Chapter 241

“Regardless, we owe everything to our kinsmen from across the Atlantic. Is it not thanks to them that we have finally uncovered our true roots?

This proves beyond a doubt that only we—the ones paving the path to the Holy Land—are the truly Chosen People who never forgot our origins, unlike those others. Therefore, we must never easily surrender the rights to build this road to anyone else······”

What on earth is this?

Confronted with this suddenly conjured “Judeo-American” ethnic identity, Manteo felt no surge of academic curiosity or humanitarian interest. Instead, he felt a cold sweat trickling down his spine.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

It wasn’t just because he was a founding member of the Nameless Church. In this land, people everywhere often asked, “The Nameless One? Nemo? Isn’t he just some great spirit?” The Continental Covenant had always been a place of radical inclusion, welcoming even Muslims, let alone Jews. The freedom of religion and the separation of church and state were among the most fundamental pillars that defined the Covenant.

But now, the Covenant’s core infrastructure was being dominated by those who had branded the Prince a “Messiah”—supporters of a “unique theological perspective” that was a radical departure from the norm. To see a sudden, explosive surge in the number of practitioners, not of Christianity, but of Judaism?

This would have irreversible consequences.

Perhaps if he had come alone, it wouldn’t have been such a problem. But the high official of the Covenant scheduled to join the inspection tour immediately after him was none other than······

“Councilor!”

“Wh-what is it?”

“Councilor Thomas Harriot is about to arrive!”

“···What? I thought he wasn’t due for another day or two!”

···He was the head of the Nameless Church.

Manteo gazed out across the Missouri River. Through the hazy, encroaching twilight, a light flickered in the distance. A massive vessel was approaching—one large enough to carry a Councilor, even while navigating the hostile waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

Manteo swallowed hard, his throat dry. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had felt this tense.

***

Thomas Harriot was in an exceptionally good mood. Even he hadn’t anticipated that the construction of the transcontinental highway would proceed at such a blistering pace.

It wasn’t just the speed that pleased him. For the Continental Covenant, this was a dream scenario of private infrastructure development: they had acquired a massive piece of strategic infrastructure for almost nothing, saving a staggering amount of capital. When he considered that these tribes would also take on the burden of road maintenance and local security, Harriot—despite his aging body—felt like breaking into a celebratory dance.

Furthermore, he understood exactly what this road would achieve. It wasn’t just about controlling the West and the Jews, as Kim Lee-sang had initially thought. This network would facilitate the flow of goods and people, accelerating the subjugation of surrounding powers to the Covenant.

But above all else, the Nameless Church would spread faster than ever before. Much like Catholicism followed the trade routes of Portugal and Spain, the Nameless Church would follow the highway. As the practical leader of the church—since the “true leader” preferred to remain in the shadows—Harriot welcomed this development with open arms.

And so, on a Saturday morning, a steamship docked at the Omaha pier. The crew shouted out, announcing that a cabinet member of the Continental Covenant had reached their shores.

A crowd began to gather to receive him. Harriot stepped off the ship under his own power. By now, he and Eleanor were the only two among the original Apostles who didn’t rely on a cane. As he surveyed the pier, Harriot soon felt a twinge of unease and frowned.

“···Manteo?”

“Thomas, welcome. I have much to show you.”

“I—wait, why are the only faces I recognize here your own people? Where is the local reception committee?”

A high official of the Continental Covenant had arrived, and yet there was no welcome, nor even a cold reception. It was beyond baffling; it was absurd.

Manteo began to break into a cold sweat, his voice stuttering. “Th-that… you see, a sudden epidemic of sorts broke out.”

“What? An epidemic! Then shouldn’t we head back immediately? No, wait. We must ask Lady Dare to send medical personnel at once—”

“D-don’t worry. It isn’t a plague, just… something similar to an epidemic.”

“···And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Anyway, it’s just… something that happened. It’s not important.”

Harriot couldn’t fathom how a disease widespread enough to prevent the reception of a foreign dignitary could be “unimportant.” Yet, knowing Manteo wasn’t the type to act strangely without reason, he gave a slow nod and followed his colleague.

“Let’s focus on resting from your journey first. I’ll lead you to your quarters so you can recover today and start fresh tomorrow.”

“I couldn’t possibly do that. Isn’t tomorrow the Lord’s Day? I heard the people here are so devout they’ve already built their own churches. How could I interfere with their spiritual life?”

“······.”

Manteo flinched, his body visibly trembling. When Harriot tilted his head in confusion, Manteo waved it off as nothing.

It was definitely strange.

As they walked through the streets, while their attendants scurried about checking for security and controlling the area, Harriot’s questions only multiplied. He had been told that Omaha was a substantial city of over five thousand residents. Yet, looking at the number of people on the streets······

“···Why are there so few people? Is this also because of the epidemic?”

“Y-yes. The situation seems quite severe.”

“Then this is a major crisis, isn’t it? If the foot traffic has decreased this much, most of the laborers must be in a state where they cannot work.”

“···They are indeed in a state where they cannot work.”

“What was that?”

“It was nothing.”

“Regardless, Manteo, even if you don’t know the full extent of this epidemic, we must respond. And not just for moral reasons.”

“······.”

Manteo fell silent, his expression anxious. Harriot, still puzzled by his colleague’s awkward behavior, continued.

“If this persists, it will seriously hinder the construction of the road.”

“······.”

“Manteo?”

“Ah, y-yes, Thomas. I understand. Of course I do.”

As Harriot tilted his head, feeling that everything was off today, Manteo was wrestling with a growing panic.

This is bad. I have to get him to his quarters. If he only walks around on Sunday instead of Saturday······

Manteo fought to control his trembling hands. He had no idea how to pacify his old friend and lock him away in his room. He had heard Harriot’s cardiovascular health hadn’t been great lately; if the man saw something shocking and collapsed, it would be a disaster. He needed to find a natural moment to explain the situation slowly, without incident.

Lost in these thoughts, he didn’t notice Harriot walking up to him until the man asked, “You don’t look well today. Perhaps you’ve caught this epidemic yourself?”

“No!”

“···I don’t know why you’re reacting so strongly, but it’s a fact that you don’t seem like yourself.”

“Th-that’s because the epidemic has brought things to this state! It’s only natural.”

There was indeed an epidemic spreading—an epidemic of the Star of David and strict Sabbath observance.

Eventually, they reached the logistics warehouse on foot.

“······.”

“······.”

It was completely empty. Manteo cursed himself for bringing Harriot here of all places, but in truth, an empty location was better than one filled with “Jews.”

“I—is there truly not a single person at work?”

Of course not. I heard the Jews won’t even light a fire on the Sabbath.

“Y-yes. There is a local festival taking place. They believe that if they work today, they will be cursed by the spirits.”

Naturally, no such festival existed. Therefore, no such belief existed either. But Harriot, who had spent a lifetime delegating almost all indigenous matters to Manteo, simply nodded, assuming the “expert” knew best.

“We’ve seen enough. Let’s head to the dining hall.”

“······.”

After they toured the warehouse, with Manteo reciting the explanations he’d heard the day before, Harriot announced he was hungry.

They headed to the dining hall. As dozens of attendants prepared to sit at the tables, Manteo pointed a trembling finger toward a corner of the room.

“Everyone… please take the food already prepared over there.”

There sat dozens of plates, each with food that looked as if it had been sitting out for a long time, cold to the touch. When Harriot frowned again, Manteo spoke cautiously.

“It—it seems there is a local custom here of only eating cold food.”

It was a lie, just like before. No such custom existed. But this time, Harriot didn’t find it strange; he merely shrugged.

“Well, there are those in the world who don’t eat meat and dairy together, aren’t there? Eating cold food is a small thing in comparison.”

“······.”

“Why do you suddenly look so pale—”

“It’s nothing.”

Throughout the rest of the day—touring the town hall, visiting the council building, and introducing Harriot to the few people on the streets—Manteo felt he had never been more exhausted.

And then······

“Aaaargh!”

A sudden, piercing scream rang out. Harriot’s eyes went wide, and he quickened his pace. Manteo, feeling a heavy sense of dread, followed close behind.

Harriot kicked open the door of a nearby building and shouted, “Wh-what is happening—”

“······.”

“······.”

“······.”

And there he saw it.

A man with his genitals exposed, held down by several others while someone brandished a knife. Nearby, others sat with sterilized cloths wrapped around their loins, staring vacantly into space, while one man stood beside them reading passages from the Bible.

“······.”

“······.”

“······.”

Confronted with a scene that could not be interpreted any other way, Manteo asked sheepishly, “S-so, Thomas? If I were to say this is also because of the epidemic or a local custom······”

“I won’t believe you.”

“I suppose not.”

With those words, Harriot clutched the back of his neck and collapsed.

To be fair, it was a perfectly reasonable reaction.

***

“Now, everyone, listen to me. You cannot be Jews!”

“What do you mean by that? We are clearly the descendants of Abraham!”

“···Since when?”

Manteo’s forceful declaration was met with immediate backlash in the meeting hall. He let out a long sigh.

“Do you not consume blood?”

“···Blood?”

“Jews do not consume blood. Are you willing to give it up?”

“······.”

“And you will likely want to eat seafood without fins or scales, and meat from animals that do not chew the cud or have cloven hooves. There are so many dietary laws—can you handle that?”

As the crowd fell silent, Manteo pressed his advantage.

“Furthermore, you would have to avoid planting different types of seeds in the same field, many of you would have to grow out your sideburns, and those of you with tattoos… would you follow all those laws? Are you saying your ancestors, who didn’t live by these rules, were all sinners?”

“W-well, no, but······”

“And is there anything similar between you and the Jewish people? Is your language the same? Do you look alike? Or have you been practicing circumcision all this time?”

“······.”

“······.”

“······.”

The Torah contains over six hundred laws that a Jew must follow, such as “Men must be circumcised,” “Do not practice divination,” and “Do not round off the hair on the edges of your heads.” There was a reason Christianity had spread so much wider than Judaism.

As Manteo recited the laws one by one, a murmuring rippled through the hall. It was inevitable; many of the Jewish laws stood in direct conflict with their long-held customs.

“Regardless, it is nonsense. It doesn’t seem like you were planning to follow the laws seriously anyway, so just withdraw your claim.”

“Don’t be too hard on them, Manteo,” Harriot interjected, stepping forward. “Didn’t they just make a mistake while trying to pursue the Lord’s justice?”

“B-but······”

“All is well that ends well. Let me speak with them.”

As the abrasive Manteo stepped back, Harriot began to speak to them gently, recounting the history of the Continental Covenant and the Nameless Church, and telling them of the great Angel the Lord had sent to earth.

It was a classic “good cop, bad cop” strategy. Manteo retreated to the background, wiping sweat from his brow and letting out a heavy sigh.

Eventually, with thoughts like “Wait… I never heard about having to drain all the blood from the meat. That’s a bit much…” most of the American Indians opted to re-convert.

In the end, what mattered to them was their identity. Even if they chose Christianity, it was enough to distinguish them from the surrounding tribes who still followed indigenous religions. In a way, the encounter with Judaism had made accepting monotheism slightly easier. The two leaders were surprised to find that these “pseudo-Jews” accepted the teachings of the Nameless Church far better than other tribes.

Whatever the case, not long after the two arrived, most of the citizens of Omaha converted to Christianity.

“······.”

“······.”

“······.”

Manteo let out a sigh of relief, only to lock eyes with a few men standing awkwardly nearby. They were looking at him with eyes full of slight resentment.

If only you had come a little sooner······

At this point, they were the most pitiable of all.

The ones who had already undergone circumcision.

“W-well, at least it’s better for hygiene!” Manteo said, but his words offered little comfort. Even when he offered to treat them to fried pork, they simply waddled back to their homes.

···It was truly a regrettable turn of events.