Chapter 175

Word from the coast was encouraging; the settlers were volunteering for the harbor construction with far more enthusiasm than I had anticipated. It seemed the spirit of community ran deep within the Covenant, even among the fresh arrivals. Seeing them roll up their sleeves for the public good was, quite frankly, a little touching.

If everyone else was putting in that much effort, I couldn’t exactly sit idle. I had to fulfill my own responsibilities. And my responsibility was…

“So, we’re just planting these vines in this valley? Anywhere in particular, or…”

“Wait, hold on,” I interrupted, gesturing for the student to stop. “I’ll specify exactly where each one goes.”

Winemaking.

Let’s look at this objectively. The distance from Virginia to this valley is roughly the same as the distance between Korea and Kazakhstan. Suppose the people of 17th-century Joseon had somehow managed to strike up a friendly alliance with the Manchus and Mongols and set out to settle Kazakhstan. How much influence could Joseon maintain there, and for how long? Would that influence even reach that far?

Framing it that way made the reality sink in. In fact, realizing the situation here was even more precarious than my analogy sent a literal shiver down my spine. It would take decades for California to be truly integrated into the Continental Covenant. Until then, it would be treated like a distant overseas colony.

Time would eventually bridge that gap—whether through the eventual downfall of Nueva España opening the sea lanes, or some other means of connecting the Atlantic and Pacific coasts. Regardless, I had set a twenty-year horizon for things to truly fall into place, assuming everything went perfectly.

The implication of that timeline was crystal clear: even if we produced world-class wine here today, it would have to sit in a cellar for decades before it ever reached the European market. No matter how exquisite a vintage might be, who would buy it when the shipping costs across the Pacific, Indian, and Atlantic Oceans reached the heavens? Even if we found a buyer, we’d be operating at a staggering loss.

So, the plan was simple. Every drop of wine we produced here was made with the expectation that it would be aged for at least twenty years. In the grand scheme of things, that wasn’t unheard of; fortified wines can have a peak drinking window that stretches forty or fifty years. But still…

Actually, it was a massive pain in the neck.

People often misunderstand the nature of business. Catering to the ultra-wealthy with “luxury goods” isn’t where the real profit lies. True wealth is built on the masses. It’s a simple calculation: it is far more profitable for a million people to buy a fifteen-dollar item than for ten people to buy a million-dollar one.

Even three-star Michelin restaurants often operate at a loss, or at a razor-thin margin; their real revenue comes from the frozen meals and convenience kits sold under their brand name. It’s why a company like Hyundai dwarfs Lamborghini in scale, or why Casio’s sheer volume outshines the prestige of Vacheron Constantin.

In the 21st century, the wine industry was essentially a real estate play—buying up neglected rural land, developing it into a winery, and then flipping it for a fortune. That’s why those wineries could afford to sell tiny amounts of obscenely expensive premium wine; what they were really selling was the land itself.

But that wasn’t what I was after.

I don’t want a real estate play, I thought. I wanted to dominate the global market across every tier, from affordable table wines to the finest vintages, until everyone in Europe was shouting, “Wow! This Korean-made—well, not really—wine is incredible! We love the Yonega Brokerage!”

I wanted the prestigious wineries of Europe to feel the weight of the “quality gap.” I wanted to sell essential wine to the Christian world without limit, raking in unimaginable profits.

And yet, my modest ambition as a simple grape farmer from Korea had been sabotaged from the start by that wretched Viceroyalty of Nueva España. It was enough to make my teeth gnash in frustration.

Still, I refused to yield. I ordered the professors and students from the Agricultural College who had accompanied me to begin planting. These vines were survivors; they had been ferried across the Atlantic from France and then hauled thousands of kilometers over land without withering.

Cabernet Franc and Sauvignon Blanc.

These two varieties were storied in their own right and remained beloved even in the 21st century. However, they weren’t the ones I truly intended to cultivate. They weren’t the grapes that would define Napa Valley in the future.

The most widely planted wine grape in the 21st century—and the absolute king of Napa Valley—was the natural crossbreed of those two: Cabernet Sauvignon.

Once Cabernet Sauvignon, or a similar hybrid, was born, the agronomists here would move immediately. Napa Valley was a mosaic of diverse soils, altitudes, and microclimates. We would select the absolute prime locations for Cabernet Sauvignon, build our wineries, and begin production.

In this entire era, I was the only person who knew exactly how Cabernet Sauvignon came to be and which specific plots of Napa land were suited for which grapes.

I have to admit, I mused, that sounds rather impressive. I felt like the protagonist of one of those corporate dramas, the kind who makes a fortune because he knows exactly where the new subway lines will be built decades in advance.

Regardless, the conquest of the European wine market was just a matter of time. Roughly… half a century?

By then, I’d be over a hundred years old.

“…Ah.”

The thought hit me like a physical blow. It wasn’t just me. Everyone currently toiling away on this crossbreeding project—every professor, every student—would be long dead by the time the first vintage reached its peak.

A somber weight settled over me. I couldn’t stop the train of thought. Raleigh would be dead. Eleanor, Vicente, Manteo—all the Apostles would be gone. The human body simply wasn’t designed to last a century.

Most of those who had carved Croatoan out of the wilderness with me would be either dead or ancient. Virginia would be a grandmother. She would have children, and those children would have children of their own.

The people who would eventually taste this wine… they weren’t the ones standing beside me now.

I looked at the group planting the vines and spoke softly. “When the wine is finally ready… send a few bottles back immediately. Even if it hasn’t reached its peak yet.”

I wanted the people by my side now to taste the fruits of their labor, even if the vintage wasn’t at its absolute best.

***

While Kim Lee-sang had transformed the New World using a dizzying array of future technologies, the field that had arguably seen the most profound impact was medicine.

In the universities of this era, astronomy was taught as a core subject. Of course, “astronomy” in the 17th century was a far cry from the science of the 21st. Astrology sat at its very heart. Science, theology, and magic were inextricably linked; Johannes Kepler, the man who proved elliptical orbits, was a renowned astrologer, and Isaac Newton spent a staggering amount of his life trying to decode biblical prophecies and the secrets of alchemy.

Naturally, the astronomy taught in universities was focused on astrological predictions. Surprisingly, it was a highly practical field—especially for physicians.

“Hmm… born under Libra, you say? Then we shall use this herb.”

Doctors used astrology to determine a patient’s constitution and the appropriate cure. It was roughly as scientific as treating colon cancer based on one’s MBTI or personal color palette. To a modern observer, it might seem pathetic, but they had little choice. They lacked microscopes and had no concept of microbiology. While dissections were more common than often assumed, they couldn’t cut into a living person to see how blood circulated or how nerves and muscles functioned.

In truth, they didn’t necessarily need to know the “why.” Medicine throughout history has often operated at a distance from rigorous scientific inquiry. Even in 21st-century pharmacies, many drugs are sold whose exact mechanisms are still unknown; their efficacy is guaranteed solely by the fact that they “work.” Most practical sciences operate on that principle.

Furthermore, the medicine of the past lacked the means for systematic clinical trials or the rigorous observation of side effects. They simply tried everything that felt like it might save a life. This led to a chaotic blend of Greek philosophy, theology, Islamic medicine, astrology, and alchemy. Even a professional physician’s prescription was often no more effective than a folk remedy—and occasionally, it was far worse.

“She… she’s about to deliver!”

“Disinfect the entire room before moving her! And you—boil these cloths immediately!”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

But now, everything was different. People could finally explain why water had to be boiled. They understood the necessity of washing their hands and keeping surgical tools sterile. The introduction of emergency first aid and simple over-the-counter medicines had catapulted medicine out of the Middle Ages.

Scurvy was no longer a death sentence. Alcohol was used for disinfection. The understanding that blood circulated from the heart allowed them to master the art of minimizing blood loss. There were still many incurable diseases, but they now knew precisely what they could treat and what they couldn’t.

Eleanor Dare understood this better than anyone. Since she had made handwashing mandatory for all physicians, the rate of patients dying from infection had plummeted. When she expanded that mandate to midwives, the mortality rate for mothers and infants dropped even further.

And yet…

“Is Virginia safe?”

“You must wait, Ma’am. It is not yet…”

Eleanor chewed her fingernails, her mind fixated on her daughter. Despite the medical advancements, pregnancy and childbirth remained perilous. Some things were simply beyond the reach of science. She took small comfort in the fact that medicine had progressed enough to bar anyone but the medical staff from the delivery room.

“The child’s head is quite large!” a voice cried out from inside.

“Apostle!”

A physician opened the door and called for Eleanor. Throwing on a disinfected gown, Eleanor rushed to her daughter’s side. The room was a scene of visceral struggle, but Virginia… she looked safe.

“Are you alright? How do you feel?”

“I’m… okay…”

Though her body trembled from the agonizing aftershocks of labor, Virginia managed a weak smile at her mother. “Mother… the baby… the name…”

“The name? That is for you and your husband to decide.”

“He… he said it was fine. If you chose it…”

Eleanor blinked back tears and looked away for a moment. Only then did the piercing cry of the newborn reach her ears. Her daughter was safe, and so was the child.

A second son. After losing her first child at a young age, Virginia had waited until she was over thirty to have another. This child was precious beyond measure.

Eleanor took the holy water she had brought and touched it to the infant’s forehead, offering her blessing and baptism. Though she had never been formally ordained, no one questioned her authority to perform the rite; they knew exactly whose power she represented.

“You… you shall be a magnificent man,” Eleanor whispered. It was her first word to the child.

The boy slowly ceased his crying and stared up at the woman before him. Eleanor smiled and took his tiny, red hand in hers. “Yesterday, I saw the Lord in a dream. I saw a great multitude marching forward with torches, vanquishing the demons of the dark. And there was one man leading them…”

She squeezed the infant’s warm hand. “And then, you were born. You are destined for great things within this community.”

Eleanor kissed the child’s brow. “Gideon.”

Silence fell over the room as the name took hold.

“Gideon Viccars,” she declared. “That shall be your name.”

Eleanor looked at her daughter. Virginia was already whispering the name to herself, testing the sound of it. “Gideon… Gideon.”

“Do you like it?”

Virginia nodded weakly.

As the blessing of the Apostle’s lineage was passed down to the newest member of the Viccars family, those present offered their own quiet prayers for the child’s future. They whispered that surely, this child was destined for greatness.