Chapter : 661

He felt a pang of something that resembled guilt. He was deceiving the people who had given him their loyalty, manipulating them with a false dream. But the soldier in him crushed the feeling without mercy. Sentiment was a liability in wartime. And this was war. The enemy had an agent inside his command structure, and the only way to find them was to give them a target they couldn't possibly ignore.

He had just handed them the coordinates to his most valuable, non-existent asset. Now, all he had to do was wait for them to make their move. The clock was ticking.

The day after the bombshell meeting, a new, palpable energy coursed through the manufactory. The secret of Project Sunstone acted like a powerful stimulant, imbuing every mundane task with a sense of higher purpose. The team worked with a renewed, almost feverish intensity. The tedious process of mixing soap and crafting dispensers was no longer just a job; it was the engine funding a world-changing revolution. Lloyd, observing it all, had to admire the power of a well-told lie.

His own performance had to be flawless. For the entirety of the next day, he dedicated himself to the art of deception. He locked himself in his study, refusing all but the most urgent interruptions, cultivating an air of intense, secretive work. The truth was, he was meticulously crafting the props for his stage play.

He was not an alchemist, but he had the memories of KM Evan, a genius engineer who had spent decades reading scientific papers and technical journals. He understood the language of science, the structure of a research proposal, the visual grammar of a technical schematic. He drew upon this deep well of knowledge to create the fake Sunstone documents.

The portfolio was a masterpiece of forgery. He began with the "foundational theory." He filled pages with elegant, flowing script, detailing the fictional principles of "resonant bio-alchemy" and "cellular energy absorption." He invented new alchemical symbols, created complex but internally consistent equations, and cited non-existent academic texts from the Royal Academy's own archives. He wrote with the confident, authoritative tone of a master scholar, a man who had uncovered a fundamental truth of the universe. It was plausible, impressive, and utterly meaningless.

Next came the engineering diagrams. Here, the Major General truly came alive. He sketched detailed, multi-angled schematics for the "Sunstone Infusion Chamber." He designed a device that looked both magical and mechanically sound. It featured a central, crystal-lined focusing array, intricate arcane conduits, and a series of pulsating energy regulators. He added notes in the margins, discussing power fluctuations, heat dissipation, and calibration tolerances. Anyone with a background in engineering or artifice would look at the plans and see a work of profound, practical genius. It was a beautiful, functional machine designed to perform an impossible task.

Finally, he added the "research notes." He filled a separate journal with entries detailing his supposed journey of discovery. He chronicled fabricated experiments, noting down "failed" attempts and "minor breakthroughs." He wrote of late nights spent wrestling with complex equations and moments of sudden, brilliant insight. He even faked a few pages with smudges and what looked like tear-stains, crafting a human narrative of struggle and triumph. He was not just creating a lie; he was creating an entire history for that lie.

By the time he was finished, the collection of documents was more than just convincing; it was seductive. It was a complete package, a turn-key guide to remaking the world. It was a prize that any monarch would sacrifice a legion for, a secret that the Altamiran spy network would consider the greatest coup in their history.

That evening, as the factory was closing down, he orchestrated the next phase of his plan. He made a point of being seen by Jasmin and Pia as he left his study. He carried the heavy, leather-bound portfolio under his arm, his expression weary but triumphant, the very picture of a man burdened by the weight of a great discovery.

"A good day's work, my lord?" Jasmin asked, her voice full of her usual quiet respect.

"Productive, Jasmin. Very productive," Lloyd replied, allowing a tired smile to touch his lips. "The path to the future is paved with long hours." He deliberately let her, and Pia, see the portfolio. "I'm leaving the preliminary research here for the night. I need a fresh perspective in the morning. Make sure the study is locked securely after the final cleaning."

"Of course, my lord," Pia said, her voice as quiet and efficient as ever. She held the key ring for the manufactory's various offices. "I will see to it personally."

Chapter : 662

Lloyd gave her a nod of thanks, the perfect picture of a trusting master. "I'm counting on you, Pia. These documents… they are more valuable than all the gold in the ducal vaults."

He watched their faces. Jasmin’s was filled with simple, unadulterated awe for her brilliant lord. Pia’s was a mask of placid competence, her eyes betraying nothing. If she was the traitor, she was a master of her craft.

He left the manufactory, the first part of the trap sprung. He had confirmed the existence of the prize and, crucially, its location. He had also established that Pia, as part of her routine duties, would have both the access and the opportunity to get to it.

The final piece was surveillance. He couldn't post guards; that would be too obvious and would scare the spy away. He needed an invisible eye, a silent witness. He needed Ken Park.

Later that night, in the privacy of his estate suite, he met with his bodyguard. He didn't need to explain the full scope of the betrayal. Ken was an intelligence professional; he would understand the need for discretion.

"Ken," Lloyd said, his voice low. "I have a task for you of the utmost sensitivity. It requires absolute stealth and patience. I need you to place my manufactory study under continuous, covert surveillance. 24 hours a day."

Ken’s expression didn't change, but a flicker of understanding passed through his dark eyes. "Is there a specific threat, my lord?"

"Let's just say I've laid some cheese in a trap, and I need to know which mouse comes to nibble," Lloyd replied cryptically. "I need you to observe the study from a hidden position. No one goes in, no one comes out, without you knowing. I need a record of every person who enters that room, what they do, and how long they stay. You are not to intervene. You are not to be seen. You are a ghost. Your only purpose is to watch and report."

Ken gave a single, sharp nod. "It will be done, my lord."

"There is a portfolio of documents in the top-left drawer of my desk," Lloyd added. "This is the bait. Your primary objective is to see if anyone attempts to access it. If they do, I need to know who, and I need to know what they do with the information."

With his orders given, Lloyd felt a sense of grim finality. The stage was set. The actors were in place. The script was written. All that remained was for the final, tragic act to play out. He had created a beautiful lie, and now he had to wait and see whose soul it would corrupt. The waiting, he knew, would be the hardest part.

The next twenty-four hours were a masterclass in controlled patience for Lloyd. He went about his day with a deliberate, almost theatrical normalcy. He attended his lectures at the Academy, engaging his students in a lively debate about the logistical challenges of supplying a legion on a long-term campaign. He met with Master Elmsworth to review the latest profit-and-loss statements for the AURA brand, feigning intense interest in the minutiae of their distribution network. He even spent an hour in the training yard, practicing his swordsmanship with a focus that was entirely for show.

Every action was a performance, a carefully constructed alibi designed to project an air of business-as-usual. He needed to appear completely engrossed in his public duties, blissfully unaware of the serpent he had unleashed in his own garden. The traitor, and by extension their handlers, needed to believe that the security around Project Sunstone was lax because its creator was distracted by his myriad other responsibilities. It was a dangerous, nerve-wracking game of psychological chess.

Beneath the calm facade, however, his mind was a coiled spring of tension. A part of his consciousness was perpetually linked to Ken Park, a silent, invisible thread of connection. He received no reports, no updates, as per his own orders. Ken was a ghost, and ghosts do not speak unless they have something to report. The silence was agonizing. With every passing hour, a sliver of doubt crept in. Had he miscalculated? Was the bait not tempting enough? Or was the spy more cautious, more patient, than he had anticipated?