Chapter 127
I followed his gesture and saw a cultist charging toward us with wild eyes and a curved blade glowing with something purple and probably illegal.
Ghis didn't flinch. Without losing a second, he pulled something from inside his robe and hurled it straight at the man's face like a grenade.
It was a steaming apple tart.
It landed with a moist splat, immediately splattering syrup and cinnamon across the cultist's features. The man shrieked, flailed, slipped, and hit the cobblestones like a sack of flour. Out cold.
I blinked. "Did you just… weaponize dessert?"
"Improved my recipe," Ghis said, adjusting his sleeves. "Added a little punch."
"You've gotten better at magic," I muttered, still eyeing the unconscious cultist. "Didn't know baking magic was a real thing, though."
