To Felix, this was an unexpected delight. He had already learned about the refugee situation and was planning to persuade the king to allow him to bring people in.
After all, these were foreign refugees. Buying them as prisoners or slaves was one thing, but accepting them en masse as immigrants was another. Moreover, the refugees were currently gathered at the western border—territory that still belonged to other nobles. If he wanted to recruit people there, he'd need the king's permission before taking any action.
But before he could even bring it up, the king had already offered. That was even better. Naturally, Felix had no reason to refuse.
After leaving the palace, he returned to his residence and immediately arranged for someone to take the royal decree to the border to begin recruitment. Since he had already planned for this, his team was prepared, and a portion of them had come precisely for this task, making mobilization quick and efficient.
Once the recruitment team was dispatched, Felix summoned Kingsley.
Kingsley had been stationed in the capital for some time now, following leads on the mercenaries who kidnapped Wei Wei. With a small squad, he had quietly taken three mercenaries from a remote monastery. They were aided by contacts from Bishop Umberto, and their actions were so covert that the monastery's other inhabitants didn't notice until it was far too late.
Of course, kidnapping them wasn't the only plan—Kingsley left people behind to continue surveillance, hoping to uncover whoever might contact the monastery afterward.
Surprisingly, the monastery itself showed little reaction to the missing mercenaries. Maybe there was some initial commotion, but things soon quieted down under the monastery's control. That wasn't too unexpected; after all, without someone's permission, the mercenaries wouldn't have been hiding there in the first place.
Although no letters were sent and the abbot didn't leave the premises, the surveillance team did catch a minor detail—he briefly interacted with a firewood delivery man. For those under strict orders to miss nothing, even that was worth noting.
They tracked and interrogated the woodsman, but the result was disappointing. He genuinely knew nothing. He'd always delivered wood to the monastery. Recently, someone had paid him to keep an eye on the abbot during his deliveries. If everything looked normal or he didn't see the abbot, he was to place a few stones on his windowsill. But if the abbot ever said a specific phrase to him, he'd remove the stones and replace them with a bunch of wildflowers.
That day, the abbot said the phrase. He had already made the swap. Now that the message was delivered, his job was done.
After confirming that he was truly uninvolved, they let him go but instructed him to keep placing the stones to maintain the ruse. They also kept monitoring the area—but after days of surveillance, no suspicious figures showed up. That lead was a dead end.
Felix asked Kingsley, "How are those three holding up?"
Kingsley looked at his master with genuine admiration. "One of them is nearly insane. The other two aren't doing much better. But they all talked. Turns out they'd been lying before."
The mercenaries weren't being held at the Count's residence, but in a remote house owned by Allen outside the city. On the very first day Felix arrived in the capital, he had a pitch-black isolation room prepared and ordered that the mercenaries be locked in it for a full day and night—no contact, no conversation.
Kingsley followed the orders exactly. The result? Three nearly deranged men teetering on the edge of collapse.
These mercenaries had previously withstood brutal torture without revealing the identity of their employer. But after just one day in the dark room, they spilled everything—eagerly, desperately, as if afraid of being thrown back in.
The effectiveness of the method was shocking. These were hardened men who had endured physical torment without flinching. Yet mere darkness had broken them.
Just like other knights who couldn't resist poking around, Kingsley had snuck into the isolation room to try it for himself. Less than thirty minutes later, he emerged silently.
That feeling—being completely enveloped in darkness, as if the world had ceased to exist—was deeply unsettling.
"This time, they named Baron Clift," Kingsley reported. "All three of them said the same thing."
Baron Clift—the King's Keeper of the Seals.
Felix drummed his fingers on the table, tapping in a slow, rhythmic beat as he recalled what he knew of the man.
Clift's family wasn't particularly influential, but the baron himself was highly valued by the king—otherwise, he'd never hold such a sensitive position. As Keeper of the Seals, Clift was responsible for safeguarding the royal seal and assisting with the drafting and issuing of official documents. It wasn't the most powerful office, but with enough audacity, it could easily be abused to forge royal orders. Anyone in that role had to be someone the king trusted implicitly.
If it was him, things would get complicated. Felix couldn't be sure the king would side with him. After all, Wei Wei hadn't been harmed. Once the king knew the true culprit, he might only demand an apology from Clift—no real punishment.
Especially now, more than half a year after the incident, the king would have forgotten how worried he'd been at the time.
After a long pause, Felix asked, "Do you think they're telling the truth this time?"
Kingsley nodded. "I believe so. They even provided additional evidence. I've already sent someone to retrieve it."
This testimony was far more detailed than before. The mercenaries described their contact with Clift's household steward and revealed they had kept evidence out of fear their employer might betray them—just like what had happened to the two "comrades" who were killed.
Soon, the evidence was delivered to Felix: a woman's gown and a half-burnt letter.
The dress had Clift's family crest embroidered inside the collar—likely an old dress used as a disguise during the kidnapping. A new garment could be traced back to a purchase; an old one could be destroyed afterward with no questions asked. Unfortunately for Clift, the mercenaries had kept it.
The letter was even more damning. It was written by the baron to the monastery's abbot, asking him to hide the mercenaries. The letter bore Clift's signature and family seal. It was supposed to be burned after reading, but during the burning process, the mercenaries had distracted the abbot and salvaged half of it. The remaining section clearly showed his signature, the seal, and part of the content—directly requesting the abbot to provide shelter.
Felix lifted the half-burnt parchment, puzzled. "If he already got rid of two of them, why bother hiding the other three? Wouldn't it have been easier to kill them all?"
Kingsley replied, "They answered that. Clift was planning to kill them. But when the first two were disposed of, he got spooked. The remaining three had kept evidence and told him it was being held by a third party. He didn't dare act."
Mercenaries were not easy to deal with. They lived on the edge, and any mistake could cost them their lives. These three had reputations and plenty of connections. Leaving a safety net was standard procedure—just in case their employer decided to use them as scapegoats.
Ironically, the evidence wasn't even handed off to someone else—it was simply well hidden. And now, it was in Felix's hands.
With this testimony and the physical proof, they had likely found the real mastermind behind the kidnapping.
Now that he knew who was responsible, Felix didn't go straight to the king. He knew it wouldn't help—at best, the king would demand an apology and maybe some compensation. That wasn't the outcome Felix wanted.
He wasn't looking to kill Baron Clift—yet. For now, he aimed to strip the man and his family of their influence, then slowly dismantle them.
Step one: make the king lose trust in him.
The Keeper of the Seals held a precarious position. Even the slightest hint of corruption or abuse could ruin him. If Felix could prove that Clift had once used his position for personal gain—or worse, had ties to the church, which the king despised—then his downfall was all but guaranteed.
Back when Felix was still narrowing down suspects, Clift had already raised red flags. For a mere baron, it was suspicious how large a share his family had in the spice trade—almost half the capital's market.
Felix also remembered something from his days as a knight: he once saw Clift having a private conversation with a certain royal family member—someone who was third in line for the throne, right after the two princes. That alone was enough to spark suspicion.
Now that he had confirmation, he could begin leaking information—though not personally.
The Keeper of the Seals might seem like just a glorified royal secretary, but many minor nobles coveted that seat of power.
While Felix was busy in the capital setting traps for his newly confirmed enemy, back at the castle in Sardinson County, Wei Wei once again checked her pulse.
Her period was now two weeks late, and her pulse was beginning to show signs of slippery pulse—a classic indicator of pregnancy. With no other symptoms, she could confirm it.
"Really?" Penny, the only one present, nearly squealed with joy. She turned to rush out and share the news. "I'll go tell everyone right now!"
"Come back." Wei Wei called her back. "Don't say anything just yet."
Seeing the confusion on Penny's face, she gently patted her stomach with a warm smile. "I want to surprise Felix."
This kind of good news should be shared with the father first. But since Felix wasn't around, it wouldn't do for him to be the last to know.
And she couldn't write to him either—he might drop everything and rush home. Knowing him, that was a very real risk.
So for now, she decided to keep it secret. It was still early, and there was a small chance it was a false alarm. When Felix returned, the timing would be just right.
Penny, seeing Wei Wei's logic, agreed. She imagined the Count's face when he found out and couldn't help but stifle a giggle.
"Should we tell Qin and the others?"
They were all close personal maids. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed.
Wei Wei thought for a moment. "You can tell Qin. Don't tell the others yet."
Qin and Kama were both discreet, but the other three might leak it to the butler—and once the butler knew, Felix would know too. To avoid unnecessary drama, she chose to keep it between the two maids who had been with her the longest—Penny and Qin.
As expected, Penny went to Qin and whispered the good news. Qin was delighted and agreed to help keep the secret until the Count returned.
Still, Wei Wei's joy was hard to hide. Everyone thought she was just in high spirits because of the bountiful harvest. Even Butler Barton noticed something odd, but he was too busy to dwell on it—missing the chance to uncover the surprise early.
That year's autumn harvest was the best in Sardinson County's history. Yields doubled across the board.
Even the late-planted oats, sown after the wheat harvest, were doing well. Though they matured later, they wouldn't delay the next wheat planting. Wei Wei planned to grow corn, potatoes, and sweet potatoes on some of the same land next year, so the delay didn't matter.
But of all the crops, the one she cared about most was rice.
When she returned from the capital earlier that year, she had relocated crops unsuited to the castle's climate to the town of Melk—including rice.
Rice wasn't entirely unsuitable for the climate of Sardinson Castle its weather was quite similar to northern China, so it could be grown. But paddy fields were a lot more labor-intensive than dryland crops. As a newcomer, Wei Wei had avoided making a big scene with such a demanding project on castle grounds, opting to grow rice as a dryland crop instead.
Because of that, last year's harvest had been poor—only 100 jin (about 50kg) of rice from a tenth of an acre.
These weren't hybrid rice seeds, of course. They were high-yield varieties by medieval standards, producing around 800–1000 jin per acre. Nowhere near Yuan Longping's hybrid rice, which could reach 1,800 jin per acre, but still significantly better than Europe's average of 500 jin per acre. However, planting rice in dry soil naturally led to heavy losses.
On top of that, she'd used some of that rice to make foundation powder. What little was left for sowing was even less.
This year, she'd had proper paddies prepared in Melk and transplanted seedlings grown from the remaining rice. With hybrid rice, a single acre needs only two or three jin of seeds, but conventional rice needs ten jin per acre. That meant her less-than-100-jin stock managed to sow nearly 8 acres of land.
These plots were the first to be harvested this fall. The serfs brought back about 6,100 jin of rice—not exactly a bumper crop, but certainly not a failure either.
It wasn't hulled yet, but even seeing the grains brought tears to Wei Wei's eyes. She had gone so long without eating real rice.
With this much, she'd have more than enough to plant next year. Still, she wasn't planning on large-scale expansion—rice was expensive to grow in Europe and climate-sensitive, making it prone to failure. Just a small patch to sustain her own needs would be enough.
So, Wei Wei had 300 jin of rice milled and hulled, then cooked herself a steaming pot of white rice, paired with a few small dishes.
This time, she didn't share the food with the whole castle—not because she was stingy, but because most people didn't care for rice.
Rice wasn't completely unknown in Europe, but it was uncommon, and locals found it tasteless and more expensive than wheat. Only nobles bought it for novelty or as a show of wealth.
So no one thought it odd that Wei Wei ate it alone. Most people were puzzled by her taste for something so bland.
But watching her happily eat by herself—something she hadn't done for ages—Father Matthew, who had recently started dining alone for propriety's sake, and Butler Barton both took notice.
Barton, moved by her joy, quietly decided to head to Dingle and see if any foreign merchants sold rice. If not, he'd place a special order—whatever it took to ensure his lady could continue enjoying it.
It had been a full year since Wei Wei last tasted proper rice. And though their milling techniques were crude, resulting in a lot of broken grains, the taste was still heavenly. She could've cried from happiness.
She ate rice for several meals in a row, finally sating her cravings. After that, she began rationing the supply, hoping it would last until next year's harvest. She didn't plan to plant much, but growing more was always better.
With her stomach finally satisfied, Wei Wei turned her attention to Raymond.
He'd been confined to a guest room for a full month. His bones felt like they were about to fall apart. Every time he saw Wei Wei, he asked when he could get out of bed. Wei Wei, annoyed by his constant pestering—especially after Felix left and her workload doubled—had left his wound care in the hands of Kama and his servant.
After all, the two of them had always helped during treatment. With a bit more training, Kama had learned how to apply casts and bandages, and the servant could assist. Between them, they managed just fine.
Now that Wei Wei finally had time, she went to check if Raymond could have his cast removed—and she brought a gift.
"I had this made for you."
She clapped her hands, and a servant wheeled in a wooden wheelchair.
It was heavy and all wood, but with it, Raymond wouldn't be stuck in bed all day. Even though he could soon walk with crutches, the chair would make things easier.
Since his guest room was on the third floor and not wheelchair accessible, Wei Wei had already had a suitable room prepared on the first floor. He'd be moved there soon.
Naturally, Raymond was thrilled. Seeing the wheelchair gave him confidence—whether he fully recovered or not, he could still do experiments in it. That was all that mattered to him.
"Even if I can stand, it doesn't mean you can return to the lab," Wei Wei said, seeing right through him. "Don't forget—it exploded. The new one isn't even finished yet."
It was almost finished. Modern construction in her domain was highly efficient. The new research institute, a one-story lab with minimal decoration, was nearly done—interior work was underway, and the alchemists would be able to move in soon.
She just wasn't planning on telling Raymond that yet.
She carefully removed the cast from his injured leg to examine the healing. After a month, the surface wound had healed nicely, with only a slightly raised scar.
There was no way to do an X-ray, so she had to rely on a hands-on examination. After gently feeling the bone alignment, she confirmed that the leg no longer needed support.
"So I can stand now?" Raymond asked hopefully.
Wei Wei nodded. "You can, but don't put weight on that leg yet—and no walking around for too long. We'll start rehabilitation soon."