Chapter 14
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Translator: volt
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: Calm Down
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It's the late 16th century now, the 1580s—about 400 years before my original time.
In East Asia, Toyotomi Hideyoshi is burning with ambition to conquer Joseon at this very moment.
In just three or four years, the Imjin War will erupt, engulfing all of East Asia in the flames of war...
Sigh. If I wanted to get involved in the Imjin War, I'd have to cross both the Atlantic and the Pacific.
So, what I need to focus on right now is...
16th-century Europe.
The era of early capitalism and colonial empires.
In Europe, the Ottoman Empire has seized hegemony over the eastern Mediterranean, commercial capitalism is rising in England, and colonial powers are extending their reach into America, Africa, and Asia.
...But that's not exactly the answer I'm looking for either.
What major event exploded like a sudden flame in 16th-century Europe? Not long-term trends like the rise of capitalism or colonial expansion—what was the massive, instantaneous spark?
What else? The Protestant Reformation, of course.
By the 1580s, England, Germany, and other regions have all turned Protestant, while in France, Protestants and Catholics are still locked in war.
The conflict between England and Spain has various causes, but religion plays a major role too.
Yeah.
This is an age of religious fervor. Sects slaughter each other indiscriminately—living or dead, no mercy.
...Of course, fanaticism has its upsides too. It was Christian priests who tried to stop the exploitation of natives in Central and South America. There's a socially reformative side to it.
...But not for me.
I'm screwed.
How would I look to these Christians inflamed with religious zeal? Even to a European swept up in the madness who hadn't seen one, I'd be a shock. Didn't the natives prostrate themselves when they saw me?
...
...
...
This won't do.
I can't let this continue.
First, I need to give them time to cool off.
I just won't leave the house for a while. I've been tinkering with stuff inside anyway, so it won't seem suspicious.
Yeah.
I hurriedly closed every curtain in the house, barricaded myself in a room with boiled potatoes, and thought.
Please, everyone, just calm down...!
Calm down...!
"It's been quite a while since that one stopped coming out of the manor."
"Might Nemo perform another miracle? Like last time..."
"Shh. Quiet. Silencio."
The English women, who had been chattering away, clamped their mouths shut at the words of some nameless Spanish man. It was hard to tell that just moments ago, they had been ready to kill each other.
"...Now, let's focus. Today is a joyous day. Isn't it the day when so many men and women have walked into our midst of their own accord to become our brothers and sisters?"
"..."
"..."
"..."
At Mr. Huet's words, everyone sat down, their faces beaming with joy.
He was right. Countless natives had promised baptism and joined the gathering.
As Eleanor took her seat anyway, Vicente Gonzalez, the governor of Santa Elena sitting beside her, whispered in English.
"By the way... is this Huet fellow a priest?"
"Well, yeah, sort of? For now, he's our priest."
"Uh... 'sort of' a priest? What do you mean?"
"Our priest passed away last year, so we just elected a pastor among ourselves. Mr. Huet is a Calvinist, so..."
"...?"
"For the record, I was against it! But with no priest, what could we do...?"
Pastor... elected... by themselves?
Vicente's Catholic identity trembled faintly.
...Is it okay for me to be here? Will I even get to heaven?
-"I didn't attack you because you're Catholic. We even have non-Christians among us, right? Religion isn't the issue."
Ahem. Of course not. An angel guaranteed it.
Vicente recalled the angel's words as he had treated his wounds and shuddered again. The thrill of that divine touch sweeping over his body was indescribable.
Since such a being had protected this community, this gathering was surely a holy church.
He decided to think of it that way.
After several sermons and songs, Thomas Huet lifted something that seemed oddly out of place in a church.
Shing.
"Ah, aaah!"
"My God... is that 'it'? The real thing?"
But those gathered only grew more excited, rising from their seats. Huet nodded calmly, thrust 'it' into the dirt floor, and knelt.
'It' was a sword.
The blade, hilt, and crossguard formed a perfect cross, making it look utterly holy embedded in the earth.
Just days ago, 'it' had been nothing more than an ordinary sword.
A common Spanish soldier's blade.
Not anymore.
"Behold. Proof of the miracle...!"
Huet displayed the sword with an ecstatic smile, and everyone gasped, trembling and weeping.
In this moment, there were no divisions between Catholic, Protestant, or non-Christian.
"When our Lord shed His precious blood on the cross to forgive our sins, and we confirmed His true death with the spear, we call it the Holy Lance and revere it.
And when we were starving to death or killing each other in this New World, He saved us—so shouldn't this sword, witness to His immortality, be called the Holy Sword, Gladius Sanctus?"
"Yes!"
"Ah! Lord! Look upon Your angel and the flock he shepherds!"
"Aaaah!"
"'Israel is a luxuriant vine; it yields fruit for itself. The more its fruit increased, the more altars it built; as their land flourished, they adorned their sacred pillars' (Hosea 10:1)!
My friends, ancient Israel received God's grace but fell into luxury and indulgence, multiplying altars and beautifying pillars, earning His punishment.
Now He has come again with the vine, and we shall establish a new Israel on this land. Will you repeat the mistakes of the past?"
"No! Never!"
"Ah, aaaah!"
"Then repent! The Lord has sent us His angel—follow him!"
...Honestly.
Honestly, Vicente inwardly wondered, Is this really okay...?
Elected... a pastor?
And Mass... in English?
Wasn't this shattering every bit of common sense built over 45 years as a Catholic?
But.
...Eh, it'll be fine.
Honestly, that common sense had already flown out the window the moment the 'angel' regenerated his arm. So it didn't matter. Vicente focused on fervent prayer again.
"Now, rise and receive His... ahem, the Eucharist."
Eucharist time now, he thought, standing up... Huh?
"Hup. Cough..."
"What's wrong? Oh, don't spill it!"
Of course. The host is the Lord's flesh, after all.
He gulped down the nearly spilled 'host' in a panic and asked Eleanor in bewilderment.
"This... isn't it made from wheat?"
"Yes! Made from potatoes!"
"...???"
"We have to source everything locally. See that wine for the blood? We made it ourselves too."
"...Are there grapes here?"
"Of course! Lots... uh..."
"...Lots?"
"Well... the taste is..."
"..."
Is it okay to hold Mass like this?
Eh... probably.
Anyway, they bungled through the Mass, Huet's sermon continued, and the church gathering ended.
Flutter. Flutter.
Now it was Eleanor's time to shine.
As the settlement's representative, she had spent more time with 'the angel' than anyone, and he seemed to trust her.
"He... um... told us, 'If people need a reason to save other people, isn't that just too sad?'"
Huet jotted it down verbatim.
"'Seek no reason in saving others. He is the Lord's sorrow.'
...Good enough."
"Uh... it wasn't said so authoritatively?"
"It's our new law."
"He told me too! He said He attacked me not because I'm Catholic, but to save the weak! Religion isn't an issue!"
"The angel said, 'Do not be bound by the path to faith...'"
And so, not long after 'Nemo' had secluded himself.
A book was being written.
"H-Hello, sir..."
"Hello, Virginia. Sleep well?"
"Yes..."
"Where's your mother?"
"Over there, picking land for the natives to live on."
I glanced in the direction Virginia Dare pointed. Eleanor was scouting new settlement sites with Manteo and his mother.
This Croatoan Island's soil is sandy in places. Low elevation, full of wetlands, small size, and awkwardly distant from the mainland.
So Manteo's tribe had asked if long-term residence here was feasible for them too.
Even they, long-time natives, couldn't grow staple crops consistently and wandered periodically—how could they settle here?
The answer was simple.
1. Grapevines are salt-tolerant and thrive by the sea.
2. Potatoes grow well in sandy soil.
And what's our staple food?
Bam. Problem solved. Fertilize for nutrients, and haul unlimited fresh water from our farm.
That's how our 33 could settle long-term.
-"P-Please, let us live near you...? The whole tribe was baptized for you!"
-"...When?"
-"While you were in seclusion!"
-"..."
Plus, Manteo and other young tribesmen knelt and begged, so the tribe abandoned their old villages and was relocating nearby.
"About 200 more people coming to live here..."
Unbelievable.
Anyway, we have plenty of seed potatoes and crops, so accommodating them is no issue. Manteo's wandering tribe would finally settle on this island.
And the Spanish prisoners... no, converts now... were building their own village nearby.
The settlement ballooned in size overnight.
...What if it keeps growing?
Typical novel protagonists hide such boons, but with hundreds already knowing my 'privilege,' can I silence them all?
If not, how do I survive here as an alien race, an otherworldly being...?
"Ah, Mr. Nemo? Mommy's coming!"
The toddler Virginia, barely walking a few months, spun around me and shouted.
Snapping from my reverie, I patted her head, gave her a Shine Muscat grape, and walked to Eleanor.
"Eleanor?"
"Ah, Mr. Nemo!"
"Is Manteo satisfied with the location?"
"Yes! He's even happier now that food is plentiful."
Eleanor cleared her throat and replied.
"They only had about 3,000 vines left for trade... so they were a bit worried about food.
Starting next month, more will come in waves beyond this advance party. Over there! The natives are building a settlement!"
"Hahaha... ha, I... see."
The tribesfolk had already built a few huts, in a form that...
No matter how I looked, that didn't resemble any traditional native housing.
"...Am I imagining it looks like my house?"
"...No."
We stared blankly at the crude replicas of 'Green Gables,' lost in thought.
...What the heck is happening to this settlement?
Anyway, the settlement grows.