Although the delays in their journey had left Bishop Roberto fuming, unable to vent his anger, the trip hadn't been entirely fruitless.
As the Earl and Countess Williams had said, all of Sardinson County was in the midst of an intense wheat harvest. Recently, farmers adept at reading the weather predicted a significant rainstorm was on the way. To prevent the remaining wheat from being spoiled by the downpour, they were working around the clock—even after dark, fields were lit by bonfires, and farmers toiled through the night to bring in the crops.
Because of this, many of the county's construction projects and factories that required labor were temporarily shut down. With factories paused, even if church envoys were sent in to gather intelligence, they wouldn't be able to observe any actual operations. Asking around wasn't fruitful either—everyone was too busy harvesting to stop and chat.
So, some resorted to posing as seasonal laborers, blending into the fields, doing odd jobs while casually striking up conversations. This method proved surprisingly effective.
The first bit of intelligence that came in was, naturally, news of Sardinson's unprecedented bumper harvest.
Crop yields were of utmost importance—this was universally true.
"They managed to get twelve hundred pounds of wheat per acre, even on poor-quality land?" Bishop Roberto nearly flung his Bible in shock upon hearing this.
Originally, the carriage arrangements had the Pope in one, and the two cardinals in another. But one of the cardinals had joined the Pope in his carriage to discuss alchemy with Raymond, leaving Bishop Roberto to listen in on the knights' scouting reports alone.
"It's true. Most of the poorer plots produced even more than that" reported a Templar Knight.
As landowners of modest-sized fiefs—typically around 700 acres—knights were heavily reliant on crop yields for their income. They were often more concerned with agricultural output than even high-ranking clergy like Bishop Roberto and more keenly aware of how shocking such numbers were.
When he first heard the figures, the knight couldn't believe them either. He insisted on working a full day in one of those fields himself, nearly breaking his back from the labor, just to witness the entire process—from harvesting to threshing to weighing. When the numbers were confirmed, he took his pay and left, earning the farmer's praise and a request to return the next day.
Of course, they wouldn't be seeing him again.
"I've also heard that in Sardinson, some yields have reached twenty-four hundred pounds per acre. That's from the Earl's demesne. And not just a few fields—large swaths of his land are producing yields close to that. Even the worst-performing parts of his estate have not fallen below eighteen hundred pounds."
Naturally, the Earl's demesne consisted mostly of high-quality land, though overplanting had led to signs of soil exhaustion in some plots. The use of fertilizer had only recently begun and wasn't yet enough to fully restore soil fertility, leading to some inconsistencies in output.
Still, such cases were rare. In a few more years, as fertility was restored, even those disparities would disappear, and an average yield of two thousand pounds or more per acre would be well within reach—perhaps even exceeded.
These were details unknown to most. For someone like Bishop Roberto, whose understanding of agriculture was purely conceptual, the mention of twenty-four hundred pounds on high-grade land was enough to make his heart skip a beat.
He clutched his chest, feeling as if his heart might burst from within.
He muttered, "A miracle like this… why wasn't it granted to the Church?"
The Church owned vast tracts of farmland—truly immense. Its wealth wasn't just a myth. The Church was the largest landowner in many places. Of course, the clergy couldn't possibly farm it all themselves; most of the land was leased out to serfs. While most clergymen lacked noble titles, their lifestyles were no different from aristocrats—sometimes even more lavish.
So when Bishop Roberto viewed Sardinson's harvest as a divine miracle, his heart grew bitter—this miracle did not belong to the Church.
The knight, misinterpreting his silence as a question, continued, "The people of Sardinson all say this year's bounty was thanks to the Countess."
During a harvest, people are always eager to praise the one they believe made it all possible. Even though most of the orders came from the Earl, the people of Sardinson were keenly aware that the real changes had begun with his wife. The innovations were foreign to this continent—if they had originated here, someone would have known of them by now. The Earl never denied his wife's contributions and even encouraged his people to honor her as they honored him.
So without needing much prompting, the knight only had to casually mention her, and a chatty farmer began sharing all about how Lady Wei Wei had taught them to farm, and how her guidance had brought about such an abundant harvest.
Of course, the more technical information—like the use of fertilizers and pesticides—left the knight confused. Particularly the use of manure. How could something so filthy help wheat grow?
He relayed everything he'd heard back to Bishop Roberto.
Using filth to grow food? Poisonous substances to kill pests?
Roberto's first reaction was to label that woman who had frightened them not long ago as a disciple of the devil.
Only the devil would use such vile and bizarre methods. That woman must be a heretic—a devil-worshipper who must be eradicated.
He began considering whether they could use this accusation to force Sardinson to reveal their secrets. If the evidence was compelling enough, even nobility could be subjected to the Inquisition. If they refused to confess…
His expression grew cruel—then they'd meet the same fate as countless heretics before them.
But that thought quickly crumbled.
This wasn't Rome. Nor was it any country under the Church's sway. They were in the Pradi Empire.
The Church's relationship with Pradi had always been strained. Their recent visit to the capital had made that abundantly clear. The King's attitude toward the Church was polite at best. The nobility was ambiguous—some were willing to do business under the table, but none showed open support.
This stance stemmed from the early days of the Empire. When the kingdom had just formed, the Church tried to meddle in its politics, as it had in other lands. But the newly crowned king, a former noble himself, was already fed up with the Church's interference and shut them out entirely.
When they failed to gain political power, a red-robed cardinal led a conspiracy to overthrow the crown by rallying other nobles. The plot failed.
Pradi I, decisive and iron-fisted, crushed the rebellion and immediately executed all involved clergy and nobles. Despite the Pope's repeated pleas to hand the priests over to the Church, Pradi I ignored him and even escalated matters by arresting all clergy in the Empire, interrogating them, and punishing them according to their crimes.
Only a few were released, and those thanks largely to nobles outside the capital quietly intervening. Had they not, the entire clergy might have rotted in prison.
The Pope was furious and tried to rally neighboring nations to punish Pradi, but no one agreed to allow Church forces passage. They preferred Pradi over a meddlesome Church.
Add to that the Crusades occupying everyone's attention and resources, and the idea of punishing Pradi faded into obscurity. The Church lost face, and the grudge lasted for decades. Only after the deaths of both Pradi I and the Pope did relations slightly improve—but only on the surface. Pradi's stance remained: "You may preach. But meddle in our politics, and we'll cut off whichever hand you extend."
Nobles soon realized that with the Church out of the picture, their authority grew. No more clergy jumping in to demand this or that. No more rules about fasting or abstinence. Eat meat during Lent? Who'd stop you?
And so, none of them helped the Church regain power.
Still, after nearly a century, most had forgotten the past. The Church's influence in Pradi slowly crept back—rising, getting crushed, rising again. A frustrating cycle, but one that showed some results. They'd even secured a few privileges from nobles in exchange for not threatening royal authority. Without that progress, the Pope's current visit wouldn't have included Pradi at all.
Which is why Roberto's scheme to use heresy as a weapon would never work. The Church had no such power here—and if they tried to send inquisitors to Sardinson, they'd likely be detained immediately.
From what Roberto saw in the capital, the King of Pradi was quite fond of Sardinson. If forced to choose between the Church and that county, he'd stand with Sardinson without hesitation.
Worse yet, if the miracle of Sardinson's harvest had reached the royal demesne—as rumors hinted—it was all thanks to Sardinson sharing their methods.
Accusing Lady Wei Wei of heresy would be tantamount to accusing the King of heresy.
And if that accusation became public, the Church's presence in Pradi might be wiped out overnight.
Bishop Roberto's mind worked quickly. Just as he figured all this out, the knight added, "The Countess is said to be from a distant land called the Silk Country. What she teaches… it's all from there."
The East. Yes—he'd nearly forgotten.
She was a foreigner. But from a land powerful enough to nearly wipe out the Mongol Empire. Rumor had it she held high status back home. She might appear alone now, but the two continents weren't completely cut off. How else could she have made it here?
If that country ever found out what the Church had done…
Would Rome even still stand?
She might not be that important, but she made a perfect excuse for war.
Having once experienced the terror of the Mongols, Europeans viewed the East with lingering dread. A nation that could defeat the Mongols? Even more terrifying.
Roberto was thoroughly spooked by the possibilities. He dared not think of branding Sardinson as a heretic again.
Still, while schemes were shelved, intelligence-gathering continued.
He gestured for the knight to come closer, instructing him to uncover just how Sardinson had achieved such yields.
The knight hesitated. "It'll be hard in so little time."
"Then leave someone behind," the bishop ordered. "Find out how they did it—no matter what."
The knight inwardly cursed. Their group was made up of clergy, Templars, and mercenaries. None of them could stay behind without drawing attention—especially foreigners like themselves.
He agreed outwardly but planned to play it by ear.
In the end, intelligence-gathering was both harder and easier than expected.
While he assumed the secret to abundant crops would be tightly guarded, he soon found that every Sardinson farmer knew how to compost manure. The Earl's castle hadn't tried to hide the technique—in fact, they'd openly promoted it.
Getting the method was a breeze.
The only true secret was the new pesticide. Highly toxic, its recipe was known only to Wei Wei and Kama. The knight had no access to either.
Still, with the composting method in hand, he returned and proudly handed his parchment to Bishop Roberto. The bishop wrinkled his nose at the content but still ordered it sent back to his fiefdom for use by his serfs.
Coincidentally, the knight had the same idea. If his fief used it, next year might be a harvest year too.
Neither of them realized that fertilizer use required precision—timing, quantity, and method all mattered. Used incorrectly, crops could fail.
But the knight hadn't asked for those details.
So whether the serfs back home would succeed… well, they'd just have to pray.
And while Bishop Roberto quietly celebrated the acquisition of this "secret"—unaware it was common knowledge in Sardinson—his knight had exaggerated the difficulty of obtaining it to win favor.
Meanwhile, another cardinal had already easily acquired the real secret from Felix.
Cardinal Umberto, the more dovish of the two, had naturally noticed the bumper harvest. Even the Pope, obsessed with his alchemical debates, was aware. He'd asked Umberto to look into it.
Unlike Roberto, who avoided commoners, Umberto had quickly realized that everyone in Sardinson knew how to farm. People even spoke of how, when they couldn't solve problems, the Countess herself would step in—and that her solutions would later be distributed as printed instructions.
The knowledge wasn't secret at all.
But rather than go around asking farmers, the Pope and Umberto had agreed it would be better to formally approach the Earl and Countess for a knowledge exchange.
And they'd prepared an offer.
Just as the Pope had guessed, Umberto also believed that during the journey was not the right time to discuss it. So he waited until they reached the castle before approaching Felix.
Felix didn't expect the cardinal's "important matter" to be truly important, but given the man's courteous manner along the journey, he agreed to hear him out.
Umberto got straight to the point: "I have a lead regarding the attack on your wife in the capital. I assume that interests you, Lord Earl?"
At the mention of Wei Wei's attack, Felix's casual demeanor vanished.
He'd never stopped investigating the incident, but beyond identifying three suspects, there had been no progress. Despite quietly pressuring their families, none had slipped up.
It had reminded him how shallow his roots in the capital still were. No matter how strong his lands became or how prosperous his businesses grew, he wasn't yet part of the Empire's true upper class.
But now—new information had come to him.
Felix's gaze turned ice-cold. Umberto, though he knew the look wasn't directed at him, still felt a chill. "What do you want in exchange?" Felix asked.
Sensing the emotional leverage, Umberto smiled. "His Holiness and I simply wish to be on good terms with you. That's all."
That was partly true—they had intended all along to build a relationship with Felix. His intense reaction, however, told Umberto they could gain much more than expected.
Felix narrowed his eyes. "You know Pradi's stance on the Church. If you want me to side with you, don't bother continuing."
He regretted the potential loss of information, but he knew his priorities.
Eventually, he'd uncover the truth himself—of that, he was sure.