The carriage made a full circuit of the estate—everything worth seeing had been seen, and nothing was delayed. They returned directly to the castle.
Unlike the way there, where Bishop Roberto had asked about everything under the sun, the journey back was silent. He closed his eyes to rest, lips sealed, not uttering a single word.
The next few days, which Felix had expected to be filled with twists and turns, instead passed in complete peace. Aside from the occasional veiled probing by Bishop Roberto, nothing at all happened.
The papal entourage numbered exactly fifty—fifty-seven personal attendants and the rest were knights and soldiers serving as guards. Felix had arranged for every one of them to be watched closely, wary of any covert activity. But within the castle, they behaved themselves impeccably. Some did leave occasionally, but it was just for a break in Dingle—drinking, relaxing, not lingering near the estate, and certainly not doing anything suspicious.
After several days of quiet, Felix began to suspect a deeper game. Perhaps Bishop Roberto's earlier bumbling behavior, seemingly meant to fish for information, was also partly an act—to lower their guard. His blatant probing made him seem unsophisticated, lacking in calculation, but…
Anyone who could rise to the rank of cardinal—the position just beneath the pope—surely couldn't be so transparently underhanded.
Especially in Sardinson, where the attitude toward the Church had been made crystal clear from the start: unwelcome. The hosts were reluctant, naturally wary of their guests. Knowing this, why would someone so obviously dislike continue to behave so suspiciously? Unless…
"They might be a decoy. The real move is coming from someone else."
Felix recalled the first time they met in Princia. Back then, Roberto had been reserved, not at all the impudent figure he appeared to be now. It wasn't until tensions rose that he spoke up to mediate. He hadn't seemed tactless then.
The more Felix thought about it, the more the pieces clicked.
He grew even warier of Roberto, privately doubling surveillance on the guests and strengthening the estate's internal patrols. The security detail around the factory area was doubled outright.
Reinforcing the factory was easy. The rest, not so much. While serfs couldn't leave the estate freely, freemen could. Freemen rented plots and worked them daily. Many were also laborers working on construction projects near the factory, currently paused for the harvest. Once work resumed, movement in and out would increase dramatically.
Merchants bringing raw materials, locals attending mass, even families visiting the castle—it was too much to track.
And the outer boundary? Though it had a stone wall, it was barely waist-high. Kids could climb over it, let alone adults. It wasn't really for security—just a border marker.
In short, the estate's defense system was full of holes.
Felix found it frustrating. There were too many vulnerabilities and not much he could do. Still, he wasn't overly worried. The entire factory zone had tall perimeter walls, guarded day and night. At night, gates were locked, with no entry or exit allowed. The workshops lacked lighting, and anyone sneaking in after dark would be fumbling in pitch black. If they lit a torch, they'd be spotted instantly.
Ever since construction began, many had tried to spy. Bribing workers was common. But aside from what they'd deliberately disclosed, not a single core formula had leaked.
A key part of this was the factory's assembly-line system. Not only did it increase efficiency, it also compartmentalized knowledge—workers only understood their part of the process. What came before or after was unknown to them.
Take the newly opened cosmetics factory, for instance. It produced a wide variety of products, with raw materials processed by separate teams. Each team handled only one type of ingredient. Then came several specialized workshops for different stages of production. Workers lived in separate dorms, had little contact, and were strictly forbidden from discussing their jobs. Even during meals, they were supervised.
It was practically a prison—but a well-paying one.
All factory workers were female serfs, and this counted as their compulsory service. The work was light, the environment clean, and upon completing their service period, they got paid—far better than digging roads or building houses. A few troublemakers had been expelled early on, and no one dared test the rules after that.
All workers were screened for good character before hiring. And being serfs, their fates rested in their lord's hands. Even when home on leave, they never dared to speak of their jobs. A single tattletale from their village could ruin them.
Besides, even if someone tried to bribe them, they wouldn't learn anything useful. Total waste of effort.
Felix had always prioritized security in the factories. Even with constant staffing shortages, he refused to hire freemen—too risky.
Three or four days into the papal stay, just as Weiwei was wondering when to politely send them on their way, a servant in charge of tending to Raymond came running to her with a message.
The Pope and his two cardinals were always accompanied—by both castle staff and their attendants. This servant reported that Pope John's aide had repeatedly tried to sneak into the alchemists' labs. Each time, he lingered, peering about as if he were up to something.
The servant had caught him a few times while delivering food and water to Master Raymond. At first, he thought nothing of it—it was the Pope's attendant, after all. But then he saw the man lurking around other labs too and started feeling suspicious.
"He keeps hovering around the alchemists' labs," the servant said indignantly. "I even saw him peeking through Raymond's lab door while the Pope and Master Raymond were inside—he's clearly up to something."
This servant had been assigned to Raymond since the alchemist first arrived in Sardinson. Though at first put off by Raymond's disheveled appearance, he'd grown to respect his brilliance—especially after seeing how much the Countess valued him. Everyone in the castle knew that the half-length, crystal-clear standing mirror and the precision clock that needed winding only once a day were both made by him.
Once he realized Raymond was the real deal, the servant became respectful and attentive, even earnestly flattering him. Raymond appreciated his sincerity and occasionally allowed him to assist in the lab.
Thanks to this, the servant had overheard discussions between Weiwei and Raymond. He knew they intended to mass-produce the inventions—and he'd seen the mirror and the clock himself. He understood just how desirable they'd be to nobles.
So when he saw the Pope's aide sneaking around, it was obvious what he was after.
Weiwei shared the suspicion. The mirror wasn't exactly a secret—she had already sold hand mirrors in the capital. As for the clock, it sat in her study and was known to the castle staff. Bishop Umberto had visited that study on his first day—he might've mentioned it to someone.
Thankfully, Raymond was cautious. Once contracted, he treated all inventions as proprietary to his employer. When delivering a finished product, he also submitted the full blueprints. Even if someone tried to pry, he wouldn't talk.
After the Pope's arrival, Weiwei had checked in. Their current research focus was on a universal medicine—purely the Pope's passion project, unrelated to Sardinson. The other three alchemists were also not working on anything sensitive. So there was no urgent concern.
Still, the attendant's behavior was too suspicious to ignore.
He was the Pope's man. Was this Pope John's idea?
Even with Raymond vouching for him, Weiwei didn't fully trust the Pope—or Umberto.
"Keep a close eye on him. If he does anything else suspicious, arrest him immediately."
"Yes, my lady."
The servant left, fired up. He planned to bring others with him—if that aide so much as twitched suspiciously again, they'd nab him. With witnesses and evidence, he wouldn't be able to weasel out of it.
Weiwei, seeing his determination, was no longer worried. He was just a low-ranking aide. Now that they were watching him, he was unlikely to cause real trouble.
And yet, it didn't take long for real trouble to arrive.
Since returning from their outing with the bishops, Weiwei had gone back to managing estate affairs. Roberto, for his part, now played it quiet—staying in the castle and barely showing his face. Bishop Umberto, meanwhile, had become her shadow, following her everywhere.
His excuse was perfectly reasonable: he wanted to learn about agriculture.
Not long after agreeing to the trade with Felix, Umberto received the wheat cultivation manual. For experienced farmers, it was easy to understand. For someone without hands-on knowledge, it was much harder.
Knowing that Weiwei wrote the booklet, Umberto sought her out with questions. She happened to be heading to the fields that day, so he eagerly tagged along.
Partly, it was genuine curiosity. But he also wanted to understand a strange new practice: after harvesting wheat, instead of letting the land rest before the autumn planting, Sardinson was planting oats in between.
"Can you harvest oats before the next wheat crop? What if they don't mature in time? And doesn't the land need to rest? Wouldn't this exhaust the soil?"
Weiwei had originally planned to check on the villa, but changed course with Umberto present, choosing instead to visit the other fields.
Along the way, Umberto peppered her with questions. He'd never farmed himself, but he knew land was supposed to lie fallow. Planting without pause sounded reckless.
Weiwei laughed. "Oats take about three to four months to mature. Autumn wheat is sown in October. So, if we plant oats in June and harvest by October, the timing works. Of course, not all regions can do this. Sardinson has the right climate. Your homeland might too, but I've never been there, so I can't say. If you want to try, legumes are also a good choice—they improve soil fertility. You can harvest them in the fall and still sow wheat without depleting the land."
Umberto was Roman, and had spent most of his life in Church headquarters. Rome had a Mediterranean climate, much like Melk Town in southern Sardinson. If it worked in Melk, it would likely work in Rome too.
Of course, she could have mentioned peanuts, corn, sweet potatoes, sesame, or cotton. But cotton demanded rich soil and deep roots, and Mediterranean soil was too loose and dry. As for the rest—Weiwei wasn't about to share her exclusive crops.
Given the murky state of Church relations, she already felt she was being more than generous.
Umberto got the message. He chuckled, grateful, and cheerfully followed Weiwei around, asking questions in the blazing sun without a care. When he started to sweat heavily, Weiwei had someone bring him a straw hat.
He accepted it with a smile. "Don't look down on me—I spent over ten years in a monastery. A little sun is nothing."
A decade in a monastery and he didn't know how to farm? Weren't monasteries supposed to practice asceticism?
Weiwei nearly blurted it out—but held her tongue.
If she had, Umberto might've explained that his monastery was no place for toil. Their local lord was a violent noble obsessed with buying his way into heaven. He generously funded the monastery so the monks could pray constantly to cleanse his sins—freeing him to sin freely while alive.
So the monks prayed, and little else. Everything else was done by hired hands.
Umberto hadn't even worn his cardinal's robes today—just the plain brown robe of a humble cleric. The serfs in the fields took him for an ordinary monk and paid him no attention, focusing on Weiwei's instructions.
Umberto worried he'd forget something, borrowed Weiwei's pen and paper. Fortunately, she always brought a clipboard with clipped sheets for easy note-taking. She removed her used pages and handed him the rest.
Writing a line with the pencil, Umberto marveled, "This pen and paper are much more convenient than quills and parchment."
Weiwei smiled. "If you like it, please keep it."
He accepted without hesitation. "Do you sell these? I'd love to take some home."
"These are made for internal use. We haven't started selling them yet, but if you'd like some, I'll check if we have extras."
He wasn't surprised to learn they were Sardinson products—by now, he expected every clever invention to come from here. He thanked her again with a smile.
But before they could stay long in the field, a soldier came galloping toward them, raising a cloud of dust. He dismounted, breathless.
"My lady, you must come quickly—the Pope and Master Raymond have been injured!"
"What?" Both Weiwei and Umberto blanched.
"How serious is it?" Umberto demanded, face darkening.
The soldier wasn't sure—he was just a messenger. "There was a loud explosion. Smoke came from the tower. They say Master Raymond's experiment went wrong."
As for the extent of the injuries, he didn't know. He hadn't seen them—just got sent out to find Weiwei. Several soldiers had been dispatched in different directions.
"I'll go at once." Weiwei grabbed the reins, swung onto the horse, and took off in a gallop.
Watching her ride away like the wind, Umberto stood dazed for a moment before asking why they hadn't called a doctor.
The soldier puffed up. "The Countess is the doctor. She's very skilled."
Not just skilled in medicine—but in horseback riding too. Her posture rivaled any knight's.
Snapping out of it, Umberto climbed into the carriage and ordered the driver to return to the castle.
Weiwei, riding like the wind, covered in five minutes what had taken twenty before.
She dismounted at the gate, handed off the reins, and hurried inside.
A servant was waiting. "This way, my lady!"
She tossed her hat to a maid and followed, asking about their condition as they rushed through the halls.
"They're both unconscious. His Holiness has only minor scrapes. Master Raymond's leg… it's probably broken."
Weiwei's eyes narrowed. "Where's Kama?"
"She's already there."
Raymond and the Pope had been carried out of the lab—but not far. Kama, who had been processing herbs in the courtyard, had rushed over after hearing the explosion. After confirming with the other alchemists that the smoke wasn't toxic, she'd stopped anyone from moving the injured further.
Bishop Roberto arrived soon after and was furious that the Pope was left lying on the floor. Kama stood her ground, insisting that moving them without a doctor could worsen their injuries. Until medical approval was given, they were to stay put.
She'd learned from Weiwei and remembered every word, following protocol to the letter.
If she'd arrived any later, the two men might've been left in the wreckage.
Felix backed Kama's call. Letting the Pope lie on the floor? Well, better than aggravating his wounds. Besides, they'd laid down rugs first—he wouldn't catch a chill.
When Weiwei arrived, a crowd had gathered outside Raymond's lab. Roberto was shouting at people, demanding to know why no doctor had arrived yet. In the center, she could glimpse the two unconscious figures. Kama knelt beside them, treating the Pope's wounds.
The lab door was shut tight, the cracks stuffed with cloth to keep smoke in. From below, Weiwei saw no more smoke.
The hallway was narrow, but the crowd was relatively small—most guards had been sent away. Even so, it felt cramped.
"Make way! The Countess is here!" the servant shouted.
The crowd parted immediately.
Weiwei stepped forward, knelt, and began her examination.