Chapter 185

“What in the world are you loading?” I asked, staring at the crates being hoisted onto the deck.

The merchant beamed with pride. “Why, goods to sell in China, of course! We have the finest aged cheeses to present to the Emperor of China—”

“Take them back,” I interrupted flatly. “Immediately.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. I had just saved the peace of East Asia. The sheer audacity of these men—it was like a Korean traveler in Europe trying to present a medieval Emperor with cheonggukjang and pungent kimchi as a grand gift. They didn’t even realize they reeked of cheese themselves. It’s funny how future generations of white people would spend their time bitching about how other races smelled like spices when their ancestors were doing… this.

Regardless, the conversation shifted to diplomacy, and the confusion on their faces only deepened. “You mean to say,” one of my aides stammered, “that they have banned all maritime trade except for that sanctioned by the Imperial Court? Good heavens, does their Parliament have nothing to say about this? It’s a miracle they haven’t faced a rebellion.”

“…”

They truly knew nothing. I mean, absolutely nothing. They were missing even the most rudimentary knowledge of the East. Ignorance itself isn’t a sin; if someone asked me about the history of Southeast Asia or the Arab world in my previous life, I’d probably just have a giant question mark floating over my head. But the mindset of being a complete idiot and still thinking, Well, I’ll just go there and sell my stuff! was beyond strange—it was delusional.

At least the Catholics were in a slightly better position. Even a history-blind man like me knew of cases like Matteo Ricci from school textbooks. He had lived in China for decades, mastering Confucianism to the point where he was respected as a scholar on par with Mencius. If the Church had produced a man like that, it meant they had a network of people who knew the language and the academic traditions. They had established deep-rooted connections within the Ming Dynasty over decades.

“You said… China has no Parliament?” the aide pressed. “Then how do the lords reach a consensus?”

“There are no lords,” I replied.

The people around me were fools who had never even been near China. It reinforced my decision to lead this mission personally. At least I had a Hanja certification from my past life and had skimmed through the Five Classics in comic book form.

“The current dynasty is the Ming,” I explained, trying to keep my voice patient. “They believe their Emperor has a divine duty to rule and stabilize the world. Official trade is conducted through a tribute system: foreign envoys bring gifts, and the Emperor gives return gifts in a display of magnanimity. They turn a blind eye to the merchants tagging along, but that’s the basic framework.”

“Then how do the Portuguese trade now?”

“The Ming likely view it as opening a single port to a bunch of barbarian pirates from the fringes of the world.”

“…Oh.”

“Which means!” I emphasized, leaning forward. “Under no circumstances are we to act like pirates. we are not mere peddlers; we are official envoys of the Continental Covenant. We must respect the Emperor’s authority. Do you understand?”

The blank stares I received in return made me want to curl up and die. Their level of comprehension was horrifying.

Perhaps the Dutch would be better. They at least had contact with Chinese smugglers. But the English of this timeline had almost zero experience with Asia. Since the days of Elizabeth, they had been entirely focused on Virginia and Atlantic trade.

Wait, I thought, a realization dawning on me. If I look at it that way, this is actually my fault.

After finishing the crash course on China, Joseon, and Japan, I felt the life draining out of me. I retreated to my house for a much-needed drink when a knock disturbed my solitude.

“Lord Baron Raleigh requests your presence at the harbor,” the messenger announced. “He says he requires your assistance with the design of the vessel.”

Finally. It was time.

***

In this era, a sea voyage was a gamble with death. It was why I had generally avoided ships unless it was a simple coastal trip. But now, it didn’t matter. I had the ability to foresee coming disasters—that was the only reason I felt calm about a transoceanic journey.

Still, the sea was the sea. You never knew what might happen, and unlike on land, there was no guarantee of even minimal safety. Therefore, we had to pour our hearts and souls into the construction of our vessel. Our first decision was to completely overhaul the existing clipper design. I wasn’t an expert on ships, but years of living in this world had taught me one undeniable truth: The larger the scale, the safer the journey.

A large ship would sink slower, withstand the swaying of the waves better, and offer vastly superior cargo capacity and crew comfort.

“But if we build it that large,” Raleigh argued, his face etched with worry, “the hull simply won’t hold.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. A wooden frame of that length and magnitude… the moment it hits a serious wave, the structural timber at its waist will…” He picked up a dry twig and snapped it with a sickening crack. “It will shatter just like this.”

The look on the old man’s face was sobering. Facing his genuine concern, I felt a twinge of guilt. “Are you truly set on going?” he asked.

I hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded. “Yes.”

I couldn’t back down now. I was going to get my white rice, and no one was going to stop me. I put on my best performance as a resolute leader making a grave decision, and Raleigh eventually sighed, his expression one of weary resignation.

“Very well. Then we must abandon the idea of such a massive ship. It is a recipe for disaster.”

“What if we use an iron frame?” I suggested. “We are already building our clippers that way.”

“It wouldn’t matter. The wooden planks forming the outer skin would never withstand the pressure.”

I knew he’d say that. From Raleigh’s perspective, my personal departure was an unacceptable risk. But I had come prepared with a counter-argument to the rough seas of the high latitudes and the hostile Portuguese who prowled the Indian Ocean.

The university in Croatoan was nearly complete and already collaborating with shipyards and industrial monasteries. Among its faculties was the Maritime College. I knew exactly what kind of experiments they were running in my own backyard.

“Then,” I said, meeting his gaze, “we shall make the outer skin out of iron as well.”

Raleigh froze, his face hardening as if he’d been struck. He forced a strained, awkward smile. “…I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

“Are you suggesting,” he asked slowly, “that we use the experimental vessel for this critical journey? The one that hasn’t even touched the water yet?”

“I am.”

An ironclad. It wasn’t just a matter of swapping wood for iron on a standard clipper. While clippers were fast, they lacked capacity and stability. But if we used iron for the hull, we could overcome the limits Raleigh feared. Experimental data showed that replacing the wooden frame and skin with iron actually made the hull lighter, reducing the structural burden. In that state, we could increase the size without the ship snapping under the weight of waves or its own mass.

“What do you think?” I asked.

Raleigh’s face remained a mask of silent disbelief. His expression clearly screamed, Have you lost your mind? He looked at me as if asking why I insisted on making such a reckless, experimental gamble with my own life.

But what other choice was there? “If the ship is small or under-gunned,” I pointed out, “we cannot guarantee our safety if we encounter Spanish or Portuguese vessels.”

“…That is true,” he admitted reluctantly.

We weren’t the only ones using the ocean. Clippers had small cargo holds and were structurally too unstable to carry a heavy complement of cannons. And if the Portuguese found out we were attempting to trade with China? They wouldn’t just sit by. These were the madmen who used to dismember Arabs and Indians and toss them into the sea just for refusing to trade. To guarantee our safety, we needed overwhelming force.

An ironclad vessel was the ultimate deterrent.

Raleigh let out a long, heavy sigh. He looked at me the way the Director of NASA might look at a President who suddenly announced he wanted to hitch a ride on an experimental space shuttle to go meet aliens on Mars.

But my mind was made up. If I was going, I was going to do it right. I had no intention of being blown out of the water by a stray Spanish galleon.

“…Fine,” Raleigh muttered. “As you wish.”

With my plan approved, we headed to the shipyard of the Croatoan Maritime College. There stood a vessel nearing completion, its hull coated in thick, black waterproof paint. It looked less like a ship and more like a floating fortress.

“What shall we name her?” Raleigh asked.

“Lord Nemo?”

I hummed, thinking. I needed something that sounded impressive and carried some weight. I’d already used up names from One Piece, Star Wars, and Star Trek… wait, what was that one?

“…The Excelsior.”

“A Latin name,” Raleigh noted. “Quite dignified.”

It was from Star Trek, of course.

Regardless, the USS Excelsior—the world’s first ironclad—was a majestic sight. Raleigh kept casting anxious glances at the hull, but the die was cast. “So,” he said, clearing his throat, “this ship is now officially a diplomatic vessel carrying the Head of State of our Covenant.”

“That is the idea.”

“In that case,” Raleigh pointed to the top of the mainmast, which stood empty, “it will need a flag to represent the Covenant.”

The Californian ships flew a flag depicting a city of gold, and the Angel crest was now exclusively used by Virginia. This ship needed a symbol that represented the entirety of the Continental Covenant.

***

The modern concept of a “National Flag” was still in its infancy. But it was the 17th century, the dawn of the nation-state. Symbols to represent a unified people and their government were just beginning to emerge from the mists of history. Until now, flags were mostly used by navies to identify nationality, rather than representing the state itself to its people.

“You want this flag flown over every government office and key facility?” an official asked. “Is there a particular reason?”

“It will make it easier for people to identify which institutions belong to the government,” I explained. “Furthermore, we should have the people pledge their loyalty to the Covenant before this flag on a regular basis.”

I knew what era was coming: the age of the nation-state and nationalism. If a country cannot provide its citizens with a sense of belonging and unity, it fragments and collapses. Instilling a sense of shared identity through patriotic rituals was a necessary step for our survival.

“It is a magnificent design!” the ministers exclaimed when I unveiled it. “It clearly expresses our identity!”

“It’s beautiful—striking at a glance, yet not overwhelming.”

I had to admit, I’d chosen well. Everyone cheered and applauded. It was a perfect blend of tradition and modernity, opulent yet simple—exactly what the Covenant needed. Whoever had designed the original—in my world—had done a brilliant job. I wished I could describe it in words, but it was a sight to behold.

The preparations were finally complete. With a rumbling thud that shook the earth, the dry dock flooded, and the Excelsior slowly rose with the tide. She floated. At the very least, she wasn’t going to sink immediately.

The world’s first ironclad spent its first few days patrolling the Virginia coast, greeted by the roars of the crowds. Her successful sea trials proved that the years of research and the establishment of the college had not been in vain.

When I finally stepped onto the deck for our departure, the sailors were visibly vibrating with tension. “Don’t be so stiff,” I told them. “Just carry out your duties as usual.”

They gave me looks that suggested they were more worried about going to hell if they messed up in my presence than they were about the ocean. Well, they’d get used to it.

“All hands! Prepare for departure!”

We were heading for Asia. We were going to plant missionaries—spies, really—to prepare the way for the Gospel, and we were going to find the resources that would enrich the lives of our people.

…And I was going to eat some white rice.