Pope John regained consciousness in the early hours of the next day. The servant assigned to keep watch immediately informed the others. Though dawn had only just begun to lighten the sky, Weiwei and Felix had to get dressed and head downstairs to check on him.
Inside the guest room, both cardinals who were staying on the same floor as the Pope were already present, along with Father Matthew.
To Weiwei's relief, Pope John's condition was better than she had anticipated. While he complained of dizziness and nausea, his consciousness was clear and his speech coherent.
After asking him a few basic questions, Weiwei nodded with satisfaction. "You're doing well. No signs of lasting side effects. As long as you rest and take your medicine on time, you'll make a full recovery soon."
Initially, Pope John hadn't spoken due to his nausea, but now that he was feeling a little better, memories of what had happened began to resurface. He immediately asked after Raymond's condition.
"Master Raymond is still resting," Weiwei replied, then gave a brief overview of Raymond's injuries.
Seeing that the Pope was clear-headed, Felix asked directly, "Do you know how the explosion occurred in the lab?"
"I'm just as confused," Pope John replied, frowning. "It wasn't a particularly dangerous experiment—and I've done it before with no issue."
Felix pressed further. "If you've done it before, did you ever share the steps with anyone? Or did anyone help you with the process?"
Though his head was still throbbing, the Pope easily caught the implication in Felix's words.
"Why are you asking this? Did you find something?"
Felix didn't hide it. "Three alchemists examined the scene. A foreign substance was added to one of your containers—something that should not have been there. One of the servants caring for Master Raymond witnessed your attendant sneaking into the lab at lunch and adding something to the equipment."
"Sean? Impossible!" Pope John's first reaction was outright denial. "He's served me for years—always loyal, never caused any trouble. He would never betray me!"
"Unfortunately, the facts may not support your hopes," Felix said calmly. "After the servant spotted him, Sean fled immediately—many people saw it. If he were innocent, why would he run?"
Pope John struggled to accept this. He turned toward Cardinal Umberto, who gave him a grave nod.
After a long silence, the Pope finally asked, "Did you capture him?"
"Yes," Felix replied. "He refuses to talk, but we found powder under his fingernails—identical to the substance that caused the explosion."
The name of the compound was long and technical. Felix couldn't recall it, but he remembered the alchemists' explanation: a fine powder that dissolves in water or other liquids. Under normal conditions it was stable, but when combined with two specific chemicals, it reacted violently. If the amount was large enough, it could cause a massive explosion.
Not all alchemists knew about this reaction. The only reason these particular ones did was because Pope John had mentioned it during lunch the day before—it had been his own discovery during experiments. No one else had this information.
Felix's men hadn't initially checked Sean's hands, but once they knew what substance had been involved, they specifically examined him—and found the powder under his nails.
After hearing this, Pope John was silent for a while before muttering, "It's true… I did let Sean help with that experiment once."
Not only that—he had even excitedly shared the chemical reaction with Sean, treating it as a curious anecdote.
He couldn't understand why Sean would betray him.
Reeling from the betrayal of someone so close, the Pope's mood worsened. His face twisted in pain as he shut his eyes and let out a faint groan.
"His Holiness needs rest," Umberto said tactfully, signaling that it was time to leave.
The others took the hint and exited the room quietly.
Once the door closed, Bishop Roberto—who had been silent until now—turned to Felix. "Count, since this incident involves a member of the Church, we should be the ones to interrogate him. Please hand him over to us."
The torches in the hallway had long since gone out. The only light came from a maid holding a candle, casting faint shadows over their faces—making expressions hard to read.
But Weiwei's senses were sharper than most, and her night vision was excellent. She turned to look at Roberto just as he made his request. His expression was steady, but she noticed he hadn't blinked once while speaking—and held the same expression for too long.
From all the dramas she'd watched, she knew what that meant.
He was far from calm—and likely lying.
His request sounded perfectly reasonable. The Pope's attendant wasn't just an ordinary servant—much like how noblemen often had noble attendants, a Pope's servant was at the very least a cleric and a formal member of the Church. In such a case, it made sense to request Church jurisdiction.
But if that were true, why was Roberto reacting so unnaturally?
Weiwei quickly guessed that he might have something to do with it.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible," Felix said firmly. "While Sean is a Church member, his actions directly harmed Master Raymond. We have the right to interrogate him."
Roberto did not argue.
Compared to the Pope—who suffered only some bruises and a bump on the head—Raymond had been seriously injured. Everyone had seen how bad it was. While Weiwei had treated him, no one truly believed his leg would fully recover. Just preventing the injury from worsening would be considered a success.
Raymond may have been younger than the Pope, but he was still in his fifties. At that age, even a mild illness could be fatal. Who knew how long he would last now?
With that contrast—light injuries versus life-threatening ones—the Church had no justification to demand custody.
Roberto tried to speak again, but Weiwei cut in before he could.
"No need to be so hasty, Bishop. Once our questioning is finished, we'll naturally hand him over. After all, he is His Holiness's man. It's only right the Pope decide his fate."
If they finished the interrogation, what use would the man be to Roberto then?
And if he was handed over to the Pope, Roberto would have no opportunity to meddle further.
Displeased, Roberto's face darkened—but the Count and Countess weren't about to give him the chance.
Felix said coldly, "Sean is just a servant. He wouldn't have had the motive or courage to harm His Holiness without someone else pulling the strings. So we need to find out who benefits most from the Pope's misfortune—that's who's most suspicious. For your reputation, Bishop, I suggest you stay out of this."
Roberto's expression turned stormy. "What exactly are you implying, Count?"
Felix, long irritated by Roberto, made no effort to hide his disdain. "Isn't it obvious? If the Pope dies, the Church will need to elect a new one. I've heard you're one of the top contenders."
That was a direct accusation.
Roberto nearly exploded. "You—!"
"I don't care how your Church plays its power games, but let me remind you—this is Sardinson County, not your territory. If anyone dares stir up trouble here, I will not let them walk away."
His gaze sharpened. "Don't let me find out it was you."
Because if it was, he'd deal with it the way King Pradi I would have—no mercy.
Felix dropped the statement and turned away without looking back, taking Weiwei with him.
Left behind, Umberto and Father Matthew exchanged glances. Both had a hint of satisfaction in their eyes. They shared a knowing smile and quietly returned to their rooms—leaving Roberto fuming, red-faced, and nearly out of breath.
But to the servant holding his candle, that fury looked a lot like guilt.
As Weiwei and Felix walked off, she whispered, "Do you think Roberto was behind this?"
Felix replied, "I can't be certain. But he's involved, otherwise he wouldn't be so desperate to get his hands on Sean."
That kind of panic was all the proof he needed.
Weiwei agreed. "Yeah. And remember that so-called curse on the Church?"
"The one that said God cursed the Western Church for warring against the East, which is why Popes have been dying young ever since?"
"Exactly," Weiwei nodded. "And isn't John supposed to support reunification with the Eastern Church? If something happened to him, they could say the curse was fake—and use that to push their candidate into power."
"That's probably why someone wanted John dead."
Before becoming Pope, John had also been a cardinal. His position came with benefits—and his personal history mirrored Sean's. He had once served as a papal physician himself, just as Sean did now.
John had mentored Sean and been preparing to elevate him. But whoever had bought Sean's loyalty must have offered something more tempting—real power, not just position.
And in the hawkish faction that currently controlled the Church, only someone at the top could have made such a promise.
"I had the same thought," Felix said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Also, if the Pope had died in our territory, they'd have a reason to investigate—and all their plans would be easier to implement."
That explained why Roberto had stayed so quiet—he was waiting for just this scenario.
Only, he hadn't expected Sean to get caught… or the Pope to survive.
"We'd better keep Sean under close watch," Weiwei said. "Make sure no one destroys the evidence—like poisoning him."
"Don't worry, darling. I guarantee even a fly couldn't sneak into that cell."
Felix had assigned guards to watch Sean round the clock. Even his food and water were tested on rats first, to prevent poisoning.
Their bigger concern was Sean committing suicide.
But with his limbs tied to a wooden frame and his jaw dislocated so he could only take liquid food… that didn't seem likely.
The next day, Raymond also regained consciousness.
He awoke from the deep sleep brought on by the anesthetic, the pain in his leg growing stronger until it finally roused him.
At first, he didn't understand what had happened. But then, the memory of the explosion came flooding back.
The pain in his leg was nothing compared to the shock.
He tried to sit up—only for the nearest servant to stop him.
"Master Raymond, please don't move. You need to stay in bed."
Maike came forward, gently pressing him back down. Instead of laying him flat, he propped him up with pillows, letting him rest in a semi-reclined position.
Raymond blinked in surprise. "Maike? Didn't you leave to visit your family? That was fast."
Maike poured him a cup of water. Raymond, parched, accepted it gratefully.
"I didn't go home," Maike said apologetically. "I suspected something was off with His Holiness's attendant, so I pretended to leave to catch him. I didn't expect he'd try to harm you both. It's my fault for chasing him instead of warning you. If I had, maybe you wouldn't have been injured."
He had felt guilty ever since. Raymond's leg had been shattered. Though treated by the Countess herself, few believed it would heal. Most just hoped it wouldn't require amputation.
If Maike had raised the alarm instead of going solo, perhaps the explosion could've been prevented.
He couldn't bring himself to admit he'd been trying to score personal credit with the Count and Countess. Everyone assumed he'd simply panicked—and he had no courage to correct them.
Now, facing Raymond, that guilt gnawed at him.
Raymond shifted, peeking under the blanket to see his heavily bandaged leg.
He froze.
He hadn't seen the wound, but from the tight wrapping and pain level, he knew it wasn't minor.
But that wasn't his focus right now.
"You said Sean sabotaged the experiment? What about Giulio—is he alright?"
"The Pope's fine," Maike reassured him. "Just some bruises and a bump on the head. Madam insisted he stay in bed."
"Thank goodness," Raymond sighed.
Then he glanced at his leg, trying to reach it. But the injury was to his lower leg, and he couldn't bend far enough.
"How bad is it?" he asked, trying not to sound afraid—but his voice trembled.
Maike avoided his gaze, pouring another glass of water. "The cabinet landed on your leg. It was… broken."
If they hadn't noticed the strange reaction in the beaker and stepped away early, they might both be dead.
But even so, they hadn't escaped the blast. Pope John was struck in the head by falling debris, and Raymond's leg had been crushed.
Raymond had suspected as much, but hearing it out loud still stunned him.
Fortunately, he didn't yet know how bad it was. If he had—if he knew the bone was shattered, and that he'd just undergone surgery—he might already be spiraling into fear of amputation… or worse.
Maike hurriedly excused himself. "Please wait, Master. I'll go get the Countess."
Raymond was left blinking in confusion. Why the Countess? Shouldn't they be calling a doctor? Or at least the Count?
Maike quickly found Weiwei and told her Raymond was awake. She put down her work and rushed over.
"Good morning, Master Raymond. How are you feeling?"
She walked straight to his bedside, sat on the stool brought by a maid, and began examining his face and pulse like a proper physician.
Watching her work, Raymond finally understood why Maike had gone to fetch her.
She was the doctor.
"Not bad, just… my leg hurts a lot," he said with a pained smile, tapping his right thigh. "Madam, is it… serious?"
Weiwei was still checking his pulse. "Not too bad. The surgery was a success. As long as we keep the wound clean and change the dressing regularly, you should recover."
"Surgery?" Raymond's face went pale. "It was that serious?"
He had a friend who was once a doctor. He knew what surgery meant—and how dangerous it was.
"Just a comminuted fracture. You're lucky—no nerve or artery damage. The fragments weren't too bad. Once it heals, you should be able to walk normally again."
Weiwei didn't exaggerate. With her methods, he had a strong chance at full recovery. But she wasn't going to make guarantees—too many variables remained.
Raymond thought she was just trying to comfort him. His smile grew bitter. "No need to sugarcoat it. Shattered bones don't heal cleanly. Even if they fuse, they'll grow crooked."
He'd seen enough limping men to know the truth.
"I'm not sugarcoating anything," Weiwei said seriously. "You'll recover. Just don't be too pessimistic."
The mood was key to recovery—she couldn't let him wallow.
Raymond didn't believe her, but he wasn't the sort to give up. After a moment, he managed a weak smile. "So long as I don't lose the leg, I'll be grateful."
Weiwei let it go. Facts would speak louder than words.
"I've prescribed something for the pain. Try to stay still for a few days. Tell the servants if you need anything."
With that, she finished her check-up and left, issuing a list of instructions on her way out.
Back home, she vented to Felix.
"I said he'd recover just fine, but everyone acts like his leg's doomed. Can't they have a little faith in me?"
Her surgery had gone so well, she couldn't help feeling proud—but no one else seemed to share her optimism.
Felix chuckled. Honestly, he had his doubts too. But a smart husband knew better than to say that out loud—especially if he didn't want to be kicked out of bed.
Instead, he changed the subject. "When do you think Pope John will be fit to travel—at least well enough to ride in a carriage?"
Weiwei understood what he meant immediately. He wanted to know when the Church entourage would be leaving.
They'd been at Sardinson for some time. Originally, they planned to stay just a few more days. But with the Pope's injury, the schedule would have to change.
"His condition isn't serious, but not ideal for long carriage rides. He'll need at least two weeks to recover enough for travel."
That was the bare minimum, considering his age and slow healing.
"Two weeks is a long time," Felix muttered, frowning. The idea of hosting the Church for half a month wasn't appealing.
Weiwei tried to comfort him. "At least the current situation favors us. With the Pope hurt, they won't dare make a move. We'll just assign more people to watch them."
There wasn't much else to do.
"Oh, by the way, Sean still refuses to talk?"
"Yes. The guards said he admitted to tampering with the experiment after learning the Pope had woken up—but he still won't say why."
That was the troublesome part. They had the confession, but they couldn't torture the reason out of him.
Felix scowled. "That damn Roberto sent a Templar to monitor the interrogation. We can't even use a whip on him."
Sean was a Church member. With Roberto's men present, any harsh treatment would be framed as a forced confession—and they'd reject the testimony outright.
Speaking of torture, Weiwei's mind immediately flashed to the infamous "Ten Tortures of Ancient China."
Of course, they were civilized people now.
Weiwei smirked. "Darling, how do you feel about a little time in the darkroom?"