In his reply to Master Raymond, His Holiness the Pope wrote that his ship could dock at the neighboring county of Prinsia, just next to Slot, and from there he could travel incognito into Sardinson. He assured me that he would keep a low profile, remain for only a few days, and avoid causing any disruption.
"His tone is sincere, but doesn't this all feel a bit… odd?" Wei Wei frowned as she handed the letter—borrowed from Raymond—to Felix, who had just returned.
While Felix scanned through the letter, Wei Wei voiced her concerns. On the surface, it all seemed plausible. Maybe the Pope was just a lively old man who liked to drop by unannounced. But she didn't buy it.
In his letter, the Pope claimed he only wished to visit an old friend he hadn't seen in years. But in Raymond's last reply, he'd already offered to visit the Pope in the capital instead—and even proposed they sail together afterward, giving them ample time to reconnect.
So why insist on coming to Sardinson?
Wei Wei didn't believe for a second it was just a friendly visit.
What was so special about Sardinson right now?
Only one answer came to mind: their industries.
"Do you think they're coming to steal our formulas?"
It was the most likely explanation.
It wasn't that Wei Wei had a particularly low opinion of the Church—but truth be told, the Church in this era was nothing like the more restrained version of later centuries. They hoarded wealth under the banner of God with little pretense. While the common folk saw alms and charity, the nobles saw opulence and exploitation.
Aside from the tithe, which was already a heavy burden, the Church also held monopolies over all kinds of lucrative ventures—including, scandalously enough, brothels. And on top of that, they collaborated with nobles on countless other profitable enterprises. Few were wealthier than the Church.
But their wealth only fueled their greed. They wanted more.
Felix finished reading the letter. "Has Master Raymond ever told you what kind of person this Pope is?"
Wei Wei thought for a moment. "He says he's a decent man. Compassionate toward the sick, and generous with the poor. Likes to tinker with experiments, just like Raymond. Since he used to be a medic, most of his research is about making a universal cure. Personality-wise, Raymond describes him as cheerful, and easy to get along with."
Raymond's interests lay in alchemy, while the Pope leaned more toward the mythical Panacea. But since both required the elusive Philosopher's Stone, their research was closely aligned.
Felix mused, "Doesn't sound too bad."
Wei Wei, ever cautious, shook her head. "That's just Raymond's impression. They weren't together long—most of their friendship played out in letters over more than a decade. People change, and who knows what he's really like now?"
"Maybe we should ask Father Matthew," Felix suggested. "He might know him."
Father Matthew had once been a cardinal, making him eligible to run for Pope himself. Both he and the current Pope—now known as John XX, a name he took upon ascending the papacy—had held the same rank. They may have served in different countries, but cardinals regularly gathered at Church headquarters. With how often Popes had been replaced in recent years, these gatherings had only become more frequent. It was unthinkable that they didn't know each other.
And indeed—
"I do know Pope John," Father Matthew confirmed, looking much better than he had a few weeks ago. No longer bedridden, he now enjoyed daily restorative tonics from Wei Wei's prescriptions—and had even put on a little weight, his cheeks glowing with health.
"He's a good man," the old priest said. "He's always tried to restore the union between the Western Church and the Eastern Church. He belongs to the conservative faction of the clergy."
Wei Wei asked, "Are you a conservative as well?"
"Yes," Matthew nodded. "Though the conservative faction is a minority. We've never had the numbers to counter the radicals. They control most of the Church. If not for the so-called Papal Curse making the role undesirable, John would never have been elected."
That was why Matthew had chosen to step back—leaving the infighting behind to retire in Sardinson. He had no interest in being used as a puppet.
The biggest difference between the radicals and conservatives lay in their attitude toward other religions. Conservatives believed in maintaining ties with the Eastern Church, while radicals deemed them heretics—no better than Muslims or pagans—and wanted them stamped out.
Radical influence was a key reason the Crusades had, for over two centuries, treated Eastern Christians as enemies no different from infidels.
Wei Wei understood now: Matthew was implying that Pope John was a puppet—elected by conservatives, but powerless in practice.
If that were the case, then the Pope's insistence on visiting Sardinson likely wasn't his idea at all.
After bidding Matthew farewell, Wei Wei and Felix took a stroll in the garden, hand in hand, continuing the discussion.
"If someone's pulling the Pope's strings," Wei Wei said worriedly, "then they're targeting us."
And they couldn't just say no. The Pope's status alone made outright rejection dangerous. Even though the Church wasn't especially powerful within the Pradi Empire, it still commanded respect. Not even kings could ignore them entirely—let alone a mere noble like Felix.
Give them a few more years, and they might have the strength to face the Church head-on. But not now.
Still, knowing the Pope might be under outside influence made them reassess the letter—and see it in a new light. The low-key arrival and small entourage might be beneficial.
With fewer people, it would be easier to monitor them. Even if they made unreasonable demands, it would be easier to refuse. If they'd come with fanfare and ceremony, handling them would be far more difficult.
Felix thought for a moment. "Let's have Raymond write back. Say we can't host more than ten people. If he agrees, we'll receive them. If not, then we'll have to decline—politely."
He smiled. "We can always say that we simply don't have the manpower to accommodate a larger group. And if they're worried about safety, that works in our favor—we'd be too scared to host the Pope under such risk. We can tell them to wait until we're better prepared."
It was a classic tactic: make a reasonable request and let them be the ones to reject it.
Wei Wei caught on immediately and nodded. "And we'll have Raymond meet them in person. If they try to bring more than ten, Raymond can stay on the ship with the Pope. After all, it's just a visit between old friends—we've already sent his friend to him."
And if the Pope had genuinely meant well, he'd agree. Even if he was a puppet, it was unlikely that anyone would dare contradict him to his face.
And, if anyone had a duty here, it was his entourage. Their job was to protect him. The wisest course of action would be to persuade him to stay on the ship rather than risk traveling to a remote, potentially dangerous frontier county.
"If Father Matthew recovers enough," Felix added, "he should host the Pope. He's the perfect choice."
As a former cardinal, Matthew still commanded great respect within the Church. His decision to retire in Sardinson didn't diminish his standing. No one of equal rank could boss him around, and lower clergy would be expected to obey him to some degree. His presence would keep others in line.
Between the two of them, Felix and Wei Wei had planned the visit down to the last detail. Now all that was left was to see their guests' expressions when everything played out.
Uninvited guests, after all, rarely got a warm welcome.
Even Raymond had started to suspect something was off. He knew his old friend wasn't the type to push visits after being turned down. So he gladly agreed to deliver their terms—writing a blunt letter that said if Giulio wanted to come, he'd have to follow the host's rules. Otherwise, Raymond would simply meet him on the ship instead.
The letter would take time to reach the Pope. A reply would take even longer. Based on the Pope's itinerary, they estimated he wouldn't reach Sardinson until June—over a month away.
But before the Pope could arrive, Sardinson had new guests to receive: Raymond's other old friends.
Felix and Wei Wei personally welcomed the trio—three bedraggled men who looked more like vagrants than scholars. Raymond introduced them as true alchemists, not charlatans. But because they had devoted themselves to their research and refused to compromise, they had been unable to support themselves.
Now, hearing that their old friend had found a generous patron, they had rushed to Sardinson to offer their services.
Though they looked disheveled and spoke like madmen when discussing their experiments, their sincerity was undeniable. They'd even brought their manuscripts to demonstrate their credentials.
Wei Wei read through them all. While some of the content had long since been disproven in her world, the men's dedication and effort couldn't be questioned.
She didn't comment on the errors. Instead, she turned to Felix. "Their level is solid. As long as their character checks out, we can keep them."
"I've already had them vetted. They're eccentric, yes, but no signs of trouble," Felix confirmed.
The letters they had exchanged had all been intercepted and reviewed. The trio had no recent contact with strangers, and their belongings were packed by the messengers themselves. It was unlikely they'd been compromised.
"Alright then. I'll handle their contracts," Wei Wei said, and then added, "Ask them if they'd be willing to take on apprentices. They're not young anymore—it would be good to have some help. I'm hesitant to assign male servants to them, but if they're not willing, that's fine."
While Wei Wei was thinking long-term about cultivating talent, her main concern was safety. She remembered all too well how shaky Raymond's hands had been during their distillation experiments. He needed reading glasses—and used a single-lens convex magnifier like a one-eyed pirate.
Not exactly ideal for dangerous lab work.
His friends didn't seem much better. Always squinting, probably also farsighted. Whether their hands were steady remained to be seen.
To their surprise, all three readily agreed to take on apprentices. They seemed excited.
"I've wanted one for years!" one said. "But I couldn't afford one."
Back then, apprentices didn't earn wages. They were expected to serve their masters in exchange for learning a trade. It was a harsh system—but it was the only path to expertise.
Most alchemists, however, struggled to find willing students. Ordinary folk thought they were scammers. And since alchemy wasn't a practical profession for feeding a family, few parents wanted their children to study it.
But Wei Wei and Felix were offering to sponsor the apprentices. That changed everything.
Even Raymond decided he wanted several apprentices.
But finding suitable candidates would take time. First, the newcomers needed to be settled.
"The new Research Institute isn't finished yet," Wei Wei explained, "so you'll have to make do with the tower for now."
The "institute" was a collective lab being built two miles from the castle—isolated, near a small creek branching off the main river, chosen specifically so that any fire or explosion could be contained.
The old tower—once a prison—was plenty spacious. Raymond had already cleared out the cells. It would do nicely until their proper labs were ready.
With the alchemists settled, Wei Wei returned to her latest project: a new insecticide.
After extensive testing, she'd created one using the root of a Celastraceae plant, along with other additives to boost effectiveness and reduce toxicity. It could kill nearly all known agricultural pests, and posed minimal risk to humans or livestock—so long as it wasn't ingested directly.
Unlike the pyrethrum water from last year, which disrupted insect nervous systems in a way that was mostly harmless to humans, this new formula was far more aggressive. It causes gastrointestinal irritation and, once absorbed, could damage the central nervous system, leading to hemorrhaging and organ failure if left untreated.
So now, the same slaves who made last year's pesticide were tasked with this one as well. Supervisors not only had to ensure safe handling but also educate buyers about safe usage—particularly the waiting period before crops could be consumed.
Just to be safe, Wei Wei issued a public notice about it. She also had the little teachers in the villages repeat the warnings in class. Children, after all, were most likely to sneak food straight from the fields.
Initially, many scoffed at the warnings. Last year's pesticide didn't require such precautions. Why so fussy this time?
Then someone decided to ignore the rules.
He picked vegetables the same day they were sprayed—didn't even wash them—and ate them raw.
He didn't last long before he was curled on the ground, screaming in pain.
Thankfully, he was discovered early. The villagers followed the emergency protocol—slaughtering a lamb and feeding him the blood—and managed to save him. But it was close.
Wei Wei still sent over a proper antidote (really just a purgative), along with restorative tonics. Otherwise, the man would've been half-dead even if he survived.
That incident made people take the warnings very seriously. The new pesticide was powerful—but as long as they waited the prescribed seven days and washed everything well, no one else got sick.
Parents began forbidding children from entering the fields during the danger period.
Satisfied that the message had been received, Wei Wei shifted her focus again.
June marked the harvest season for winter wheat. The previous month had been all about grain-filling when wheat needed nitrogen fertilizers and water. Thanks to last year's training, the serfs understood this—though they still weren't sure about proper dosage and timing. Wei Wei had to inspect each field herself.
Different plots matured at different rates. So she spent every day in the fields—out earlier than Felix and returning later.
The summer sun was already harsh. Constantly outdoors, wrapping her head in cloth, Wei Wei worried about tanning. So she commissioned a wide-brimmed round straw hat with a lacy ribbon and a decorative bow—both practical and beautiful.
Once she started wearing it around the territory, straw hat fever swept through Sardinson.
If it had been made of expensive fabric, maybe people would've hesitated. But straw? Everyone had access to that. Whether it was watergrass, wheat stalks, or some other reed—straw was free.
And weaving? Every villager had some experience with basketry. If they couldn't make one, they could always ask the craftsman who'd made Wei Wei's hat—or trade for one.
Soon, nearly every woman in Sardinson had her straw hat. Brims came in all sizes. Decorations ranged from lace and cloth scraps to feathers and shells. Compliments flew whenever women met.
From that point on, as long as the weather wasn't cold, no one went out with a headscarf anymore.
Why would they? Their Countess didn't.
And as always—no matter the time or place—women never forget to pursue beauty.