Chapter 69

“Good heavens, L-Lord! Lord! We have to do something, anything…!”

“The Great Chief has gone inside! The Great Chief went in there!”

“Bring buckets of water! What? Just bring anything that can put out a fire, water, sand, anything!”

Azak’s mind went blank. This was not part of the plan. This was a variable he had never once considered. How could it be? For a man as great as the Great Chief to personally leap into the flames to save a man like that… it made no sense.

Azak’s hand, gripping the hilt of the knife at his waist, trembled. Without realizing it, he had stepped out from the alley and was staring at the burning house. As he turned his head with a bewildered look, he saw people slowly approaching him. Of course. Anyone loitering around the scene of an arson with a knife at their hip would look suspicious. He had been so shocked he’d forgotten to hide.

“…Are you the culprit?”

“…”

“Baron Raleigh? What should we do?”

“First… confiscate his weapon and take him into custody somewhere. My God, what is all this…?”

“N-no.”

“…What?”

“I-I didn’t know it would be like this… I didn’t know…”

“…”

Azak’s body shook. He still couldn’t believe the scene he had just witnessed. Even though he hadn’t been here long, he knew. The leadership of the ‘Great Chief’ was what guided and maintained this place. If he were gone, what would happen to this community? What would happen to his own surviving tribesmen? The scene that would unfold was painted vividly in his mind.

As his arms were bound, Azak trembled and wept at the tragedy before him. “Th-this, this isn’t it… Th-this isn’t… what I wanted…”

“…”

“N-no, I-I didn’t, I didn’t know the, the G-Great Chief would die…”

“…What? He’s going to die?”

“Huh?”

Azak let out a dumbfounded sound at Raleigh’s question. It was then.

CRACK.

He turned his head. From within the burning, collapsing hut, someone was walking out. The glow of the fire still licked toward the sky like the tongue of hell. The heat blasting from within seemed unsurvivable. And from the midst of it, someone was walking out with a steady gait.

His face was contorted, his clothes had become pathetic rags that barely covered his body, and burns coiled across his skin. And, Azak saw. He saw the burns gradually fade like ripples on water. One by one, the twisted, gouged, and torn marks on his body were disappearing. His wounds were healing in an instant. No, this was beyond healing. Not even a scar remained. It was as if time itself were being reversed.

Because…

“Uh… uhh… uuurgh…”

…Azak’s mind convulsed as it tried to process information it could not comprehend. It was hard to tell if this was a hallucination born from a state of extreme agitation or something he was actually seeing.

A man walking out of the fire. The ends of his hair caught flame, then were extinguished. The heat of the inferno still radiated from his body, yet he stood before them all, literally without a single hair out of place. ‘He’ released the man wrapped in the water-soaked cloth. The man with snake tattoos on both shoulders, the Great Chief of the Catawba. The man with the snake tattoos looked up at him with eyes full of awe. He wept with fear as he knelt on his one remaining knee.

The fire still blazed behind them, but its light and heat did not dare violate the brilliant aura that enveloped ‘Him.’ He placed a hand on the snake-tattooed man’s shoulder and murmured something, then turned his head. Toward him. Toward Azak.

Azak’s body trembled from his gaze alone. He was nearly naked, his clothes having been burned away, yet he radiated a power more overwhelming than a fully armored warrior. When he looked around, he saw that everyone had knelt and was offering worship. It didn’t seem to matter what tribe they belonged to, or who had killed whom.

He, the Great Chief, stood before Azak, whose arms were still held captive. And he spoke. “I do not know whom you have lost.”

“…”

“I offer my condolences.”

“Ah, ugh…”

Overwhelmed, Azak could not speak. There was so much he had wanted to say to him. He had wanted to ask why he didn’t drive out the Catawba devils, no, why he didn’t kill them. He had wanted to demand to know why he had accepted them into the community. Why, why… why… The countless ‘whys’ piled up and turned to tears. He could do nothing but sob. “Uh… ugh… uwaaaah…”

And as if he knew everything he wanted to say, He spoke. “Release this man.”

“Sir Nemo, it’s dangerous.”

“A situation like this is hardly a ‘danger’ to me.”

“…Let him go.”

At Raleigh’s command, the men who had been hesitating released Azak’s arms. As Azak collapsed to the ground, He personally pulled him to his feet. Azak looked up at him. He saw the still-brightly burning flames wrapping around his back like a cloak. The stars and moon in the night sky became like a crown upon his head, and his body, which could never be harmed, was an armor more absolute than any other.

He, He was… “Uh, ugh… urk…”

“Stand. And…” He drew the knife that was tucked into Azak’s waistband. “…I know what you must do.”

“Wh-what? What?”

He lifted Azak’s hand and placed the knife in his grip. Azak grew even more confused, unable to understand the situation. Why? After saving the man with the snake tattoos, was he telling him to kill him again? Why?

And then.

Shunk.

“Uhh… uh…?”

The dagger pierced His chest.

“…” 

“…” 

“…”

In that moment, everyone present fell silent. The Spaniards who had come to offer prayers. The Algonquians who had rushed to fight the fire. The Englishmen who had run to sort out the situation. And the countless others who had gathered in this place. All of them witnessed the sight of Him plunging a knife into His own chest.

And He whispered in Azak’s ear. “Your resentment… I will take it all upon myself.”

“…”

“Right here. And if it does not end here, then for all time.”

Sssch.

With a sickening sensation, the knife was pulled from His heart. Amidst the gushing blood, the wound was already completely gone. Azak knelt and wept.

And then, rain began to fall upon this harsh world. The flames, along with the hatred, began to slowly die down. Azak… said nothing more. He could only weep, clutching Nemo’s legs.

***

Sometimes, this world is very cruel to people. If there is only enough bread for one person among a hundred starving people, they may have no choice but to be cruel. That does not mean they are evil. But from that, malice can begin to bloom, resentment can build, and the starting point of a multi-generational war can be opened. This is not because people are cruel. It is because this world… is cruel.

This time, the Catawba and Tutelo killed these people’s families and neighbors. But last time, it was these people who likely killed the people of the Catawba and Tutelo. Inter-tribal conflict and war are all too common in this land. This moment is but a single instant in a long, continuing chain of complex debts and grudges. A chain so complex that it would be meaningless for me to intervene and try to judge who is good and who is evil. Even when the English first arrived at Roanoke Island, the nearby natives used them as pawns, luring them with false information to kill rival tribes. The Chesapeake people used the English to threaten the Powhatan, and the Powhatan exterminated the Chesapeake.

This man, wailing before me now, how many people from neighboring tribes did he kill before I came here? Is he an evil man? An evil man who grieves only for his own people who were killed, without a thought for those he himself has killed? I don’t know.

Yes. I don’t know.

In the falling rain, countless people are looking up at me. The followers of the ‘Nemoists’ were all on their knees, their hands clasped in prayer. Those who had never witnessed a Christian ceremony before awkwardly copied them, kneeling and bowing their heads or simply raising their hands. But the fact that everyone was paying me reverence was the same.

The fire next to me is dying because of the rain, but it still burns. Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, are gathered in one place. Everyone’s attention is on me. Eleanor rushed over to drape a cloak over my half-naked body. …In this moment, in a moment like this, there are words that must be said.

I gently brushed my chest. There was no wound left. Anyone else would have died when a knife was plunged into their heart. If they had survived, a hideous scar would have remained. But not me.

“…I will state this once more.” I have a body upon which not a single scar will form. “Those who commit evil acts will pay a just price. No one who does evil will escape without trial or punishment. But I will not brand anyone as evil.”

I have the power to make this world a little less cruel, and I have the resources to do so. “I, and this community, will not exclude anyone who wishes to become a part of us.”

Literally infinite resources. I can do it. In this world that is nothing but cruel to people, I can add a little bit of goodwill. I can take all the evil acts, resentment, and hatred that have grown in this cruel world upon my scarless body. Even if I cannot break the cycle, I can make the world a little better. So I will do it. I will.

***

Thomas Hewitt stared down at what had once been a hut… now a pile of charcoal. The memory of that day still felt like a dream. He had once heard that the most intense suffering a person can experience is being stabbed and being burned. Was that not why traitors and infidels were torn apart and burned to death? And…

‘He endured all of it.’

Only to save a person. Only for the sake of this community.

“…Oh, Lord.”

He recalled the first time he met Him. Those ridiculous days when he had mistaken His identity for that of a mere Asian prince. When He had brought him back from the brink of death, he had thought he could never receive a greater grace. Of course, that was not to say the grace he had received in the days since was small. He had given them food. He had given them shelter. And He had protected them from the threat of their enemies. If any one of those things had gone wrong, they would have met their deaths instantly. They had given him nothing in return. And yet, He had braved all manner of dangers to save them. That grace was greater than anything. Hewitt knew that much. But…

‘Perhaps, the grace we received that day was even greater.’

Enduring all that pain, He had protected this holy Virginia community. Here, He had taught them about something greater than hatred and anger. …About a true life.

Hewitt turned his head from the burnt ruins and began to walk toward the church where He would be. It was a path leading away from the dreamlike moment and back to reality. With a sigh, Hewitt reviewed the bitter facts. The kind of children’s story where all hatred is magically washed away had not come to pass. The arsonists from that day had all turned themselves in. They were sentenced to appropriate terms of hard labor and were all sent to work in the phosphate mines to the south. A few who protested the fact were dealt with.

Also, those among the Algonquians who had fought the Catawba-Tutelo people were still reluctant to be with them. It was only natural. They had been at war just a short while ago.

Hewitt sighed again as he mulled over these situations. He had, without realizing, arrived at the council building. It was time to deliver more bad news to Sir Nemo.

Creeeak.

“Ah, Mr. Hewitt?”

“…Sir Nemo.”

People were moving about busily, discussing things among themselves. Numbers on a tablet screen changed ceaselessly as complex calculations flew across a chart.

“It seems we’re short on Englishmen to teach the Catawba how to farm…”

“We’ll increase the number of horses we import next time.”

“Cattle too, please. We are far short of the number needed to implement the cowpox method.”¹

“Understood, John. In any case, I have much to discuss with you, so I will organize it and send it over in a chart shortly.”

As people talked amongst themselves, there was one person—no, one angel—sitting at the head of the table, listening to reports from all sides. His face was filled with fatigue. The population of this place had doubled, so by simple calculation, the work had doubled as well. It was only natural.

“Sir Nemo?”

“Ah, Mr. Hewitt. You’ve come. It seems you have something to report.”

“…Yes.”

Hewitt nodded and held out a notebook with a grim expression. “Here, as you can see…”

Desperate numbers swam across the page. “We are facing an absolute food shortage. At this rate, we won’t last a few years.”

“…” 

“…” 

“…”

In that instant, all eyes focused on Hewitt. Feeling the pressure, he continued. “It’s not just food. We will have to drastically reduce the amount of resources we distribute to people, otherwise we cannot maintain this population…”

“We can’t. And we will be short on land to distribute as well.”

“…Yes.”

Literally everything was in short supply. The large-scale gift economy that had been running was now half-collapsed due to the recent turmoil, and a significant portion of that population had been absorbed into the community. As those who had been semi-self-sufficient now became completely dependent on Virginia for food production, the burden was enormous. Because of this, they were rapidly cutting the amount of various resources that had previously been distributed abundantly to the settlers. Naturally, voices of discontent were ringing out from here and there. The inter-tribal conflicts that had just been stitched up might even flare up again because of this.

“If this continues, public opinion may take a turn for the worse. For now…”

“A moment.”

Cutting Hewitt off, He tapped the table, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I know what you are about to suggest, but no. If we start a differential distribution of resources… if the community becomes divided after such a step, it will be difficult to stitch it back together again.”

“B-but then, is there any other way…?”

“There is a way. If all goes according to plan, it will be more than enough to solve the food problem, and I have a plan to solve the problem of other goods production at once as well.”

“Is that so? What could it possibly be…?”

At Hewitt’s question, He paused for a moment in thought, then opened his mouth. “The problem, in the end, is that we are short on arable land, is it not?”

“That’s right.”

“We have the automatic water pump, don’t we?”

“Ah… yes, you mean that strange contraption?”

“Yes. That’s the one.”

“What about… it…”

“We’ll replicate it. And modify it so that it can move.”

“Pardon?”

“It may take a few months, or even a few years, but it is certain.”

Hewitt tilted his head, not understanding how that connected to the food problem.

“…If we have the steam engine, no one will have to starve.”

Nemo said, his voice full of conviction.