leaned forward. The maids froze mid-step.
Saphy lifted the slice, proud.
"Perfect."
The chef was the first to receive a piece. He hesitated—just for a heartbeat—then bit into it.
His eyes widened.
The maids tasted theirs next, and their reactions rippled like falling dominoes. One clutched her cheeks, another trembled, and the young helper actually sank to his knees in quiet devotion.
But the real chaos began the moment the aroma slipped out of the half-open kitchen door.
Someone in the hallway sniffed sharply.
Then another.
Then—
"WHAT IS THAT SMELL!?"
A wave of footsteps thundered toward the kitchen.
Before anyone inside could react, the door burst open and half the corridor's residents—maids, knights, footmen—practically leaned in with wild, hungry eyes.
The chef protectively shielded the loaf with his body. The maids huddled around it like guards defending a royal treasure.
Saphy blinked. "…It's just bread."
"JUST!?" a knight gasped. "Lady Saphy, this smells like a banquet from the heavens!"
Their exaggerated devotion made her cheeks warm, but she soon drifted into her own thoughts anyway.
If this worked… then soft milk bread is possible. Brioche too. And sweet rolls. And maybe… maybe croissants?
Her eyes sparkled dangerously.
I need more butter… a lot more butter.
As she mentally planned an entire bakery's worth of pastries, someone else stepped into the doorway—quietly, but at the exact wrong moment.
William.
He looked at the crowded doorway… the trembling staff… the chef guarding the bread like it was a national treasure… and finally his sister holding a knife with a suspicious sparkle in her eyes.
"…Should I ask," he said slowly, "or pretend I didn't see any of this?"
The staff immediately pointed at Saphy as if she were a divine culprit. William sighed.
"Of course. Bread. It's always food with you."
Saphy only smiled sweetly.
"Would you like a slice, big brother?"
He hesitated, but the aroma reached him—and that alone destroyed any resistance he had left.
"…Yes. Please."
And with that, the first true yeast-bread in the kingdom made its entrance into Astley history—with chaos, reverence, and a slightly distressed noble sibling as witnesses.