“…”
“…”
Listening to Raleigh’s chilling proposal, I felt a cold sweat prickle across my skin.
Wait, uh, so what you’re saying is…
“You want to deliberately install individuals whose political ideologies align perfectly with our own as the heads of their new government.”
“Precisely, my lord.”
“…”
“…”
“But we possess absolutely no political justification for doing such a thing, do we?”
While maintaining the superficial illusion of an independent sovereign state, the ‘homeland’ deliberately selects and installs loyalists whose political leanings align with their own interests into the highest echelons of the foreign government.
We have a very specific term for that in the modern era: a puppet state.
As a citizen of a nation that had historically been violently forced into becoming a puppet state, only to subsequently suffer the horrific trauma of full-scale colonial annexation, I couldn’t help but feel a profound, deeply ingrained sense of revulsion at the idea. I cautiously voiced my concerns to Raleigh.
“They violently fought and bled to seize their own freedom from the Spanish Empire. Even if they are actively requesting to be formally integrated into our community, we simply cannot unilaterally dictate their political future like that. The ensuing backlash would be catastrophic.”
“Whether there is a backlash or not entirely depends on the specific political justification we employ, my lord.”
As expected of an Englishman. Our fundamental political philosophies are just slightly… different.
“Furthermore, please do not worry, my lord,” Raleigh continued smoothly. “If you are concerned that we will inevitably treat them like a subjugated vassal state, or casually trample upon their hard-won sovereignty whenever it suits us… I assure you, nothing of the sort will ever occur.”
…Are you entirely sure about that?
“I… am not entirely certain why you are harboring such profound doubts, my lord, but I swear it. Such a thing will absolutely never happen. After all, are they not our brothers and sisters in the eyes of the Lord?”
“…Then please, elaborate on your proposal.”
The ‘United Kingdom’ that I knew from modern history was comprised of four distinct nations: England, overflowing with fiery, passionate hooligans; Scotland, boasting crystal-clear waters and endless rivers of premium whiskey; Northern Ireland, blessed with an abundance of earthy potatoes; and Wales, possessing an incredibly subtle, practically nonexistent presence akin to the very air we breathe.
I was well aware that when those four distinct regions—commanding the four fundamental elements of fire, water, earth, and air—finally united, it was akin to summoning Exodia the Forbidden One, giving birth to the absolute, undisputed Final Boss of modern world history.
And hadn’t the Union of the Crowns between Scotland and England just been formally established a few years ago?
That’s right.
The man casually sitting before me right now, Walter Raleigh, was the very same man who historically left behind terrifying, apocalyptic quotes such as: ‘For whosoever commands the sea commands the trade; whosoever commands the trade of the world commands the riches of the world, and consequently the world itself.’ He was literally the founding father of the British Empire!
I couldn’t trust him for a single second!
Let’s see just how ‘reasonable’ of a proposal he actually brings to the table. As a proud citizen of a former post-colonial nation, it’s time to drop some absolute facts on the Father of Imperialism and Colonialism…!
“I propose we officially establish a Bishopric (office or rank of a bishop).”
“Pardon?”
“Yes, a Bishopric.”
“…”
“…”
What the hell.
That’s… actually not a bizarre or nefarious proposal at all. I was fully bracing myself for him to suggest establishing some sinister, underground shadow government, or utilizing our religion to actively brainwash and subjugate the population.
“What exactly… does establishing a Bishopric entail?”
Honestly, I don’t really know what that is.
For the first time in a long while, I fully committed to playing the role of the ‘pure, innocent Angel utterly ignorant of the murky, convoluted political institutions and knowledge of the mortal realm.’ I deliberately widened my eyes and tilted my head in innocent confusion. Playing this specific card usually meant people would patiently explain things to me without getting suspicious.
“Haha, it is quite literally exactly what the name implies, my lord. It is a sovereign territory ruled directly by a Bishop,” Raleigh chuckled warmly, immediately launching into his explanation.
“When a monarch formally ordains a Bishop as the ruling lord over a specific territory within his domain, that land officially becomes a Bishopric. It is quite a simple concept, is it not?”
“…So, it is essentially a territory where a Bishop acts as the ruling feudal lord.”
“Precisely, my lord.”
Hmm… Uh…
I am a man from the 21st century.
While the sheer number of years I had lived in this 16th and 17th-century era was slowly but steadily catching up to the years I had lived in my original time, the 21st-century Republic of Korea remained my absolute spiritual homeland and my fundamental moral compass.
And viewing this proposal through my heavily ingrained 21st-century sensibilities…
“Will a… nation structured like that actually function properly?”
“But of course, my lord.”
I’m seriously worried.
Please don’t tell me we’re about to establish some bizarre, hyper-fanatical theocracy in Florida.
A sovereign nation ruled directly by a religious leader… isn’t that basically just ISIS… wait a minute.
Doesn’t the Vatican operate exactly like that?
The 21st-century Vatican City—the Papal States—was admittedly a microscopic microstate, but it still functioned perfectly well as an officially recognized, independent sovereign nation on the global stage.
Furthermore, we were currently in the 17th century, roughly four hundred years prior to my original era. Judging by Raleigh’s entirely nonchalant tone, far from being highly problematic, it seemed there were already countless, highly successful historical precedents for this exact system.
A Bishop being formally ordained as a feudal lord, governing his own sovereign territory.
Furthermore, within our Nameless Church, every single member of the clergy—from the humble priests all the way up to the Bishops—was officially elected through a formal, democratic voting process. Therefore, one could easily argue that this system was still inherently democratic.
Tsk. This actually isn’t a bad idea at all, is it?
Since the proposal sounded surprisingly reasonable on the surface, I crossed my arms and began to listen far more attentively to Raleigh’s explanation. Seemingly catching my silent signal of approval, Raleigh smoothly continued.
“Consider the current geopolitical landscape of Europe, my lord. Within the Holy Roman Empire alone, countless sovereign territories are currently thriving under the direct, capable governance of Prince-Bishops (Fürstbischof).
I have never once heard any disturbing reports of those specific territories being grossly mismanaged or falling into absolute ruin.
Furthermore, do our Bishops not serve strictly limited, democratically elected terms? If a Bishop were to somehow violently mismanage his territory, wouldn’t his subordinate priests simply vote for a different, significantly more competent candidate during the next election cycle?”
“Well… that is certainly true.”
“And while it is true that a Bishop sits at the absolute pinnacle of the government, there is absolutely no need for the secular administrative bureaucracy to be forcefully integrated with the religious hierarchy of the Church. Therefore, you may completely set your mind at ease on that front.”
A relatively strict separation of church and state would be maintained, Florida’s fundamental sovereignty would be officially respected, and yet… only individuals who have explicitly embraced our ‘Nameless’ denomination could ever be ordained as Bishops and subsequently elected as the political leaders of Florida…
This is actually a flawless, brilliant plan.
Seeing my expression completely relax in approval, Raleigh seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as the tension finally left his shoulders, sinking comfortably back into his chair. Excellent. It seems we will likely proceed exactly as he suggested…
“Consider this, my lord. Even the mighty Habsburg dynasty, which currently rules the Holy Roman Empire with an iron fist, heavily relies on these Prince-Bishops to successfully mediate and resolve massive, highly volatile conflicts across their vast territories, do they not?”
“…”
“…”
“…What did you just say?”
“I was merely pointing out that the Habsburgs of the Holy Roman Empire successfully utilize the Bishoprics to skillfully govern and suppress massive religious and ethnic conflicts across their domains, my lord.”
“…”
“For example, consider their diplomatic relations with the highly volatile Protestant regions—”
Successfully govern religious and ethnic conflicts?!
…Wait, exactly how many years are left until the outbreak of the catastrophic Thirty Years’ War?!
Regardless.
An incredibly intense, overwhelmingly ominous feeling began to violently squirm its way up my spine, but I forcefully suppressed it using the sheer power of logical reasoning. No. The fundamental political and social foundations of the Americas are entirely, completely different from those of the Holy Roman Empire.
Right.
First of all, there were already tens of thousands of our devoted followers residing in Florida. If we factored in the massive Native American populations, we were talking about a territory inhabited by hundreds of thousands of people. It was simply impossible for a single Bishop to effectively govern such a massive population alone. We would inevitably have to ordain several more.
And naturally, we would need to elect a supreme representative from among those Bishops… Uh… I suppose we could just elect an Archbishop to lead them all. Then it wouldn’t merely be a Bishopric, it would be an Archbishopric.
Excellent. The overarching roadmap for the future is slowly coming together in my head. Nodding firmly in satisfaction, I spoke to Raleigh.
“Then, I suppose our first order of business is to formally assemble all the priests currently residing in that region, conduct an official election, and successfully elect the new Bishops and the Archbishop.”
“Yes, my lord. And once that process is complete, you simply need to formally ordain him as the ruling lord of the ‘Archbishopric of Florida.’ After that, the Floridians will be more than capable of managing their own internal affairs.”
Alright, if we handle it exactly like that…
…
…
…
Wait a minute.
“…Raleigh?”
“Yes, my lord.”
‘Formally ordain him as the ruling lord’?
“Historically… exactly who possessed the absolute authority to formally ordain a Bishop as a ruling feudal lord within the Holy Roman Empire?”
I asked the most glaringly obvious, fundamental question possible.
“Why, the Emperor of the Empire, of course.”
Raleigh answered with an expression that clearly said, ‘Why on earth are you asking something so incredibly obvious?’
‘The Emperor.’
Uh… Right.
“Then, I shall immediately begin preparations for the official ordination ceremony. We should formally present this agenda to the Council of Six for immediate ratification.”
“…”
I’m playing the role of the Emperor.
***
Alonso quietly recalled his profound conversation with the ‘Bishop.’
—”I absolutely refuse to step forward and claim the spotlight.”
—”But, Bishop. Had it not been for your massive, highly organized underground network, countless slaves would never have tasted freedom. There is simply no one else more qualified for this position…”
—”It is not my organization.”
At that exact moment, the Bishop had smiled, his face displaying a deeply complex mixture of profound sorrow and overwhelming relief.
—”It is ‘His’ organization.”
—“…”
—”I only traveled to this godforsaken land to desperately search for my beloved wife. And recently… I finally found the place where she was buried and laid flowers upon her grave. That is more than enough for me.”
—”But still.”
—”The other priests who share my holy convictions will also choose to remain hidden in the shadows. A highly secretive, meticulously organized network still possesses countless vital uses in this new era. We fully intend to continue serving the community from the shadows. Furthermore, numerous Spanish soldiers have recently joined our ranks as well.”
—”Have you not quietly endured over a decade of agonizing, entirely unnecessary servitude for the sake of others? Surely, you deserve to be properly rewarded for such profound sacrifices…”
—”This sacred position must never, ever be used as a mere reward for my own personal life choices. It is an incredibly heavy, monumental position forged entirely from the collective, bleeding consensus of the liberated freemen of Florida.”
Alonso had desperately wanted to protest further, but the iron will of the ‘Bishop’ who commanded the massive secret society was absolute and uncompromising.
—”It seems highly likely that the members of our organization will cast their votes for you. I didn’t even have to order them to do so. Congratulations, Alonso. You are the first Archbishop of Florida.”
—”Pardon?! What on earth did I actually do during the uprising to deserve…”
—”Please, just accept it.”
The ‘Bishop’ had spoken softly as he seamlessly melted back into the darkness, as if that were his true, natural element.
—”The people… have chosen you.”
And the very next day, the official election was held.
Alonso was overwhelmingly elected to the monumental position of Archbishop.
Swept up in the deafening, euphoric cheers and the wildly passionate atmosphere of the massive crowd, Alonso simply couldn’t find the courage to refuse the position right then and there. He had absolutely no choice but to awkwardly accept the crushing, terrifying burden of leadership.
However…
The sheer, horrifying realization that he, a mere priest, was now officially the Archbishop and the supreme ruler of Florida was utterly unbearable. He had to find a way to refuse this impossible burden.
This sacred position had been forged through an ocean of innocent blood, hadn’t it?
Yet he, a man who had done absolutely nothing of consequence, was now claiming that blood-soaked throne. Furthermore, he was literally a Spanish citizen himself.
It made absolutely no sense.
Driven by those crushing, guilt-ridden thoughts, he had desperately sent multiple missives to the Virginia authorities over the past few days, begging to be relieved of his duties.
He had not received a single reply.
“…”
“Since we coincidentally ran into each other like this, let us walk together to your destination. We can talk along the way.”
Until today.
The soldiers who had been awkwardly, heavily escorting Alonso just moments prior instantly bowed their heads in profound reverence and quickly backed away the moment he crossed paths with ‘Him.’
And so, the two men walked side-by-side in an incredibly awkward, heavily solemn silence.
Unlike ‘Him,’ who appeared completely relaxed and at ease, Alonso couldn’t even dare to steal a glance at the man walking beside him. Simply looking at Him instantly forced Alonso to vividly recall that terrifying day.
The sheer, mind-breaking shock of that day.
The absolute, crushing, overwhelming presence of that day.
“…I am a man who has accomplished absolutely nothing. I desperately wish to resign from this position.”
Still, he absolutely had to say what needed to be said.
Alonso forced his mouth open with immense difficulty. Yet, once he finally began to speak, the words surprisingly flowed out with incredible ease.
“The absolute extent of my so-called ‘accomplishments’ consists entirely of helping a handful of slaves escape, displaying a modicum of basic human decency, and nearly being beaten to death by a mob of drunken vigilantes.
And when I finally regained consciousness, the Africans of this land had already successfully liberated themselves through their own blood and courage.”
Hearing his desperate plea, ‘He’ briefly turned to look at Alonso before…
“I see.”
…replying with that single, infuriatingly nonchalant phrase.
Feeling a sudden, deeply frustrating tightness in his chest at the agonizingly casual response, Alonso pressed on.
“I am absolutely nothing. The ones who violently fought and bled against the slave owners were others. The ones who successfully smuggled the vast majority of the slaves to freedom were others. The ones who truly fought and triumphed in the recent, apocalyptic battle were others. I am merely…”
“And yet, the one explicitly chosen by the people during the election was you.”
“…”
“It appears the people place a great deal of trust in you, Alonso. That is a wonderful thing. Please, strive to become an Archbishop worthy of that profound trust. It is the absolute most vital virtue any leader can possess.”
That was exactly what the ‘Nameless One’ said.
Alonso felt an overwhelming, desperate need to fiercely rebut that claim. And so, he spoke.
“No. I am absolutely not the person the people trust the most.”
“The election results have already definitively proven—”
“…Because you were not an official candidate on that ballot, were you?”
“…”
“That is the absolute truth. The person the people of this land trust and revere above all others is you.”
Only then did ‘He’ finally stop walking and turn to look at Alonso, a genuinely surprised expression crossing His face. Alonso continued, his voice trembling with desperate earnestness.
“I did not physically fight against the slave owners. But you did. And the one who ultimately liberated the most slaves… was you. Every single soul in this land knows perfectly well that you were the one who single-handedly turned the tide of that apocalyptic battle.”
Silence hung heavily in the air.
“Please, I beg of you. You should be the one to rule this land of Florida. Oh Nameless One, there is simply no other candidate more infinitely qualified for this holy position than you.”
In Alonso’s mind, it was the absolute, undeniably most logical and righteous path forward.
A land directly ruled by… an Angel.
A land directly governed by the single most beloved, profoundly trusted, and deeply revered entity in existence. Wasn’t Virginia in the north already thriving under that exact same, glorious system?
No, fundamentally, there was an absolute, unavoidable reason why it had to be Him.
The absolute most decisive reason of all.
“Did this glorious liberation not ultimately arrive solely because of your divine intervention? Was this miraculous victory not entirely forged by your own two hands—”
And then.
“No.”
When ‘He’ sharply cut Alonso off for the very first time, Alonso was so profoundly startled that his jaw hung open in stunned silence. Stopping dead in His tracks, ‘He’ stared intensely at Alonso for a long moment before… slowly turning His head back and resuming His casual walk.
“I am not the one who achieved this.”
What… what on earth is He saying?
“Yes, I fully acknowledge that you explicitly told us the outcome of the war rested entirely in our own hands. You told us to place our faith in ourselves. But if you had not miraculously appeared that night and performed that terrifying, divine miracle, could we have possibly won that battle?!”
Hearing that desperate question, ‘He’ stopped walking once more. As Alonso frantically rushed to catch up to Him, ‘He’ slowly turned around, locking eyes directly with Alonso, and spoke.
“I.”
“…”
“Exactly why was I there that night?”
“…Pardon? What did you just say?”
“Did you not just loudly proclaim that the ‘miracle’ I performed was the absolute sole reason the battle ended in our favor?
If that is true, then what exactly brought me to that specific battlefield in the first place? Who exactly called me down to that specific place at that specific time?”
“That was…”
Well… that was…
“I only arrived in this land after the slaves had already launched their massive uprising and successfully liberated themselves.”
“…”
“The ones who ultimately called me down to that battlefield were the very people who had bravely chosen to stand up and violently resist their oppressors. The people who desperately, fiercely desired to forge their own freedom were the ones who ultimately drew me to that place.”
‘His’ face remained perfectly, unnervingly calm, but an immense, terrifying weight heavily anchored His words.
It was a profound, overwhelming power that felt as though it was physically dominating the very space around them.
As Alonso simply gaped in stunned, wordless silence, completely unable to formulate a coherent response… ‘He’ suddenly flashed a gentle, radiant smile and casually turned around, resuming His walk. Snapping out of his daze, Alonso frantically hurried after Him as ‘He’ continued speaking.
“I was merely the initial catalyst, and the final, concluding stroke.”
His voice was incredibly soft and gentle. He sounded exactly like a patient teacher gently guiding a confused child.
“Exactly like you.”
“…”
“Yes. You may very well believe that you did absolutely nothing of consequence. You were likely nothing more than the initial catalyst; the ones who actually physically launched the rebellion and bled for their freedom were the slaves themselves.
And it will be exactly the same moving forward. The ones who actually physically build and shape the future of this land will be the people themselves. Even if you sit on the throne as their Archbishop.”
“…”
“Therefore, please. Accept the burden.”
As they walked, they eventually arrived at the bustling heart of San Agustín. A massive crowd of people began to rapidly gather around them, murmuring excitedly.
“You are not being ordained to act as the dictatorial ruler of the Floridian people.
You are merely stepping forward to serve as their catalyst once more.”
With those final, profound words, ‘He’ raised His head and warmly waved His hand at the massive, cheering crowd of onlookers gathering around them. As thunderous, euphoric cheers violently erupted from the crowd, ‘He’ gently encouraged Alonso to wave as well.
Slowly, hesitantly, Alonso raised his trembling hand and waved.
“That is more than enough. You do not need to shoulder the impossible burden of becoming a flawless savior who single-handedly leads the Floridian people to eternal wealth and glory. If the burden ever feels too agonizingly heavy, simply step back and allow the people to forge their own path.”
“…”
Before they knew it, they had arrived at the massive, towering doors of the cathedral. As ‘He’ firmly pushed the heavy wooden doors open with both hands, Alonso saw an unimaginably massive sea of people packed tightly inside the holy sanctuary.
Standing amidst the deafening, earth-shattering roar of their euphoric cheers.
Alonso slowly looked up at ‘Him.’
He was smiling. It was an incredibly gentle, deeply comforting smile that instantly washed away every ounce of Alonso’s anxiety, yet it was simultaneously so profoundly radiant and powerful that Alonso knew he would never, ever forget it for the rest of his life.
Overwhelmed by that divine smile, Alonso fell to his knees.
And he swore a sacred oath.
I shall… as the Archbishop of Florida and the supreme representative of the Floridian people, swear absolute, eternal loyalty to you.
I shall… as the Archbishop of Florida, dedicate every single breath of my life to the prosperity and happiness of the Floridian people for the entire duration of my holy term.
I shall…
…
…
…
Six months passed in the blink of an eye.
The crisp, cool autumn of 1612 finally arrived.
Alonso, who had officially taken on the grueling, overwhelmingly complex duties of a Head of State for the very first time in his life, was currently running himself ragged.
“Are you telling me this towering mountain of paperwork is entirely for today?!”
“Yes, Your Grace. Well, to be fair, this is a relatively light workload for an average Tuesday back in Virginia.”
He wasn’t shocked by the sheer volume of administrative tasks. If anything, trying to aggressively manage a massive, sprawling nation through highly inefficient, disorganized word-of-mouth commands was infinitely more agonizing and ineffective than systematically processing this towering mountain of paperwork.
The primary reason Alonso was so profoundly shocked was simply the sheer, incomprehensible physical volume of the paper itself. He couldn’t even begin to fathom exactly where on earth they were procuring such an endless, seemingly infinite supply of high-quality paper.
It wasn’t just the paper; he distinctly felt as though the overall supply of premium ink and countless other everyday household necessities had suddenly, inexplicably become overwhelmingly abundant as well.
And his instincts were entirely correct.
The massive, terrifyingly efficient industrial juggernaut of Virginia, which had recently undergone a massive wave of hyper-development and exponential growth, was currently ruthlessly flooding the Florida market with an endless tsunami of high-quality, mass-produced goods at absurdly low, hyper-competitive prices.
When factoring in the astronomical costs and significant logistical risks of shipping goods across the treacherous Atlantic Ocean to Europe, aggressively dumping their massive surplus inventory onto the newly liberated Floridian market was infinitely more lucrative and efficient. The sudden, incredibly convenient establishment of a massive, ravenous new market right on their doorstep was rapidly unlocking the various restrictive industrial shackles that had previously hindered Virginia’s economic growth.
Regardless, entirely ignorant of the complex, macroeconomic realities driving this bizarre phenomenon, Alonso simply sighed heavily and began meticulously sorting through the towering mountain of paperwork once more.
And then.
“We absolutely cannot continue like this…”
He firmly reached a grim conclusion.
“I need to arrange a serious, face-to-face negotiation with the Virginia government.”