If you examine one of Leonardo da Vinci’s famous sketches, you will find a design for an armored, circular fighting vehicle equipped with cannons aimed in every direction and covered by heavy wooden planks to protect its occupants. It was, essentially, a tank powered entirely by human exertion.
Similarly, the medieval European engineer Conrad Kyeser designed a horse-drawn military vehicle that was fully enclosed by defensive walls and armed with hand cannons and protruding blades.
Unlike those two theoretical designs, the Wagenburg—a mobile fortress composed of heavily fortified battle wagons—was a weapon genuinely utilized in actual combat to form impenetrable defensive formations that shielded allied troops.
In short, there has always been an unceasing, desperate demand throughout human history for a ‘moving fortress’—a weapon capable of protecting allied soldiers from enemy fire without sacrificing mobility.
Since siege warfare inherently heavily favored the defenders, military minds naturally concluded that if they could somehow make their ‘castle’ move, they could effortlessly dominate their enemies on any battlefield.
Of course, as the Immortal Order catalogs clearly point out, every single one of these early concepts ultimately failed to see widespread usage. I had previously wondered why such obscure military trivia was included in those catalogs, but it seemed the secret society had genuinely considered adding tanks to their arsenal at some point.
The primary reason for their historical failure was painfully obvious.
Exactly how were you supposed to move the damn thing?
Whether constructed from heavy timber or solid steel, how could anyone realistically propel such impossibly heavy equipment across open land? The answer was painfully obvious: either human exertion or animal draft power—most likely horses.
Imagine thick, crushing armor plating pressing down from above.
Imagine a hull absolutely crammed with heavy blades, gunpowder weapons, and soldiers.
And then imagine that entire, hulking behemoth being powered by a mere one or two horsepower.
It was physically impossible for it to move with any meaningful speed.
The sheer novelty lay entirely in the fact that it could ‘move’ at all; they were never practical pieces of equipment capable of utilizing true mobility to achieve tactical objectives.
However, this fundamental power limitation was eventually conquered with the rapid advancement of modern engine technology.
During the bloody trenches of the First World War, the desperate demand for a ‘moving bunker’ capable of breaking through the impenetrable stalemates finally gave birth to the modern tank and the armored personnel carrier.
“Attach the combat-grade plows!”
“Mount the steel blades!”
“Power them up!”
“Yes, Lord Oitotan!”
And now, we were doing exactly that.
By heavily modifying our steam-powered agricultural tractors.
Overall, there were no massive structural changes to the original vehicles. In fact, aside from mounting a few additional pieces of equipment, they remained practically identical and could easily be reverted for their original agricultural purposes with only minor adjustments.
Thick, transparent panels of Lexan glass were bolted around the driver’s seat to protect the operator while maintaining crucial visibility, while heavy steel armor plating and additional Lexan were welded to the front to shield the main chassis.
Of course, the modifications did not end with mere armor.
Whirrrrrrrr!
“…If anyone steps too close to that, they won’t even leave behind intact bones,” Raleigh noted dryly.
“I completely agree, Walter,” I muttered.
The fundamental difference between a tractor and an ordinary vehicle lies in its ability to mount ‘implements’ and supply them with mechanical power.
To put it simply, a tractor is essentially a massive, moving battery, and the attached implements are the household appliances plugged into it.
Our tractors were already fully capable of navigating the fields while hauling massive mechanical seeders, harvesters, rotary tillers, and heavy plows.
Therefore, with only a slight modification, we could easily mount automated, spinning blades to the front of the vehicle. By slightly altering the mechanics of a rotary windrower, shifting its mounting position to the front of the chassis, and swapping the tines for sharpened steel, it instantly transformed into a terrifying, high-speed rotary blade.
It was the absolute perfect deterrent to physically shred any enemy foolish enough to approach.
A colossal armored behemoth, clad in steel and impenetrable transparent shields, bearing down upon the enemy with violently spinning blades leading the charge.
Spewing pitch-black steam and emitting a deafening mechanical roar, the monstrous machine advanced while the musketeers perched atop its chassis unleashed a relentless hail of gunfire.
The sheer, suffocating psychological pressure was akin to facing an advancing mythological monster.
“Retreat! Fall back!”
Naturally, the enemy formation instantly shattered beneath that overwhelming pressure as the war tractors slowly, methodically plowed forward.
Out on the expansive testing fields, hundreds of Spanish sailors led by Vicente were currently engaged in a massive mock battle against the Agricultural Knights led by Oitotan. We were currently observing the tactical developments from atop a hastily constructed wooden watchtower nearby.
The scenario simulated a situation where the Spanish sailors had just successfully made landfall, only to be immediately confronted by our armored tractor battalion.
The Spanish cavalry initially attempted a daring frontal charge, but completely failed to close the distance due to the terrifying rotary blades. When they desperately attempted to flank the mechanical beasts, they were swiftly intercepted and pinned down by our anticipating spearmen and musketeers.
Though the enemy occasionally fired their cannons, the artillery of this era was notoriously inaccurate. Furthermore, even if our tractors were agonizingly slow, they could still maintain a brisk walking pace—meaning they could actually dodge the sluggish cannon fire.
Supported by the covering fire of their naval cannons, the Spanish sailors eventually managed to successfully disable a few tractors. However, even the broken, stalled tractors proved to be incredibly useful, serving as massive, impenetrable barricades that provided excellent cover for our advancing infantry.
And thus, the mock battle concluded with a decisive victory for our allied forces.
Clunk! Of course, not everything went exactly according to plan.
Several tractors stalled completely when thick, incredibly stubborn vines tangled themselves around the rotary blades (which had obviously been swapped out for blunt wooden clubs for the exercise). As the chaotic mock battle dragged on, the vehicles that hadn’t been sufficiently stocked with enough water and firewood unceremoniously died right where they stood.
Whenever they encountered severely uneven terrain, the tractors became practically useless, and there were numerous humiliating instances where the heavy wheels sank deeply into the sandy beaches and became hopelessly stuck.
If the enemy managed to dig proper trenches, the tractors were instantly reduced to nothing more than obnoxiously expensive, stationary cover.
However…
“They are absolutely terrifying.”
Raleigh’s single, concise conclusion perfectly summarized the entire spectacle.
Naturally, because it was a mock battle, there was no actual artillery fire or live ammunition being discharged. We had taken extreme precautions to prevent any accidental injuries, completely replacing the spinning blades and barbed wire on the war tractors with wooden clubs and thick ropes.
Yet despite being effectively neutered, the machines were still overwhelmingly intimidating.
They were literal mechanical monsters.
If the enemy commanders calmly committed their forces to destroying them, they could be broken. If the enemy infantry bravely attempted to encircle them, they could be surrounded.
But there was absolutely no way an ordinary soldier could stand before them without being utterly consumed by primal terror.
A colossal monster forged entirely of steel was mechanically bearing down upon them with the sole, undeniable purpose of slaughter.
Even I—a modern man who perfectly understood the concepts of 21st-century tanks and armored personnel carriers and had seen them with my own two eyes—felt a cold shiver of intimidation watching them advance.
I couldn’t even begin to fathom the sheer, mind-breaking terror these machines would inflict upon the 17th-century soldiers who had never even conceptualized such a thing.
As the mock battle officially concluded, over a dozen war tractors roared simultaneously, converging around the base of our temporary watchtower.
It felt as though a crushing wave of black steel and red uniforms was crashing directly toward me.
“…”
“…”
“…”
Each wearing gleaming steel cuirasses and sporting sharp blades at their waists, the Knights, the Captains, and Knight Commander Oitotan proudly assembled before me for inspection. Behind the rumbling tanks, hundreds of squires—either mounted on horseback or standing at attention on foot—looked up at me with profound reverence.
Oitotan sharply drew his sword and hoisted it high into the air.
In perfect, unified synchronization, the entire battalion saluted me. The crisp, simultaneous rustle of hundreds of uniforms snapping to attention echoed with a deeply majestic, awe-inspiring resonance.
What had once started as a lighthearted joke and a playful administrative title had blossomed into absolute reality.
They were a true Order of Knights.
***
Several months passed after the successful mock battles, and the autumn of 1610 arrived.
Because it was the peak season for harvesting barley, as well as various fruits and vegetables, the entire community—and the Knights in particular—were insanely busy.
Furthermore, because the Knights and squires were now subjected to rigorous military training exercises multiple times a month, their workload had essentially doubled. Yet, despite their grueling schedules, absolutely no one dared to skip military training. Every single citizen fully understood that a massive war was imminent.
Every single member of the Knights had proudly sworn a sacred oath to dedicate their lives to the defense and prosperity of the community. Was that not exactly why the people showered them with absolute respect, and why the community compensated them with such staggering wealth?
Consequently, complaints regarding their vastly increased workload were practically nonexistent. In fact, countless individuals were absolutely thrilled by the realization that they had finally evolved into genuine, martial Knights—the ‘ones who fight’ to protect their home.
Therefore, when the new weaponry was finally distributed, the eyes of every single Knight sparkled with absolute awe.
Standing proudly beneath a fluttering flag bearing a modified version of the White family crest, the battalion stood shoulder-to-shoulder in perfectly unified uniforms and standardized equipment. Every man wore a gleaming cuirass, and every man had a musket and a sword strapped to his side.
That visual uniformity alone made the Knights the closest thing to a modern, professional military organization currently existing in the 17th century. As the Captain hoisted his sword and barked a command, the men moved as one, simultaneously raising their brand-new, cutting-edge flintlock muskets.
While the traditional matchlock muskets required the user to physically touch a smoldering slow match (a lit fuse) to the priming pan to ignite the gunpowder, these revolutionary flintlock muskets operated entirely differently. The moment the trigger was pulled, a piece of flint violently struck the steel frizzen, showering the priming pan with sparks and instantly detonating the powder.
Naturally, this mechanism required high-quality flint to reliably ignite the gunpowder.
Furthermore, because the hammer holding the flint had to forcefully strike the pan the moment the trigger released the internal spring, producing the high-quality steel necessary to craft those durable springs was an absolute prerequisite.
On top of that, compared to the matchlock method where a literal burning fuse was directly applied to the powder, the flintlock mechanism relied on generating instantaneous sparks. Consequently, historical flintlocks suffered from an abysmal misfire rate of roughly twenty to thirty percent per volley.
“Fire!”
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
That was how it should have been.
However, during the volley just now, not a single one of the dozens of muskets had misfired.
“Again!”
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
“And again!”
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
Even as the rapid volleys continued, there were zero misfires.
Historically, flintlock muskets would not become the widespread standard until well past the mid-17th century. Right now, the absolute vast majority of European armies were still hopelessly dependent on the archaic matchlock design.
And because it was still the early 17th century, even the seasoned veterans who had spent their entire lives in the military could not fully comprehend just how utterly terrifying the technological leap they had just witnessed truly was.
The tiny ‘flints’ used as refills for Kim Lee-sang’s Z-brand lighter were actually forged from a specialized ferrocerium alloy. Compared to natural flint, they boasted overwhelmingly superior performance, were infinitely more durable, and lasted significantly longer.
They simply could not be compared to the frustratingly expensive, fragile natural flints that had to be meticulously replaced after firing a mere ten or twenty rounds.
Astonishingly, the ferrocerium alloy could generate brilliant sparks even when slightly damp from the rain. Whether the waterlogged gunpowder in the pan would actually ignite, however, was a completely different issue.
As of yet, absolutely no one fully grasped the terrifying strategic implications of this technology.
They were simply overjoyed that their reloading speeds had effectively doubled compared to their clunky old matchlocks.
That overwhelming, insurmountable technological disparity would only become agonizingly clear decades from now, when the flintlock mechanism finally became widespread across Europe.
For now, the Knights and squires merely marveled at their new toys.
This was distributed to hundreds of Knights all at once? When did they manage to manufacture these so quickly? Is this what all that chaotic fuss about building new factories recently was about? “Silence in the ranks,” Oitotan barked, swiftly quieting the murmuring squires before delivering another piece of news guaranteed to excite them further.
“We plan to double the total number of official Knights by next year! Therefore, anyone who wishes to participate in the Knighting examinations should formally apply starting next month!”
Double? This time, the sheer magnitude of the announcement threw the entire battalion into an uproar.
They simply couldn’t comprehend how such a thing was logistically possible.
Just like their ignorance regarding the ferrocerium flints, they were utterly blind to the industrial reality.
How? I thought the absolute limit was two or three Knights per tractor? If they promote that many Knights, how are they going to supply them with enough machines? It’s not like you can just dig tractors out of the dirt! There’s no way they can manufacture that many new vehicles! It’s completely impossible, isn’t it?! Of course, it was entirely possible.
***
The steam tractor was the absolute core technology driving the entire economy of our community.
Thanks to the tractors, we produced such a staggering surplus of crops that our entire population could gorge themselves and still have mountains left over. That massive surplus was then exported to the British Isles, generating the immense wealth that allowed everyone here to live in luxurious prosperity.
However, the structural limits of this system were equally glaring.
The manufacturing of the tractors was absolutely, hopelessly dependent on the futuristic resources plundered directly from Kim Lee-sang’s modern house.
The various high-grade steel pipes comprising the steam engine? We literally just ripped the modern pipes out of Kim Lee-sang’s house, bent them into shape, and welded them together. The various intricate internal components? The exact same process.
The only part we actually manufactured locally at the Roanoke Island ironworks was the boiler room, which required significantly less technological precision and could easily be forged from basic cast iron.
Because the total volume of high-quality steel contained within Kim Lee-sang’s house was ultimately finite, our tractor production would inevitably hit a hard ceiling someday.
And if our population continued to explode exponentially while our tractor fleet only grew arithmetically?
The utopian policy of distributing twenty-five hectares of land to every single citizen would collapse. The hyper-efficient modern agricultural system that had maximized our labor productivity would become entirely impossible to sustain.
In short, the agricultural foundation of the Virginia community would utterly collapse.
And before the dawn of the true industrial age, the collapse of agriculture meant the immediate, catastrophic collapse of the entire societal system.
Therefore, our community was forced to choose between two distinct paths.
Allow our current system to inevitably collapse? Or violently innovate our tractor production methods.
“Look here, this specific type of metallurgical structure is called a reverberatory furnace.”
Naturally, Kim Lee-sang had chosen the latter. Especially now that our precious tractors were slated to be hurled directly into a brutal war.
Modern 21st-century educational comic books had become suspiciously, terrifyingly detailed in their desperate bid to satisfy the rigorous demands of overbearing parents in a saturated market. Thanks to those incredibly dense illustrations, Kim Lee-sang possessed a rough, conceptual understanding of exactly which metallurgical technologies had violently skyrocketed steel production during the original Industrial Revolution.
And that rough, conceptual understanding was more than enough.
“Hmm? Isn’t this the exact same structural design we use to melt down bronze?” a master blacksmith noted.
“Wait, really? You already have this?!” I gaped.
Naturally, these revolutionary technologies hadn’t simply materialized out of thin air in original history either.
After several grueling months of exhausting trial and error, heavily guided by the ‘Angel’s’ futuristic knowledge, our artisans successfully recreated the reverberatory furnace and the crucible steel process over a century ahead of schedule. Instantly, our high-quality steel production exploded to unprecedented levels.
Now that we had the raw materials, it was finally time to violently innovate the actual tractor manufacturing process.
First the firearms, and now the iron and steel industry.
Having successfully brute-forced several massive technological leaps using his half-baked future knowledge, Kim Lee-sang was beginning to grow dangerously arrogant and bloated with confidence. Yeah! Who says I can’t do this? If Oitotan gets to play out his ridiculous ‘isekai fantasy,’ I should get to play the genius protagonist too! Filled with unearned swagger, he proudly marched straight into the primary tractor manufacturing plant managed by the Knights and dramatically cleared his throat.
“Ah, are you unaware? This is what we call the ‘Wealth of Nations.’ Does this brilliant concept not yet exist in this world? Behold, this is what is known as the ‘division of labor’…”
“Oh, you mean you want us to systematize the production line, my lord?” the head engineer interrupted casually.
“Yes. And…”
“And standardize the individual components so they can be easily swapped out, correct?”
“…Yes.”
“Understood, my lord! We shall restructure the floor immediately!”
Stunned by the painfully casual, utterly unimpressed responses from the Knight technicians, Kim Lee-sang awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck and asked a hesitant question.
“Are you… actually familiar with the concept of the division of labor?”
“Pardon?”
“…”
“…”
I was instantly consumed by a wave of pure, agonizing humiliation.
I felt exactly like some arrogant commenter who thought he had mastered the secrets of the universe after watching a single educational YouTube video, only to be ruthlessly and thoroughly dismantled by an actual academic expert.
When Kim Lee-sang desperately racked his brain, he remembered that The Wealth of Nations had been published in Britain, and every single blacksmith currently standing before him was an English craftsman. Furthermore, this was the early modern period.
The Dutch, who were currently in the middle of their grueling war for independence, were already having the time of their lives utilizing extreme division of labor and component standardization in their shipyards to churn out massive fleets at terrifying speeds. Come to think of it, the concept of the joint-stock corporation had already been invented in this era as well.
This was already the dawn of early capitalism.
“…Then, if you already knew about all of this, why haven’t you been doing it until now?” I asked, my cheeks burning with sheer embarrassment.
Taken aback by my flustered question, the master artisans frantically tried to explain themselves.
“W-Well… it was because you kept constantly issuing new, upgraded designs, Lord Nemo… The structural blueprints and the necessary components changed practically every single week, did they not?”
“…”
They were right. Because we had experienced so many chaotic trials and errors during the initial rollout of the tractors, I had developed a bad habit of constantly tweaking and altering the models whenever I spotted a flaw.
Because of my relentless tinkering, the tractor parts were never cross-compatible, forcing the master artisans to meticulously hand-craft and individually fit every single component for every single machine.
It was entirely Kim Lee-sang’s fault.
Having spectacularly failed to act out his grand ‘isekai genius’ fantasy, Kim Lee-sang quietly slunk into the background. Regardless, having received their official directives, the master artisans immediately set to work revolutionizing the tractor production line.
Over the past few years, through countless grueling trials and continuous refinements, the overall structural blueprint of the tractor had finally been standardized. The timing was absolutely perfect to introduce strict division of labor and component standardization.
As the artisans ruthlessly streamlined the manufacturing process, some of Kim Lee-sang’s clumsy, half-baked suggestions—like casually mentioning, ‘I think it would be great if we introduced something called a conveyor belt…’—actually began to shine with terrifying efficiency.
In the blink of an eye, the sheer scale of our tractor production exploded exponentially.
A factory that previously struggled to churn out a single tractor every month or two was suddenly spitting out multiple vehicles a week. Absolutely dumbfounded by the terrifying efficiency of the monster they had just created, the master artisans frantically scrambled to hire more workers.
They desperately needed a massive, unending supply of manual labor to keep this relentless production belt churning.
And it was then that a horrifying realization sent chills down the spines of both the artisans and Kim Lee-sang.
‘Wait… we literally can’t hire anyone right now, can we?’
To make matters worse, introducing strict division of labor inherently makes the work agonizingly repetitive, mind-numbing, and soul-crushingly boring. The fierce pushback from the laborers on the floor was historically one of the primary reasons why the division of labor was only implemented in a highly limited capacity prior to the true capitalist era.
Terrified that they had just wasted a massive fortune building a state-of-the-art factory they couldn’t even staff, they stayed up for days, desperately concocting every possible scheme to somehow lure in workers.
And yet, the very day after they cautiously posted the recruitment notices…
The factory floor was absolutely packed to the brim.
‘Why?’ ‘Why are they swarming here to eagerly perform grueling manual labor when they could easily live a life of absolute leisure?’
Completely oblivious to the profound motivations of their new workforce, the managers simply watched in awe as the people worked in strict, reverent silence. Kim Lee-sang furiously pondered the mystery.
‘Is it because we offered an absurdly high wage after all?’
It wasn’t.
‘Or perhaps, knowing that a massive war is on the horizon, they are volunteering out of a burning sense of patriotism…!’
While that certainly played a minor role, it wasn’t the primary motivation.
‘But putting all that aside, why on earth are they all wearing the exact same clothes? The color is almost entirely… ash gray? And isn’t that fabric meant for weaving heavy tents?’
The answer lay in their attire.
The reason these wealthy citizens willingly subjected themselves to such monotonous, soul-crushing, uninteresting labor that treated human beings like cogs in a machine…
“This is indeed the perfect environment for deep meditation. Let us invite the rest of our brothers and sisters to the factory as well.”
“…Shh. This is our time for holy labor, so let us maintain our vow of silence. Let our two hands move for the prosperity of the community, and let our eternal souls move for the glory of the Lord.”
“For the holy community.”
It was precisely because the work was so agonizingly monotonous.
Much like the Buddhist practice of performing 108 prostrations, this repetitive, mindless labor was perfectly suited for simple ascetic training. Far from demanding worldly compensation, they felt the labor itself was returning something profound to their souls.
As the community rapidly grew overflowing with material wealth and decadent prosperity, a counter-movement of individuals desperately seeking spiritual elevation and purity organically emerged in response.
They were people who deeply yearned to live a life of humble frugality, strict poverty, and rigorous moral compliance.
Regardless of gender, they wore simple, unadorned clothing entirely devoid of dyes.
Instead of the expensive ivory or polished gemstone buttons favored by the wealthy elite, their buttons were carved from rough wood. Their sleeves lacked the lavish, intricate lace that was currently all the rage across the community, and their garments were stitched together from coarse canvas originally intended for heavy tents.
They gathered together, forming tight-knit, communal living arrangements clustered tightly around the roaring factories.
They established their own strict, ascetic doctrines.
As they meticulously tightened bolts, scrubbed grease, and oiled the heavy machinery, they fell into deep, silent meditation.
They worked under the unshakable conviction that grueling physical labor would purify and strengthen their holy souls.
They were Virginia’s very first ‘Industrial Monastic Order’.