Chapter 49

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Translator: volt

Chapter: 49

Chapter Title: Guests from France (3)

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"...".

"...".

"...".

"...Walter, step aside for a moment."

"Yes."

"Eleanor, could you hurry a bit? Where's the painkiller?"

"Right here."

"Thank you."

"...".

"...".

"...".

This was the hospital. Ever since sending Margaret to London to establish a clinic in Southwark, others had been taking turns playing doctor.

...Let me quickly sum up what had happened.

First, the English couldn't stomach the insult to Lady Eleanor the 'Saint,' so they beat the hell out of this so-called French expedition.

Then the natives hurriedly intervened, asking why they were beating these people to death, and they'd been brought here for now.

"Ugh... guh... kuhk...".

"Hic... heek...".

All four were out cold, and fortunately, no visible critical injuries. At least for now.

What if one of them had serious internal damage? They gonna die?

We ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠kill a foreign expedition in our community? That gonna cause problems?

"Are you okay?"

"...Doesn't seem like it. But thanks for asking, Eleanor."

Whew.

I'd been blindsided by this unexpected variable, my head all foggy. Time to pull myself together.

A French expedition shows up out of nowhere. Nothing like that in the game catalog, for sure.

Which could mean they were insignificant in original history.

Or maybe their very existence was something that never happened in original history.

...My gut said the latter. No, the game catalog listed every expedition from 16th-century England, Spain, France, and so on, with names and routes.

So...

'Butterfly effect?'

What did I even do?

...Thinking about it, I'd saved a failed colony, converted Walter Raleigh, started a new denomination, cured the Black Death in London, and spread aluminum, fruit, and luxuries through England.

Lots of stuff.

I wasn't some novel protagonist who hogs all the opportunities and whines, 'Hmm... the main party's growth is too slow.' I could accept it quick.

Given everything I'd done, a butterfly effect made perfect sense.

France eyeing the New World earlier after seeing the fruits of my labor? Plausible as hell.

Yeah. Situation grasped.

Now the question: 'So what now?'

Convert them all on the spot?

Nah. Walter Raleigh had the right timing, and I had the time and resources to invest in converting even one guy like him.

Not now. Population boom means we're tapped out.

What could I even offer them? Another prophecy like with Raleigh? But with history this twisted, a half-assed prediction going wrong?

Doubt there's much gain in recruiting them. Raleigh was the queen's favorite; these guys? Just explorers?

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

France is in civil war to boot—who's side are they on? Invest in a losing stock? Pass.

Best to steer clear for now.

"Walter, I've hidden Damascus away, so I'll take off for now. Their care and surveillance are yours."

"Understood."

With that, I left the hospital. Shortly after, screams erupted behind me—they must've woken up.

...Handed it to Raleigh, so no more worrying.

I've got plenty on my plate already.

A few days later, François was back to normal.

His slightly misaligned jaw was fixed, and the swelling from his busted nose and face was subsiding.

Still, the thrashing stuck with him, so he stuck close to the lodgings, a bit spooked... until he overcame the trauma and, under the English 'escort (aka surveillance),' started checking out spots in the settlement.

"So... the population only boomed recently?"

"Yes. Used to be around 10,000, then natives flooded in over a few months, doubling it."

"Ha! Interesting."

To him, only the settlement's flaws stood out.

Houses stood in rows of dozens, but most folks lacked proper shelter—tents or crude native huts.

No real fields either; most crammed crops into narrow plots, scraping by day to day.

Obvious they'd forcibly inflated numbers recently.

A few more months, and this 'fake empire' might've looked more impressive population-wise, but he was already here—no use.

And that wasn't all.

Swarming.

"What's that over there?"

"Uh... looks like another tribe coming to submit."

"With treasures?"

"Voluntarily."

Natives offering suspiciously huge hauls of treasure to submit 'voluntarily'?

Bullshit.

He hadn't scouted properly, stuck here, but clearly the English conquest was ongoing. Or famine-fueled extortion with food as leverage.

Forced migration, plunder, conquest.

The three things the English swore they never did—all happening at once. François couldn't hold back a bitter smile.

This the peaceful 'civilization'? The moral 'evangelism'?

"Hold up—you can't go out today."

"Why?"

"...Just can't."

Worse, sometimes the English locked them in without warning.

A few days later, out they'd go: dozens of acres of forest gone, or new fields plowed.

Obvious.

Forced labor.

Enslaving natives and working them to the bone. No other way to clear that much land so fast.

François concluded.

"Nephew, we've got enough intel. Time to go."

Samuel replied,

"Huh? But there's tons more to see."

Hm? More to see?

"Like what? Shackled native slaves?"

"No! Captain, ever seen potatoes like these? Way tastier than Europe's, and bigger too! And the chickens— so fat and huge..."

Samuel gushed excitedly.

"The natives—not savages, the locals—their farming tech is insanely advanced! That 'hoe' tool they use, everything's amazing!"

"...".

François rubbed his temple at his nephew's idiocy.

"You."

"Yes, Captain? What do you think of these wonders..."

"Think about it."

Even a child could answer.

"Why would an advanced farming folk ditch it for nomadic hunting and gathering?"

"...Huh?"

"If their ag tech's so great, why the wandering life instead of settling?"

"Uh, well..."

"Sure, big chickens, tasty potatoes. But maybe crap yields?"

"Nah, food seems plentiful."

"Imported from England, then. So only local potatoes tasty, local chickens big? Chickens even native here?

Fell from the sky sounds more realistic."

"...".

Having demolished his foolish nephew's points, François stood.

"These savages are just savages. Pitiful ones exploited by England. Now, prep to leave..."

"But the emperor's authority? Everyone seemed in awe of him."

"...".

"They all say they eat and live thanks to the 'Great Chief.' Means an organized government..."

"Emperor's got such authority? Local chiefs get axed easy."

"What?"

"And 'thanks to emperor' sounds like primitive religion. Peasants believe kings heal wounds too."

"...".

"Think. Emperor feeds them?

Not dropping potatoes from the sky, is he? Not plowing hundreds of acres himself?"

All silly superstition.

"Above all, if civilized, they wouldn't fold to English so easy..."

"Don't seem dominated. And if ag tech's undeveloped, explain the sweet grapes?"

"Always been sweet."

"If brutally exploited, why gifts and submissions?"

"Threats or famine bribes. Drought now, right?

Or food surplus—new colony overflowing? Unlikely."

"...".

"...".

This debate could drag forever.

They glared, arguing... then noticed the other two missing.

The pair were glued to the window, peering out.

"What're you two...?"

"Huh? Watching the native emperor."

"...What?"

Emperor.

The one they'd never properly seen.

"H-how do you know that's the emperor?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Obvious at a glance? Wanna see?"

They rushed to the window, spotting a distant crowd.

English and locals mingled, surrounding one man.

He stood head and shoulders above—easy to spot.

All knelt or bowed carefully.

Even the English.

Baron Raleigh among them, like a vassal at his side.

"...".

"...".

They fell silent.

"H-hey! Can't look out now!"

Their English watchers rushed in, slamming the window shut.

But the sight lingered.

Even from afar... their gazes weren't ordinary.

"Captain? Gotta revise what I said. Not awe, more like..."

"...Love."

He was beloved.

François and Samuel yanked out notebooks and pens, scribbling furiously.

Report for His Majesty.

The next day, after finishing, they left the English colony.

The strangest experience of their lives.