The Bishop’s pronouncements had been like a poisoned dart, striking at the heart of Alaric's burgeoning progress. While his inventions had initially been met with curiosity and wonder, the seed of doubt planted by the Church was proving remarkably fertile. Villagers who had eagerly lined up for purified water now whispered about unholy tampering. Nobles who had considered investing in Alaric’s factory now questioned its potential to anger the Divine.

Archimedes, ever vigilant, relayed the escalating unrest through harvested social sentiment analysis. "Lord Alaric," the AI’s disembodied voice echoed in Alaric's workshop, "Bishop Morian's sermons are effectively swaying the populace. Protests are gathering momentum outside the city gates, and several influential families are publicly distancing themselves from your… endeavors."

Alaric ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. The failed attempt on his life, orchestrated by Lord Harrington and abetted by the Bishop, had been a temporary setback. He had believed exposing the conspiracy would solidify his position. Instead, it had fueled the fire of fear and superstition. Accusations of dark pacts and unnatural meddling clung to him like a shroud.