Chapter 55

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Translator: volt

Chapter: 55

Chapter Title: Disparity

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"Beautiful. Perfect weather for sailing to Africa!"

Walter Raleigh, who had returned unnoticed, stroked the hull of the newly built Voyager as he spoke. Vicente Gonzalez, appointed captain of the Voyager, smiled and replied.

"The Voyager is a bit larger and sturdier than the Enterprise. The craftsmen have gotten more familiar with building ships of this type, so it excels in every aspect."

"Still, for some reason, I prefer the Enterprise. Doesn't the name just have a great ring to it? Enterprise!

America! The final frontier! Our mission is to explore new worlds, discover new life and civilizations, and boldly venture where no one has gone before. Enterprise fits perfectly, doesn't it?

But Voyager... it just feels... powerless."

"But it can carry more cargo and mount more cannons, can't it?"

"That's not the point. It's a matter of... vibe. It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sounds like it'll end up shipwrecked somewhere, drifting aimlessly, with ominous connotations plastered all over the name."

"...Don't curse someone else's ship."

"Half-joking."

The two men were about to cross the Atlantic with the slaves Nemo had bought from Drake, heading for Africa.

Estimated travel time: about three months.

Shortened thanks to the clipper ship's miraculous speed.

They watched as the fully recovered Africans boarded one by one.

"...Speaking of which, 'His Majesty' seems opposed to slavery."

Though Raleigh only said "Him," Vicente understood immediately. In this settlement, there was only one person referred to as "Him" without any context.

"Yes. He bought slaves from Sir Drake without hesitation, but I never imagined he'd free them all..."

The first thing He did after purchasing the slaves was to converse with the newly freed ones.

He asked where their homeland was, if they wanted to return, and if it was possible.

Based on their answers, He divided the freed Africans into groups.

Those who would settle in the new Virginia.

And those who would return home.

Not a single one remained a slave.

After hearing the news upon his return, Raleigh gathered his long-held question and cautiously asked Vicente.

"You've traded in slaves before, haven't you?"

"Me? Of course. I bought slaves and ivory from various African tribes and sold them in Spanish colonies. I had a few in my own colony too. Hasn't the baron?"

"Me? I commanded a privateer fleet. Naturally."

"..."

"...If He despises the use of slaves, then the Lord must as well."

"..."

"I'm afraid of how we appear in His eyes... and the Lord's."

"Who isn't a sinner in His eyes? We can atone for the rest of our lives."

"..."

"Doesn't everyone get a second chance as long as they're alive?"

The mood had grown somber, turning to serious conversation.

The two quietly recited the Lord's Prayer, made the sign of the cross, disembarked to make final checks on the preparations...

"Virginia! I've arrived!"

"..."

"..."

...only to turn and see a fleet docking at the Chesapeake shore. Rowing over in a boat was a boisterous man whose face was extremely familiar to both.

"...Sir Drake?"

"Ah, Baron Raleigh! Long time no see! It's been quite a while since we last met!"

"..."

"You there! Vicente? You're right here! Come help me!"

"Ah, you came to transport the new slaves..."

"Tsk!"

"...Pardon? Not slaves..."

"Sss!"

"...?"

Vicente glanced at Raleigh in confusion at Sir Drake's sudden frenzy over his words. But Raleigh was just as baffled.

Sir Drake stomped over to Vicente and spoke with utter sincerity.

"Slaves? Does a man become a slave just because he's captured by vile pirates and slavers in Africa? Would the Lord stand by and watch such wickedness?"

"...Pardon?"

(You're the vile pirate and slaver.) The words rose to Vicente's throat, but he barely swallowed them.

"Call them 'freed freemen from Africa' instead."

"...Understood."

"Sir Drake, looks like this pirate run was fruitful..."

"Baron Raleigh! The same goes for you! Piracy? Piracy is stealing others' property. But I merely acted in service of the holy cause of restoring freedom to those robbed of it. I return from great endeavors."

Raleigh felt something off and glanced back.

There, in the distance, Nemo watched them—a tiny speck. How had Drake even noticed?

"...A fine yield from those 'great endeavors,' I see?"

Once he corrected his phrasing to match Drake's preference, the man's formerly furious expression melted away in an instant.

"Ah, of course. This time alone, I've liberated over three hundred slaves. And I've also 'returned' the wicked riches the Spanish plundered from slaves and Indians."

(The plundered were slaves and Indians—why is Drake the recipient?)

Like Vicente, Raleigh quelled a surge of questions. When he turned again, His Majesty was already by their side.

"Sir Drake, you've arrived. That wound on your cheek..."

"Ah, Your Majesty! In battle with the wicked Spanish, I couldn't contain my righteous fury and charged ahead, earning a mere scratch from a blade... But it's nothing. What do I, Drake, have to fear from such a trifle?"

"I see... Glad you're alright."

"Indeed. Had I fallen there, who would save the hundreds, thousands of Africans suffering under Spanish rule in the Americas? Clearly, the Lord spared me from death."

"..."

(He's flustered.)

(Flustered indeed.)

Raleigh and Vicente easily read the bewilderment on Nemo's face. Nemo seemed to ponder for a moment... then, unable to hold back, spoke up.

"Uh... haven't you traded slaves yourself, Sir Drake? Even allied directly with local African tribes to capture them."

In that instant, Raleigh and Vicente felt a massive weight lift from their chests.

That was it! That's what they'd been dying to say!

They'd been agonizing over whether they were sinners, only for this whole other level of villain to show up and bluster shamelessly—it was downright nauseating!

Imagining Drake stammering an apology, the two exchanged glances and smiled. They were roughly experiencing that future "sweet revenge" vibe.

However.

"Ah... you're speaking of my shameful, ugly past."

"No, I wasn't trying to point fingers. It just bothered me..."

"You're referring to my days of ugliness, filth, utter lack of conscience, madness for the wealth and thrill of slaughter?"

"...Yes?"

They'd underestimated Drake far too much.

Drake suddenly hung his head low. Then, like 21st-century entertainers on variety shows, tears began streaming down his face.

"I... I'm bound for hell. A sinner like me deserves to die!"

"No, that's not what I..."

"Your Majesty, no. No matter how many good deeds I do, it's like mixing honey into poison—futile. I know it. The Lord sees all, and someday I'll pay for my sins..."

"D-don't say that. Sins can wait—right now, you're doing righteous work, aren't you?"

"...You're right. Since I've brought 353 Africans, I'll take just about two kilograms of aluminum."

"..."

"..."

"..."

...What a transparent man.

I handed Drake a few kilograms of aluminum and saw him off. Watching that innocent smile, he seemed almost childlike... but then again, what child commits murder and arson like daily meals?

Anyway, with his trust at -255, the overflow actually boosted it.

To zero.

If he's not someone with real convictions and backbone on my side, maybe it's better if he just transparently chases money and status like that.

In any case, Drake's been handling things so well that he's already freed around five hundred slaves. About a hundred fifty of them had nowhere to go and stayed in our community.

Not a bad outcome. If a bit of crumpled aluminum foil can save hundreds of lives...

The real problem is something else.

I wonder if I've been too nosy.

Drake's piracy is ramping up even more because of it—Spain might go, "Where's that bastard's base? Virginia? Crush it now!"

England isn't centered on the slave trade, but there are slavers who might resent Drake's actions.

This could spark diplomatic issues...

But how can anyone just stand by and let people suffer?

Besides, keeping ties with Drake will definitely pay off later. Isn't he basically England's naval commander? Tremendous public recognition too.

Spain's done nothing for years, so they probably won't bother us or react differently...

And England won't abandon a honey pot like me over a few whining slavers.

England... it'll figure itself out.

Drake knew exactly what to do with the "pure aluminum" now in his hands.

True to form for a man raised among pirates from childhood, learning the ways of power in his teens.

He lived in a land of pirates and organized thugs. In times like these, one mustn't skimp on tribute to the boss.

That was the difference between him and the nameless pirate rabble who faded into history. He knew how to catch the "boss's" eye.

And so, the "boss" Elizabeth, upon receiving the tribute...

...decided to launch a political offensive right away.

"Tighten the belt a bit more. I need to look resolute."

"Understood, Your Majesty."

The political show with Drake was about to begin. Before heading to court, Elizabeth slowly reviewed the current situation in her mind.

What was England's state now?

It had been indescribably dire.

Until the war, they'd lived off endlessly pummeling the Spanish moneybag and plundering vast riches in return... but now Spain refused to just take it lying down.

Primarily, funds had run dry.

War required ships, ships required timber—but England's forests were depleted. Everything was imported.

Buying timber and vessels at exorbitant prices from Sweden and Denmark emptied the treasury, which they patched with piracy proceeds, only to spend those on more timber and ships...

The royal budget ran deficits yearly, the entire nation swaying on the success or failure of a single pirate raid.

Then... salvation arrived.

Virginia.

Luxuries flowed periodically from the Virginia colony in the Native Emperor's domain, yielding massive profits from the nobles.

Simultaneously, the colony had started operating shipyards, promising relief from timber and ship shortages soon.

Even food supplies had improved.

It was the moment when all the creaks plaguing England were miraculously healed.

Of course, this didn't mean England's national wealth was leaking away to import luxuries from Virginia and the Native Emperor. Far from it.

They bought massive quantities of sugar, spices, wool. And... those exotic fruits from near Africa.

Coffee, was it?

When Raleigh brought it as the Emperor's request, neither he nor the queen knew what it was—they floundered for a while.

Only recently had they secured supply to the Virginia colony, greatly reducing the gold outflow to Virginia.

So, to sum up.

The Virginia colony and the Native Emperor beyond it were England's top allies—filling the treasury and supplying strategic materials.

Moreover, he was hostile to Spain.

The conclusion was clear.

The Emperor's condemnation of slavery is a signal to plunder Spain together!

A true pirate boss's line of thinking.

Bang!

"H-Her Majesty is coming!"

As Elizabeth entered the court, the assembled crowd bowed their heads, Drake included.

Toward him, as pre-arranged, Elizabeth trembled her hand, shed tears, and spoke.

"So... this is the gift we received from our ally across the sea?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And it's payment for freeing those poor slaves..."

"Indeed!"

At Drake's words, Elizabeth clasped her hands in prayer and slowly... let a single tear fall.

"I have always hoped for it."

Her words silenced the entire court.

"I have always wished for all the people of this land to be freed from bondage, to live as freemen treading these green fields."

Yes. That was Elizabeth's true aspiration.

"For that... is the will of Christ."

The freedom and liberation of her subjects.

As ruler of England, head of the Anglican Church, and a Christian woman, it was what she yearned for above all.

Absolutely not because the aluminum Drake brought could be traded for multiples in gold.

Nor because she could no longer sell slaves to her biggest customer, the Spanish colonies.

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

Likewise, not some national propaganda stunt.

All mere petty slanders from Spanish spies against England and its queen.

Or perhaps not.

"As if reading my will in advance, that ally across the sea has given great inspiration to me—to all our souls. Isn't that right?"

"Truly so, Your Majesty!"

"Yes. Truly so.

Slavery is mankind's greatest sin, the most horrific treason against God.

And as you all know, the Spanish even now enslave countless pitiful 'natives' and Africans!"

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

"Well said!"

In this moment, Elizabeth Tudor—who had profited handsomely from multiple slave trade investments—died.

Also, Elizabeth Tudor—who employed a dark-skinned Moorish servant (unpaid, but definitely not a slave)—died.

And when she opened her eyes anew amid tears.

"Behold! An angel appeared out of nowhere to heal London's Black Death, and now a Christian from heathen lands aids us without recompense! Why does such fortune befall righteous England alone, and not Spain?

It is because we are just! In this just war, we shall triumph! We shall shatter the evil custom of slavery!

From this day, slavery is eternally banned in all lands under the rule of the King of England!"

She was reborn as "the Liberator of Slaves," Elizabeth I.

And her Moorish servant finally received wages—his first in England, after a very long time.

Thus, Sir Drake's fleet set sail once more for the Caribbean, bolstered by full support.

To kill more Spaniards.

To burn more Spanish homes.

To plunder more Spanish wealth.

...No.

To free more of the Spanish slaves.

Anyone disagreeing was surely Spanish—or their spy.

...

...

...

"'I invested in the slave trade many times, but ultimately conscience prevailed, and I withdrew...' What nonsense is this?"

The Spaniards, confronted with England's queen and her holy proclamation, were predictably furious.

"...Wasn't she just unprofitable?"

That was correct.

"More precisely, smuggling slaves into our colonies got too conspicuous."

That too was correct.

"And they call us the devil's minions just for buying and selling slaves?"

And at the conclusion, all raged.

"How moral are they anyway! They live by burning and looting our colonies—what right..."

"C-calm down first. Isn't the Virginia colony issue more pressing? That wretch Francis Drake has set up base there and plunders us— we need countermeasures..."

"Right! How big has that Virginia grown? We can't even topple it! What countermeasures!"

To be precise, it wasn't that they lacked the power to deal with it.

Philip II of Spain commanded far greater wealth and might than England's Elizabeth "whatever."

Considering how perpetually deficit-plagued England survived by leeching Spanish riches, it was even clearer.

But Spain's vast power had to be projected worldwide.

To suppress domestic grand nobles, check the Pope, halt Ottoman expansion, crush Europe's Protestants, and vie for world hegemony with Habsburg kin.

England was merely an obstacle among myriad foes in Spain's global policy—not a primary adversary.

Thus, the empire, despite its overwhelming power and riches, could only leave that gnat-like Drake rabble and their messy Virginia nest alone.

In the end.

Their chosen path remained purely defensive.

"To block English incursions, we must expand the Caribbean coast and Florida colonies! Beyond mere mission outposts and military bases—we need permanent settlements!"

"Yes! Pioneer the area with allied Indian tribes!"

"B-but... we ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lack manpower, don't we?"

"..."

"..."

"..."

To fend off English colonies and slave theft, they needed to bolster their own colonies.

And to bolster the colonies...

"...We'll import more slaves."

"Damn it, only the Mali Empire will rejoice."

It seemed contradictory, but it was their only option.

They imported even more slaves, and West African kingdoms like the Mali Empire raked in fortunes.

And the Spaniards began reclamation.

"We're planning about four windmills. The area's nothing but swamps."

"How long? Ignore casualties. Assume slave labor."

"...Then, about six months?"

"Six months?"

"You'll say 'only six months.' And we need a smithy and iron mine too."

"Why?"

"We need shovels, don't we? Can't have slaves digging dirt and hauling water by hand."

"Groooan... Virginia colony's population is already thousands. Can we catch up?"

"Of course. Unless they're draining swamps without windmills."

Whirrrrr!

What? Who's keep calling me? Why are my ears so itchy?

Anyway.

Near Chesapeake Bay, there are many large and small swamps, and placing windmills everywhere for reclamation is impractical.

For those spots, the so-called "automatic pump."

At Mr. Brown's factory, ironworkers bustled about various tasks. As I approached with my Porter (...not Damascus, Porter!), Mr. Brown came out to guide me.

"Ah, here for 'that'?"

"Yes. Exactly. Where's the work area..."

"Over there."

The automatic pump required a variety of skills and materials.

For instance, examining the crucial cylinder in the power section.

I'd seen them make muskets, but crafting cylindrical metal shapes in this era demanded insane skill and labor.

For musket barrels, they'd hammer iron plates relentlessly into rounds, then bore the interior with a mandrel.

Such crude methods couldn't produce precise, uniform cylinders. It was a lesson in why premodern weapons lacked standardization.

The cylinders followed the same grueling process. Or would have.

- "Wh-what is this?"

- "Iron pipes, of course."

- "..."

If not for 21st-century tech iron pipes as "consumables."

Block one end, wrap thick iron around to reinforce strength—cylinder complete!

And made from 21st-century steel at that!

Precision bore the interior, smooth the exterior...

"Just power up this grinder! One moment!"

Whirrrrr!

Yeah. That's it.

Smoothing pipe interiors and precision-fitting parts would be impossible without grinder-powered lathes.

Assemble the well-machined pipe and piston—cylinder done.

Drill holes in the finished cylinder with a (21st-century) drill.

With ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the vital cylinder complete, next came the crank, boiler, and valves. Methods were straightforward.

"Um, Nemo? I forgot the exact crank structure..."

"Book's right here. I'll copy it to the wall so you don't forget."

"Th-thank you!"

Referenced (21st-century) hero biographies at home for the full power assembly diagram.

"Cylinder where? Time to assemble!"

"Pipes for the valve chamber here!"

Valve chamber pipe attached to the hole for gas flow in/out.

Then connect valve rod and piston rod to crank. Converts cylinder's reciprocating motion to rotation.

Connect crank shaft to pump—endless water without manpower.

...Who knew living alone turned my house into a family warehouse would pay off like this. Dusty old books untouched since childhood were now treasures.

Especially childhood hero tales and educational comics with diagrams ("Hoho! Curious about external combustion engines? Ask Dr. All-Knowing!").

But that's not all.

"Uh, did you bring 'that'?"

"Of course. Porter's loaded with it."

"As expected! Let's unload now!"

'That.'

My hoarded (21st-century) lubricant.

Ssssh! Sss!

One spritz eliminates squeaks and friction heat! Efficiency multiplies!

Artisans grabbed armsful, spraying joints on pumps they were repairing and inspecting.

I watched in admiration... and it truly sank in.

Wow.

This resource cheat is insane.