Chapter 57
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Translator: volt
Chapter: 57
Chapter Title: Righteous Pirate
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Let's recap the current situation.
England has abolished slavery.
Drake is 'liberating' slaves.
So, does that mean England and Drake are on the good side for now?
'...England, the good guys?'
It felt like righteous Nazis or a benevolent Japanese Empire, but hey, that's the butterfly effect of history for you.
No, after enjoying some luxurious camping with the cast iron England provided, my views have softened a bit. In truth, England has been overly maligned, and it seems Spain's the real villain here.
Anyway.
I conducted some simple interviews to check on the newly liberated slaves Drake had freed this time.
But...
"Is now a good time to talk? I'm Nemo."
"Oh, thank goodness! An Indio who speaks Spanish! Are you perhaps the chief of this region?"
"Huh? Do you not speak any other languages besides Spanish?"
"Well, I was born in a Spanish colony. Thank you so much for freeing me! But there's this minor issue..."
"...What is it?"
"My relationship with my previous master wasn't bad, I'd been baptized by the Catholic Church, and I'd saved up enough to be on the verge of manumission... uh..."
"..."
"The master who promised to free me and give me land..."
He's dead?
"So, the small plot of land and property he was going to give me..."
Up in smoke?
"Of course, I'm truly happy to be freed, but..."
'Freed'?
This is basically kidnapping, isn't it?
...Of course, cases like this were rare, but they did pop up here and there among the minority.
"We define the length of this pipe as '1 meter.' The area of a square with sides of 10 meters is 1 are, and 100 ares make 1 hectare.
We'll divide the cleared land into roughly 2 hectares per household. We'll expand it up to 50 hectares later."
"Th-then, 50 hectares... My God!"
Fortunately, the land and property I planned to give them far exceeded what their masters had promised—naturally—so most wrapped up without complaints, but still.
Thinking about it, before the American Civil War, southern slaves sometimes ate better than northern laborers.
Spain's slavery system was more flexible than expected; by the 17th century, slaves fleeing English colonies would convert to Catholicism in Spanish ones and gain freedom.
Slavery issues... they're complicated...
Still, no matter how 'lenient,' 'humane,' or 'flexible' you call it, being suddenly captured and dragged across the Atlantic for forced labor is all the same.
Even so, it remained ambiguous.
"Th-thank you so much. I lived near Concau, but I was suddenly captured by the Sapir people and brought here..."
Of course, most were grateful to me and thrilled to have someone they could talk to. I wandered around, soothing my confusion with that fact.
"Excuse me, do you have a moment?"
I turned to see Vicente.
"Ah... I've got time to spare. What's up? Is the manager acting up again?"
"No, it's not that... I have something I want to ask."
"Go ahead."
"..."
"..."
What is it?
Why is he hesitating like this?
Vicente bowed his head, seemingly deep in thought for a long while before finally asking me.
"It's about using the excess aluminum to liberate the slaves this time."
Just when my mind was already troubled, now he's pouring oil on the fire.
...I didn't show it, though. Instead, I nodded with a serene, benevolent smile in full 'wise angel mode.'
"Yes, Vicente. Speak freely."
"Is what you've done... the will of the Lord?"
"..."
"..."
"...Of course. All people are equal before the Lord."
Right. If I just spout some suitably obvious platitudes by my standards, it'll wrap up nicely...
"Then does the Lord reject slavery?"
"...Pardon?"
"But the Bible repeatedly commands slaves to serve their masters well, doesn't it? I'm no priest, but several verses come to mind already..."
Well, the Bible was written in ancient times...
Of course, I couldn't say that. So I pulled up a suitable skill and used it.
"Didn't I tell you? Don't fixate on every single word of the Bible."
"...Ah!"
Good. A proper evasion maneuver.
Vicente tilted his head but backed off as I hardened my expression, shut my mouth, and put on a 'I've said all there is to say' face. I hurriedly cleared my throat and changed the subject.
"Anyway, Sir Drake should be returning soon..."
"There! It's Sir Drake!"
"...He really has impeccable timing."
Perfect. There was Drake, rushing toward us covered in blood.
"Ha, haha! Vicente! Listen! I've got good news!"
...What? What's the good news? Some tale about stylishly chopping off some Spaniard's head?
Fortunately, it really was good news.
"Your family!"
"You found them!"
"Kidnapped them from Santa Elena!"
...Is that good news?
Anyway, Vicente bolted excitedly toward Drake's ship at his words, and I followed behind. Soon enough, we witnessed an emotional family reunion after eight long years.
"Kyaaah! Th-the English are kidnapping us, we'll be sold into slavery...!"
"D-dear! It's me! Pull yourself together!"
"I-I'm seeing a vision of my husband who died abroad...! I must be going mad, but if I can die like this in madness...!"
I shot Drake a subtle glare. He just shrugged like he had no idea what the problem was.
"I clearly explained. Your husband is searching for you, and he's alive and well in the Virginia colony."
"..."
"Of course, since she wouldn't believe me, I cut off a Santa Elena militiaman's head and waved it in front of her to scare her..."
This crazy bastard.
Whatever happened, Vicente's wife soon came to her senses and shared a reasonably touching reunion with him. Drake approached me and started talking.
"Anyway, as requested, I rescued the sailors' families from Santa Elena."
"I appreciate it, Sir Drake. So, the aluminum..."
"Precisely 2.78 kilograms will do."
...Man, he turns razor-sharp the moment aluminum comes up. Look at him, perfectly adapted to kilogram units.
I gave him a sidelong glance, and feeling awkward, he cleared his throat.
"Ahem, setting aluminum aside... We took more damage than expected hitting Santa Elena. The rumors were true—they've expanded the colony and reinforced its defenses."
"...You have a favor to ask, then."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Drake smiled meaningfully.
"Do you know the Spaniards are importing even more slaves?"
...What?
Why? With all this plundering going on, shouldn't imports drop?
"To reinforce the northern Nueva España colony. They're finally afraid of Virginia's growth."
"...So, what should we do?"
"We can't do much. The sea is vast, they've got plenty of ships, and plenty of slaves coming in. Unless we blockade the ocean and smash every Spanish ship, what can we do?"
"..."
True enough. I bit my lip slightly, and Drake stared at me before adding,
"But I know a way to hit the Spaniards hard."
He handed me a single document. I read down the lines.
It was a plan for a certain fleet's voyage.
No ordinary plan. This was...
"Snagged it through a spy. Massive scale.
They're planning to transport hundreds to thousands of slaves. Not just slaves—ivory and African treasures too. The treasure fleet's heading to the New World."
"Treasure... doesn't matter."
"Of course not for Your Majesty, who's so wealthy. Just know a huge slave trade is coming. And here."
Tap tap.
Below were detailed dates and plans.
Departing Portugal on this date, arriving at the African colony then, buying this many slaves, departing for the Caribbean then, arrival time.
Very detailed.
"We'll ambush them when they pass near Trinidad Island."
"I see."
"By the way, could the people here join the fight?"
"...What did you say?"
I showed my surprise, and Drake—unusually cautious—continued.
"It's a massive trade fleet. Striking them would cripple the regional slave trade for a while."
"Hm..."
"But our fleet alone isn't enough. We've lost many men and ships in repeated battles, and as you'll see, they've got 15 ships. Even our 20 can't handle that easily."
"..."
"Just this once, I beg you. Even if it means less aluminum..."
Aluminum? Who cares. It's precious to them, but I have plenty. What mattered wasn't aluminum.
At first glance, joining seemed fine.
Owe the English navy a debt, leave a record of fighting as allies? It'd elevate this community's importance to England, making joint responses to Spanish threats easier down the line.
Benefits of good England ties aren't just that. Our tiny community of a few tens of thousands can't be fully self-sufficient from Europe yet.
A lifeline to England ties us firmly to the European world, making imports smoother.
But going into battle?
Taking the locals?
"Hmm... Give me a moment."
What if there's casualties?
With that in mind, I sought advice from Raleigh and others.
"Piracy? My heart's racing!"
...Asking Raleigh was a failure from the start. Of course—he's the guy who torched Spanish colonies with privateers.
I thought being hailed a saint in London might've improved his behavior a bit...
"...Right, Eleanor?"
"Pardon? What?"
"No, but lives could be at risk..."
"Half the people who go to sea die anyway! God will forgive a few sailors lost, won't He?"
"...Pardon?"
...You're supposed to be a 'saint.'
How can you so innocently say, "Hehe... Killing a few Spaniards won't send us to hell!" Don't you know the Ten Commandments?
A chill ran down my spine for some reason, so I asked others. More precisely,
"...Mr. Huet?"
"Of course I'm in favor!"
"Mr. White?"
"If I were a bit younger, I'd go myself..."
"Mr. Bacon?"
"England's glory grows further!"
"..."
"...What's wrong?"
I'd only asked the 'Englishmen.'
These... pirate bastards.
Anyway, the natives—who didn't care if England fought Spain or aliens—went along with a 'good's good' attitude.
Vicente was even more extreme.
"Excellent! Let's drive out those who threaten this holy community!"
"..."
"Wh-why?"
"Doesn't it feel off to you?"
"Well... I'm not really Spanish anymore?"
...And so it was decided.
We're joining.
I took Raleigh and Vicente to a nearby hut for a meeting. Both seasoned sailors and commanders, they could guide me well on ships and naval battles, areas I knew little about.
First conclusion from the meeting.
"I'm going too."
"Pardon? But your life could be in danger..."
"Vicente, do you really think I'll be in 'life-threatening' danger?"
I'm going.
Being immortal was especially handy here. No worrying about risks—I could just dive in.
I had to go. Without an angel in this 'holy war' to free slaves, how would Virginia's soldiers view me?
I stayed back during the Black Death because Europe was too risky, but not here.
Plus, my presence would make demanding our share from England easier later.
For soldier morale, my status, the community—I had to go.
Above all, these English pirates...
Who knows what they'd do without me.
And the next conclusion.
"Drake, we'll sail separately."
"Pardon?"
Separate from Drake's fleet.
Too many issues sailing with them.
Clippers ride wind and currents insanely fast, but against headwinds, they're turtles. And they're transports, not warships—low combat power.
Wrong route or position, and instead of 19th-century might, they'd be drifting planks.
"Sir Drake, head against the currents and wait near Trinidad. We'll shadow their trade route from Africa, staying out of range.
"Wh-what did you..."
"Then strike from behind right after battle starts."
"..."
"..."
"..."
Drake grimaced at my words.
To him, it sounded like nonsense.
Avoiding head-on collision? Sounded cowardly.
And half-right—we didn't want direct confrontation in non-warships, hence the plan.
These cargo haulers were big but fragile by era standards, with only about 10 guns. Hard to shine in naval battle normally. But...
Not nonsense.
The plan needed assumptions.
First, precise position at sea. Drake would call that crazy already.
Trail at undetected distance, then accelerate? Bull. If I see them, they see me.
Maintain invisible distance, then sprint and hit from behind? What ship that fast?
Drake looked bewildered, glancing between me, Raleigh, and Vicente.
"Th-that plan doesn't make sense?
Lord Roanoke? Didn't you explain to His Majesty?"
And Raleigh said,
"It's entirely feasible."
"...What?"
"Can't explain details, but trust it's possible."
Drake had no clock.
No telescope.
No 19th-century clipper.
To him, it was like hearing in a strategy meeting: 'We'll teleport, spot enemies with clairvoyance, flank with telekinesis. Anyway, possible—no questions.'
But seeing Raleigh's firm face, he slowly... nodded.
"...Just ensure it doesn't disrupt the main plan."
As the meeting wrapped, Vicente clasped his hands.
"Lord, grant us to become righteous pirates."
"Amen."
"Amen."
"Er... familiar words, but I bowed deeply anyway.
"Amen."
And so our plan was set.
Soon, two clippers headed to the West African port city of Ndakaaru.
Carrying freed slaves, to track the Spaniards.