Chapter 26
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Translator: volt
Chapter: 26
Chapter Title: [The One Who Is No One]
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"Haa... haa... This setup is a total pain in the ass."
I'd pulled an all-nighter reading the Bible and the game catalog, so my body was worn out. Trying to keep working alone right away just drained me.
I slumped into the folding chair I'd left in one corner of the farm, placing the Large-Print Revised Korean Bible—the one I'd bought for my dad when his eyesight started failing—next to the Immortal Order catalog and flipping it open.
Then I carefully examined every instance of angels descending or appearing.
The results... were exactly the same as what I'd seen yesterday.
Angels protected people and waged spiritual war against demons. As God's instruments, they served humanity and the church, and when the final judgment came, they would eradicate all evil from the world.
They comforted the fugitive Hagar, announced Jesus's conception to the Virgin Mary, soared through the skies, drove off demons, burned 185,000 Assyrian soldiers, and appeared in visions to prophets, revealing the future.
So, what could I do from all that?
Appear suddenly before a saint? No idea who the saints of this era were, but there sure as hell weren't any within a thousand kilometers of here.
Fly through the skies? Obviously impossible. The Wright brothers were still over two hundred years away, for reference.
Teleport in and smite demons? Nope. No clue how long until teleportation gets invented. Assuming it even can be.
Burn 185,000 people? If I could do that, I wouldn't be human anymore...
...Come to think of it, with instant body regeneration, I'm probably not human anyway. Scratch that last part.
Anyway.
Out of all the angels' myriad powers, there was only one I could imitate.
Prophecy.
...Strictly speaking, theologically, angels can't prophesy—it's all visions from God—but that doesn't matter.
Anyway, angels appear to prophets like Daniel and Zechariah, or John, showing them visions of the future or explaining them. The angel at Fatima in the twentieth century showed visions to the witnesses, too.
That's the key.
Angels are heralds of prophecy.
And I... I could deliver that "prophecy." How?
-Immortal Order: Origin—Game Appendix and Lore Booklet
With this.
Plus my shallow knowledge of world history, I could foresee decades—no, centuries into the future.
This would manifest the angel's "power."
But... this alone wasn't enough.
I looked human on the outside.
I couldn't emit light from my body, I didn't have wings, and I wasn't some bizarre non-human entity from the Bible with dozens of eyes on chariot wheels.
In other words, I had the angel's "power," but lacked the "majesty."
...I glanced around.
This was the inside of a greenhouse heavy with Shine Muscat grapes on the verge of harvest. Grapes held huge symbolic weight in the Bible, too—just like when Jesus said, "I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener" (John 15:1).
And above all, this was indoors.
Inside the half-finished greenhouse, I whispered softly.
"Walter... Raleigh..."
"Waaaalter... Raaaaleigh..."
The voice, amplified several times over, began booming from the speakers scattered everywhere.
Filling the enclosed space, it created a majestic atmosphere with its insane volume, overwhelming omnipresence from all directions, and the unique reverb of a sealed room.
Yeah... who knew the karaoke machine and speakers I'd been strong-armed into buying for village events would shine like this.
Anyway, I'd hidden the speakers thoroughly, so Raleigh finding them was out of the question.
Here, I would reveal the angel's "majesty."
Of course, just cranking the reverb on the speakers might not scare him off. They were just seasoning—the real core was the "prophecy" power.
To a sixteenth-century man quaking at a voice from all sides, I'd whisper the future. Looking like a prophet at least shouldn't be too hard.
If the plan worked... Raleigh would kneel before the power and majesty, and I would descend before him.
As the angel of the New World.
I set the Bible down.
"We're almost there! Croatoan in sight!"
At the shout, Walter Raleigh picked up the Bible from the bow. He crossed himself repeatedly, stifling bursts of laughter.
Wealth and glory.
He had chased them his whole life.
Born to a fallen gentry family, the despised youngest son, he'd clawed his way into the heart of English politics with nothing but his own charm and boldness.
Yet...
He was still just the queen's jester.
Francis Drake commanded vast fleets, racking up feats that etched his name in history.
William Cecil, as the queen's secretary, imprinted his will on every aspect of governance. Some whispered she was his puppet.
Francis Walsingham, the queen's spymaster, snatched whispers from across Europe and murmured them in her ear. A gesture from him unraveled court secrets; a glance sent men to poison in the dark.
But only he... only he had lived as nothing more than the queen's plaything! And they envied him for wielding power beyond his station!
That repulsive Earl of Essex... that obnoxious Walsingham... He chewed over the faces of all the noble lords who scorned and belittled him, muttering: wealth and honor, wealth and honor...
How much grueling effort had it taken to earn the "Sir" before Walter Raleigh?
That effort... was about to bear fruit.
"Sir Raleigh? Something feels off, doesn't it?"
"...What feels off, Thomas?"
"No, last time I scouted, Croatoan was just a sandbar! The chance of an Indian emperor's palace fitting inside..."
"Nonsense. He's an emperor! He commands thousands with a gesture! A palace rising like a mirage at his word is nothing!"
"Possible, but why Croatoan of all places? Why come to some barren sand spit?
Besides, Croatoan is Manteo's hometown! Manteo never once mentioned a great emperor nearby..."
"Shhh!"
Walter Raleigh clamped Thomas Harriot's mouth shut.
"My... friend. Think carefully. You're usually so sharp—why spout this now? We're moments from meeting an Indian emperor surrounded by gold and jewels?"
"White's words don't hold up logically..."
"Her Majesty the Queen!"
He shouted excitedly.
"Doesn't Her Majesty tour her realm? Does she stick only to bustling London? Of course not!"
"..."
"A-and think! He's an emperor, but also the Lord's lamb! A fragile soul trembling before the Gospel, begging to submit!"
Yeah... Even those obnoxious noble lords were just equal souls of clay before the Lord.
All were the same before Him. Like a moment losing value before eternity, all finite pride crumbles before the infinite.
Raleigh—Sir Raleigh—pictured the great emperor in his mind.
"He's... thirsting for the Gospel. Then he meets us, bearers of it! Imagine his thrill? He's come to greet us! Waiting on this eastern isle of Croatoan!"
"..."
"W-we just present him this Bible and say..."
Your long wait is over.
Eternal bliss awaits you now.
"Think of it. That Cortes, that lowly Spanish hick, conquering an empire of cannibals by luck and claiming glory!
And Pizarro? Kidnapped the Inca emperor, held him hostage, seized the world's gold!
...But we're far more civilized than those Catholic savages. We won't threaten God's anointed king with sword and gun.
We'll anoint his brow with holy oil and proclaim to the world he's a legitimate king acknowledged by God!
His people will follow, converting en masse! Behind a mighty, wealthy, glorious emperor! Tens of thousands—no, hundreds of thousands, maybe millions!
Our glory will endure forever. We'll reach heaven, and Her Majesty will take pride in granting me—me—governorship of Virginia!"
When that day came...
He'd no longer be the virgin queen's bed toy.
Free from that wretched jest of a life, he'd become the great lord who Christianized the New World.
And history would honor him.
"We've arrived. Croatoan Island."
"Excellent, Governor John White! See the emperor's coastal fortress? Splendidly built! It radiates a great sovereign's majesty!"
"..."
"Is that his city at the road's end?"
"...Yes."
"Good! Thomas? You too!"
"I-I'll wait on the ship."
"...Serious? Eternal glory awaits?"
"..."
Tch.
Skeptical atheists were such a pain. Sir Raleigh shook his head and stepped onto Croatoan's sandbar.
Walking the road with White, strange huts appeared—crude two-stories, walls white, roofs green.
Natives and English mingling, their laughter-filled faces bolstering Raleigh's conviction.
Soon, a green wire fence around a modest manor came into view. Someone waited at the gate.
"...This is his residence."
"The palace?"
"In a manner of speaking... yes."
As the apparent guide approached, John White suddenly turned to Raleigh.
"Sir."
"What?"
"Mind your words with him. He's far nobler and more powerful than you imagine."
"I know..."
"No. You don't."
"..."
What?
The unease he'd sensed in White's attitude surged.
Why such deference to a savage emperor? For saving his daughter and granddaughter? Maybe.
But...
Didn't he speak as if his true lord was that emperor?
As if the emperor of this land—not the queen or himself—was his superior.
As if this land's emperor towered far above England's king or whatever.
"..."
"You there, Hewett? This is Sir Raleigh. Guide him..."
"Pleased to meet you, Sir Raleigh. Thomas Hewett."
At Hewett's call, he whipped his head around, shaking off the unease.
Silly thoughts. One slip following White's warning could ruin everything.
This moment couldn't be marred by anyone.
This moment—when he seized eternal wealth and glory—had to be perfect above all.
"Yes. Excellent. The emperor must trust you utterly to keep you inside like a steward."
"...Pardon?"
"Where is he? I can't bear not to present this Bible!"
"Ah, in the garden. Let me open the doo—"
"I'll do it!"
Kiriririk!
Ignoring Hewett and White, he strode ahead.
An emperor fluent in English.
One who moved thousands with a gesture.
Possessor of countless jewels, metals, fruits.
And the great future governor of Virginia to meet him.
He ignored the odd, unfamiliar manor shape. No questions about the transparent walls and ceiling overwhelming the garden.
He saw only immortal glory and infinite wealth in every vista. It all proved his conviction, and his conviction made all evidence.
In that cycle of self-assurance and stubbornness, his steps... gradually slowed.
He reached the garden where the emperor awaited.
It was late night from the voyage, yet the emperor still waited—excitement overtook him.
Raleigh pushed open the transparent door and stepped in. As courteously and boldly as possible, he declared:
"I behold the exalted face of His Imperial Majesty!"
And.
Silence.
"..."
Darkness had fallen everywhere. Stars gleamed through the transparent ceiling, but no moon. He blinked repeatedly to adjust...
A narrow path appeared.
A man standing before it.
And flanking him...
"Grapevines?"
Tak!
The greenhouse interior blazed. Blinded by unfamiliar artificial light, he instinctively shielded his face with both hands.
Then slowly... lowered them.
A man stood right before him.
...Not quite what he'd pictured.
Taller than him, no flashy tattoos or colorful trinkets. Neither naked nor draped in finery—just plain white clothes.
The man glanced down at Raleigh, then casually pulled out scissors and snipped a grape cluster.
Fresh grapes fell into the box at his feet. Dazed, Sir Raleigh whispered:
"A-are... you His Imperial Majesty?"
"..."
The man turned, flashing a slight smile. He repeated the harvest mechanically, smile lingering.
"I heard you're fluent in English... Do you understand me?"
The "emperor" turned again, offering only that enigmatic smile before focusing on the grapes.
"..."
"..."
In this awkward silence, Raleigh floundered, unsure.
Kneel in reverence? Or offer the Bible first...
"Sir Walter Raleigh."
...Ah.
A soft yet resolute voice echoed through the farm. Unthinkingly, Raleigh dropped to his knees, offering the Bible from his bosom.
"I-I heard Your Majesty thirsts for the Lord's teachings... So I brought this English Bible. Please..."
"Shhh..."
Thud.
The man silenced Raleigh, placed a hand on the Bible, and gently pushed him aside.
"..."
"..."
"..."
This was... unexpected. This...
Tak.
"Sir Walter Raleigh."
And the next instant.
...His voice boomed.
The emperor clearly stood before Raleigh.
Yet the voice came from the left, then the right. From ahead, then behind.
The "emperor's" voice struck his body fiercely from all sides.
And.
"I already live in the Lord's light."
That... was the first sentence Sir Raleigh heard from the "emperor's" lips.
Son of a fallen gentry house.
To survive court and avoid noble scorn, he'd mastered Latin and French. As an explorer, Spanish and Portuguese too—all as fluent as his native tongue.
And.
In all those languages...
The "emperor's" voice resounded.
As if heard not with ears, but the heart.
"Why offer me words confined to letters?"
...Ah.
My God.
He wasn't merely fluent in English.
White and the others heard it as native fluency because they had only one such language.
This man...
This being...
Speaks every human tongue.
Trembling uncontrollably in infinite awe, Sir Raleigh asked:
"Wh-who... are you?"
The "emperor"—no, this overwhelming existence that might not even be human—replied:
......
......
......
I am no one.
The Bible slipped from Walter Raleigh's grasp as he dropped his other knee.
Before "The One Who Is No One."