Chapter 196

Around June of the year of our Lord 1623, by the Gregorian calendar—or the fifth month of the ninth year of Genna to the Japanese—the Dutchmen in Hirado, at the edge of Kyushu, stood on the docks with their necks craned in anticipation.

The local Japanese watched them loitering and peering out to sea every day, eyeing the Dutch as if they had gone mad. Yet the Dutch had their reasons for enduring such sideways glances. The people of the Continental Covenant had promised them a mountain of Chinese silk.

Initially, the Dutch hadn’t paid much mind to the words of a single Covenant man. They were already reaping massive profits by trading the Covenant’s cheap gold for Japan’s cheap silver. That changed, however, when that same man began vacuuming up every luxury item from the Indian and Pacific Oceans.

The way he absorbed pepper, water buffalo horns, and sugar was the talk of the town. But then, clutching all those riches, he had suddenly vanished. Only a select few knew he had headed for Joseon, a move intended to avoid friction with the Shogunate, which claimed Joseon as its vassal state.

He said he’d bring back Chinese silk, but does he really have a conduit for that? Can he truly procure such a volume?

Torn between anxiety and hope, the Dutch merchants finally erupted into cheers when they spotted a fleet returning from the northern seas. These were the very ships Oitotan had led away. As soon as they docked, the cargo began to pour out.

“Look! It’s the silk thread the Covenant promised!”

It was silk thread—raw silk. Finished silk fabrics were also visible among the crates. The Dutch approached, their hearts racing with expectation. The crucial question now was how the Covenant men would play their hand, as they could easily have sold these goods directly to the Japanese.

Stepping off the ship, Oitotan summoned the Hirado branch manager of the East India Company as if it were the most natural thing in the world. A murmur ran through the crowd of those who understood the weight of that gesture. When the manager arrived breathless, Oitotan spoke to him.

“This silk… I give to East India Company.”

“Understood,” the manager replied, wiping his brow. “How much of this—”

“All of it.”

“I… I see! I cannot tell you how delighted I am to have found such a faithful Protestant ally! I shall prepare the paperwork immediately!”

The manager joyfully ordered his secretaries to draft the contract. The surrounding Dutch merchants saluted the raw silk with greedy eyes, already calculating the massive profit margins. Led by Oitotan, the manager walked toward the stacks of raw silk in high spirits.

Then, he paused.

“Wait… Lord Oitotan? Is this truly Chinese? The texture feels… slightly off.”

He tilted his head, inspecting the silk with a frown. Oitotan, appearing offended, snatched the product back from the manager’s hands.

“Quality… can vary depending on producer,” Oitotan grunted. “Merchants… always suspicious. You no want trade? Fine. I cancel.”

“N-no, wait! Who said anything about canceling? I was merely suggesting we discuss the price.”

“Discuss?”

“Never mind.”

The manager, outmatched in both status and leverage, quickly tucked his tail. He remained bewildered as to how they had opened such a trade route. Those who knew the logistics were equally puzzled. How did they bring in Chinese silk through Joseon in such a short time?

The truth was far simpler.

“Does Joseon produce silk?” Oitotan had once asked.

“But of course, Lord Oitotan,” an official had replied. “It has been thousands of years since the sage Gija brought silkworms to the East. We have produced silk ever since.”

“Then… we trade.”

It wasn’t Chinese at all.

***

The Dutch and the Japanese never caught on to the “relabeling” scheme orchestrated by Oitotan and his son. They merely muttered things like, “Hmm, it definitely feels different…” before letting it go.

Regardless, Oitotan returned from Hirado in triumph and bragged to me. “It was incredible. Even though I gave the Dutch a relatively low price, the total was…”

Oh.

The basic framework of the trade network was complete. The Covenant sells weapons and luxuries to Joseon; Joseon imports silk from Ming, mixes it with their own, and sends it back to the Covenant. Then, the Covenant sells that silk to the Dutch, who in turn sell it to the Japanese.

It was the birth of a world where the Continental Covenant, Joseon, Ming, the Dutch, and the Japanese were all happy. And I, of course, was happy as well.

During my stay, I had successfully introduced “modern” Kimchi and cooked plenty of “real” white rice using my manual rice polisher. Spreading chili powder in Joseon and eating proper Korean food for the first time in thirty years made the greasy feeling in my stomach vanish instantly.

As I sat down with Oitotan, I served him a bowl of impromptu budae-jjigae made with ingredients I’d brought from home.

“So, what is it you want to say that brought you here personally? What about your other duties in Joseon?”

“I can leave the minor tasks to my son,” Oitotan replied, his tone shifting to something more somber. “That’s why I brought the lad along. Besides, I am the Chief of Diplomacy for the Continental Covenant, am I not? I needed to deliver the reports I gathered from the Dutch and the Covenant ships passing through Hirado.”

“Reports? You mean…”

“News from Europe.”

In normal circumstances, news from Europe would take at least a year to reach these shores—and even that was nearly impossible. But we had clippers. Since we could communicate with Europe in less than three months, the news Oitotan brought was the freshest information available, untouched by any other hand.

Oitotan, knowing the value of his intel, spoke cautiously. “It’s about the matter you asked about previously.”

“…”

“It seems ‘war’ is unavoidable.”

War. My body shuddered involuntarily. There was no need to ask which war he meant.

“The Protestant monarchs are preparing to move.”

He was talking about the Thirty Years’ War.

***

Following the chaos in London, the rebels who seized power were desperate for funds. As their situation grew dire, they raided the Continental Covenant’s clinics. They auctioned off the equipment and medicine to various regions.

Of course, those items were useless without someone who knew how to use them. Some of the volunteers who hadn’t fled in time were also “sold” and scattered across Europe—highly skilled medical personnel as a luxury commodity.

“Your Majesty, please take a breath.”

“Hoooo…”

“Ah, it is truly marvelous! Your health has improved remarkably since following the new doctor’s methods!”

These volunteers provided the monarchs of Europe with more hygienic and healthy lifestyles. They prohibited bloodletting and enemas except in extreme cases and sanitized wounds with alcohol. They insisted on boiling drinking water and encouraged daily hand-washing.

This “new health regimen” extended the lives of many nobles. Even Holy Roman Emperor Matthias, who should have died around 1619, was still drawing breath thanks to this new medicine. He remained in a state of mind and body sufficient to oversee the empire’s affairs.

Of course, he knew his time was short. For the sake of the Habsburg dynasty, he had to designate a successor, however reluctantly.

“I shall step down… from the throne of Bohemia,” Matthias declared. “As my successor, I designate Archduke Ferdinand of Inner Austria.”

Having made Ferdinand his heir, Matthias abdicated the Bohemian crown—an electoral title necessary to secure the imperial throne—to him. Normally, the Bohemian crown wasn’t something a king could simply pass on; the King of Bohemia was an elected official chosen by the representatives of the nobility. For the moment, however, Ferdinand’s ascension faced no major obstacles.

The problem was that the majority of the Bohemian nobility were Protestant. Ferdinand, on the other hand, was a die-hard Catholic who despised Protestantism. Though they seethed at Ferdinand’s Catholic enforcement, the Bohemian nobles bowed their heads and waited, as there was nothing they could do immediately.

England was still in turmoil. The Protestant powers capable of supporting them were still watching the situation closely. But if Britain and the Netherlands were to move…

***

“War will break out in Bohemia,” Oitotan said, summarizing the situation in Central Europe. “It will be a massive conflict, as the next imperial throne is at stake.”

The curtain was finally rising on the Thirty Years’ War.

“However,” Oitotan added, “the situation is still in our hands.”

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t you see? We can move Britain and the Netherlands through trade.”

Ah, of course. We couldn’t prevent the war entirely, but we could decide when it started. As I fell into deep thought, Oitotan continued.

“Actually, the news after that might be more important for us.”

I braced myself.

“The King of Spain is dead.”

Oitotan delivered news that was worth the tension. I shot up from my seat. The “Incompetent King” was gone. The era of the “Planet King” (Rey Planeta) had begun.

***

By the grace of God, Felipe—now King of Spain, Sicily, Jerusalem, and the Indies—immediately elevated the Count-Duke of Olivares, his confidant since his days as a prince, to the position of Chief Minister. He began purging the corrupt ministers of his father’s era and moved in earnest.

Olivares woke Felipe IV every morning for an audience and spent his days working on state affairs with him until late at night.

“Your Majesty,” Olivares advised, pointing to a section of the map, “I believe our true enemy lies there.”

“Our enemy?”

“The late King and his favorite, the Duke of Lerma, were far too hesitant to engage in foreign conflict. And what did we see as a result? That arrogant Netherlands is encroaching upon our interests everywhere. They are trampling our dignity and honor. But that is not all. the Americas are in danger.”

Everyone knew that the Americas were Spain’s lifeline. Treasures from the New World poured into Spain in such abundance that the people of the mainland didn’t even need to be taxed. But even that was being threatened.

“The very foundations of the kingdom are crumbling,” Olivares continued, his voice rising as if he were delivering a speech. “The Protestant monarchs are forming closer ties and challenging our hegemony. But the one I fear and loathe the most is not James of Britain, nor Maurice of the Netherlands, nor even Henri of France, who is Catholic in name only. And it is certainly not Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden.”

Olivares glared at the edge of the map—at a country situated across the Atlantic, on the far western edge of the world. No one knew where its borders began or ended, how many subjects it ruled, or if its “Emperor” even truly existed. Some even whispered that he wasn’t human.

That mysterious land.

“We must check… the Emperor of the Continental Covenant.”

As he said, they could no longer stand by. The viceroys of New Spain and Peru were replaced, and the Council of the Indies was reformed. Soon, large-scale standing armies were organized in the viceroyalties of the Americas.

For the first time in a long while, the people saw a King of Spain actually “working.” They whispered excitedly that the Great Kingdom was functioning once again.

In response, the people of the Continental Covenant grew tense. The Continental Congress decreed the organization of a centralized militia under federal command, and the modification of tractors continued steadily. The various knights and squires of the Agriculture Knights began undergoing systematic military training under the command of generals and marshals. Even the delivery drivers were issued firearms and ordered to complete training for mounted marksmanship.

The clouds of war were gathering.

***

“What do you think will happen?” I asked, my voice tight with tension.

Oitotan understood my meaning immediately, even without further elaboration. What would happen if war broke out in the Covenant’s territory right now?

His answer was clear. “At least fifty percent.”

“…”

“If we finish our preparations… seventy percent.”

As the Grand Master of the Knights, Oitotan offered a confident smile. “Indeed. If they dare to provoke us, they must be prepared for a crushing defeat with a probability of fifty to seventy percent.”

I clenched my fists.