Chapter 5
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Translator: volt
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Means of Conversation
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Ah, waking up and feeling so refreshed.
Why is that? Because I've confirmed that this modern lifestyle isn't just temporary? Because I won't run out of pesticides right away when I start grape farming? Because I can use the computer, shower, dishwasher, and even the Nin**do Switch practically forever?
Shhhhhhhh!
"Ha, haha...!"
That's right.
Just taking a shower alone makes me burst out laughing and brings tears of emotion to my eyes.
If you ask why... it's because I've personally witnessed the despair of pre-modern life in real time for several days.
I still remember the wretched state of those Englishmen I met yesterday.
People who couldn't even wash properly, trembling in fear of dying from injuries without antibiotics or even red medicine, their eyes flickering on the brink of starvation.
I thought I'd end up like that in just a few months.
Let's be honest—who would be tougher between a frail modern person like me and the Englishmen who survived in 16th-century savage London? I figured my situation could only get worse, not better.
But not anymore.
I have cleanly disinfected tap water. No shortages of drinking water, no risk of skin diseases from poor hygiene.
On top of that, I have infinite electricity and oil. Yesterday, I checked, and the excavator was working fine, and the Damas started right up.
In other words, I can farm with 21st-century equipment! Even if it breaks, it'll reset after midnight!
In other words...
I won't starve to death.
From the morning, I headed to the cold storage near the house and checked the potatoes. They were all in perfect condition, not a single one rotten.
Then I inspected the vegetable garden and chicken coop nearby the house. Tomatoes and peppers were growing nicely, and the chickens were clucking away, laying eggs like clockwork.
...You guys are my food supply from now on.
I vaguely remember reading on some wiki that humans can survive on just milk and potatoes. If I farm potatoes well and raise chickens properly, I can greatly reduce the risk of starvation.
Plus, with chickens and eggs providing protein, I won't have to recklessly hunt around here and risk getting shot by some native's stray arrow.
Thinking that way calmed my mind considerably. Leftover antibiotics regenerate infinitely, so no dying from illness, and no starving either. The biggest threats of the pre-modern era are solved.
Now I can just leisurely farm and live my life...
'How big is my farm again?'
4,000 pyeong in area.
'Defenders?'
1 person.
"..."
No. This won't do.
I even bluffed against those 30 dying Englishmen up ahead and hid my location because they were a threat. Can I live like this forever?
Ridiculous.
This is the late 16th century. According to the catalog, sometime between 1588 and 1590.
Looking through the historical info in the catalog, Jamestown—famous for Pocahontas—is built nearby in 1607, and the famous Mayflower lands in Plymouth in 1620.
In 20 to 30 years at least, more white settlers will swarm here. What would they think seeing an unfamiliar Oriental with a farm like this?
Would they kindly and gentlemanly respect my property rights?
After I give them food, would they ask me to recycle the cans instead of throwing them away like some human scum...?
Absolutely not.
'And whites aren't the only threat.'
Portraying North American natives as bloodthirsty murderers obsessed with scalping is just propaganda.
At the same time, depicting them as naive innocents helplessly massacred by whites is also propaganda.
North American natives are people too.
Superior seeds far better than what they have.
Farm tools incomparably superior to theirs.
Infinitely gushing clean water and all sorts of resources.
If something like that suddenly pops up uninvited in their territory? Guarded by just one person?
If it were me, I'd kill and take it.
Thus, the conclusion.
Everyone is a threat to me.
From the unfamiliar wilderness to the Englishmen and natives, all of them.
And the most immediate danger right now...
'...Those 30.'
They haven't shown particular friendliness or hostility toward me so far. Neutral entities, you could say.
But they're the only group aware of my existence right now, and they could act collectively.
'I need to resolve things with them somehow...'
According to the records, the colony failed, diplomacy with natives collapsed, supplies from the homeland didn't come, so they split into two groups.
One headed north.
The other came here, where the sea is visible, seeking a somewhat friendly tribe and waiting for John White returning urgently from the mainland with relief supplies.
In short, short on supplies, no help in sight—desperate situation.
And desperation... makes people do anything.
For example, kill their benefactor and seize his house and farm.
If lacking force, they could contact the group that went north.
'...This won't do. I need a "means of conversation."'
I need to first figure out how that English group will move.
At the same time...
Shake them up my way.
I grabbed a simple "means of conversation," organized my thoughts.
First, intimidate them. Not by acting hostile, but demonstrate my power. So they won't even think of attacking.
While doing that, create a situation where they have to act somehow. To check their attitude... yeah. England and Spain are at war right now.
I can use that.
I set the "means of conversation" down in the shoe cabinet for a moment, changed into my sturdiest clothes, and grabbed the machete too.
Good.
This should do.
"Will he... not come today?"
At Eleanor's words, lawyer Mr. Hewett nodded solemnly.
"On previous days and the day before, 'that person' always came around noon. Seems something came up today."
"But yesterday he clearly said he'd come today..."
It was already late at night. The sun had set, most had fallen asleep, and only Eleanor and a few stood watch, guarding the surroundings.
But even the watchmen sat listlessly. They hadn't eaten all day; it couldn't be helped.
Hunting would risk provoking the friendly nearby savages, and moving carelessly meant needing the food from 'that person.'
The night forest was dark and terrifying. Every rustle from unknown birds and beasts set their nerves on edge.
Eleanor felt her shoulders shrink involuntarily.
Hungry, thirsty, and above all, exhausted.
...
...
...
Her eyes growing heavy in the darkness and silence...
Vrrrriiiing!
"Wh-what?!"
"What is it, Mrs. Dare?!"
"J-just now, something roared from over there...!"
It didn't sound like any ordinary beast. Fast, sharp, dangerous.
The roar jolted the group awake one by one. And each time, the sound shifted directions, growing louder and closer.
Unsure what was approaching, everyone huddled together. Men gripped crudely sharpened spears, some fiddled with their broken matchlocks.
Eleanor felt her hands grow slick with sweat. What is it? What's making that sound...?
Vrrrroooom!
At that moment.
"Eleanor, get down!"
A familiar shout came from behind her. As Eleanor dodged urgently...
Vrrrriiiing!
"Something" whizzed past where she'd stood.
And the bush there was neatly sliced. Wood and grass fragments flew everywhere, making Eleanor scream instinctively.
"Kyaaaaah!"
Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut... then peeked open.
"Phew. Sorry, Eleanor. Didn't see you behind the bush."
A familiar face stood before her.
As 'that person' flicked his fingers, the whirring roar stopped, the air vibrations ceased.
Eleanor looked at what he held.
Strangely shaped...
...a saw?
"Are you alright?"
"...Ah, ahh."
Words wouldn't come. She plopped down on her butt, barely steadying her trembling body to say,
"Uh... h-hello..."
Eleanor, Mr. Hewett the lawyer, and all the now-awake others stared at the path cleared behind 'that person.'
Trees at least a fathom thick were cleanly felled.
Logs scattered like corpses.
"Hic."
Eleanor hiccuped without realizing.
...Was that too much? But it should be effective, right?
"Kyaaaa! Robert pissed himself!"
"P-please, spare us, angel...!"
"D-don't worry, everyone! It's 'that person'! 'That person'!"
"..."
Too effective. Seemed they'd been thoroughly scared, so I set the chainsaw down casually and said,
"Everyone, calm down. I'm not armed because of you."
"Kyaaak! Kyak!"
Vrrrriiiing!
"Calm down."
"..."
"..."
"..."
Chainsaws really are excellent means of conversation. They quieted down incredibly fast.
Anyway, time for business.
"The reason I'm armed like this... it's because of the Spanish ships."
Oh.
No.
There was something even scarier to them than an unknown weapon.
In an instant, all the Englishmen here shut their mouths and turned toward me.
"Sp... Spanish ships...!"
Eleanor's face drained of color. Seemed all sorts of imaginings flashed through her mind, so I just nodded appropriately.
"Yes."
The England-Spain war ongoing since 1585.
England sponsoring the Protestant revolt in Spanish-controlled Netherlands, backing pirates to plunder Spanish ships—that sparked the war.
Spain exploiting all of Central and South America except Brazil, England pirating those Spanish merchants in turn. Fitting a clash of sea powers, battles raged across the Atlantic.
...Or so the records say.
Anyway, not a complete lie—Spain did send warships upon hearing of English colonies built around here.
"Uh... d-did they land?"
Eleanor squeezed out the question. I shook my head.
"The Spaniards?"
"Yes."
"As you know, these waters are treacherous, right? They tried approaching a few times, lost anchor, and retreated to the nearby coast."
"..."
"But that was just the first attempt. They'll come back."
If Spaniards land here? I'd kill anyone who speaks English.
Or capture them as prisoners and burn them alive.
"..."
"..."
Everyone's faces turned ashen.
My words just served two purposes.
First, plunged them into fear.
Now they can't casually leave the island or take action. Not knowing when Spaniards might come.
And now, they're forced to choose somehow: flee inland to safety, or quickly contact friendly natives on the island.
Either way, no harm to me.
And second...
"Wait a moment. I'm Thomas Hewett."
"Speak."
"So, you're on guard against the S-Spanish?"
"Yes."
Made them see me as 'one of their own.'
'Look, this Oriental knows European affairs very well. Knows your situation too.'
'And he's no friend of your enemy, Spain.'
As if reading that message, their gazes at my chainsaw softened. We're 'allies.'
"...Why?"
Of course, some would wonder why this Oriental guards against Spaniards.
I turned to the man who asked and said,
"You don't need to know the reason."
"..."
A touch of mystery creates authority sometimes.
No need to reveal my cards. I'm not in a position to explain myself to them.
I'm above them.
Realizing that, the man who seemed high-status here naturally bowed his head and fell silent.
I set down the rations on the ground, feigning indifference.
"Either way, the time has come for you Englishmen to make a decision.
Eleanor Dare, what will you do from here?"
"..."
Her face stiffened briefly. Seemed she felt the weight in my words.
As leader, facing life and death crossroads, plenty to ponder.
She parted her lips several times, closed them again. Unable to speak rashly, she glanced around at the others.
The other Englishmen were now all staring at Eleanor. She bowed her head and answered.
"...We'll need a meeting today."
"Whatever you decide, I hope it's a wise judgment. Rest well tonight."
"...Thank you."
"Then, I'll be off."
With that, I turned and fired up the chainsaw again.
Everyone flinched, but not as dramatically as before.
"...Mrs. Dare? Mrs. Dare?"
"...Yes."
"What will you do?"
"..."
Mr. Hewett, whose ankle was improving, limped over to Eleanor.
Governor's daughter, high-status lawyer. With most others from slums or middling classes, these two had become the decision-makers.
Gathered around a fire, faces tense. They held their breath, watching the two converse.
Eleanor felt pressure from over 60 staring eyes... then casually poked the firewood with a poker and said,
"No change in plans. Once everyone's recovered strength here, we entrust ourselves to the friendly tribe on this island. And wait for the relief fleet."
"Didn't we accidentally attack their allies last time? They might not be fully friendly to us."
"Then what should we do? Is there another way?"
"...Now there is."
"..."
There is.
Another force to rely on.
Wealthy enough to take them in, even friendly.
"...We know nothing about 'that person.'"
But Eleanor couldn't tell if that path was right.
"Is he an angel? Maybe. Eastern royalty? Could be.
...Hard to choose something with unknown outcomes."
"Madam, we don't know this land well either. Columbus thought it was India."
"..."
"But we came here. Have courage."
Eleanor pondered his words. Then looked at the others.
Among them were those tormented in London's hellish slums like Southwark or Houndsditch. Mostly unmarried women Eleanor's age.
Her father told them there was another path besides whore, beggar, gambler, drunkard, beaten wife. A new life awaited in the New World.
So they crossed the Atlantic, over 3,000 leagues from London.
...If they entrust to savages now, can the colony continue?
They're not that wealthy or leisurely. Relying on them won't let these people build a self-sufficient village and dream of a 'new life.'
But.
...But if there's another path for them.
An unknown road not yet revealed, with even a sliver of hope.
"...Alright."
Eleanor made her decision.
The next day too, I walked to the Englishmen with rations.
This time without even the chainsaw...
"Uh, um... c-could you maybe take us in...? We'll do anything!"
Like this, another "means of conversation" had been established.