Chapter 232

For anyone who has ever cracked open a Bible, a few names are impossible to miss.

Babel, Sodom and Gomorrah, Canaan, Jericho, Mount Zion… and of course, Salem (שָׁלֵם).

This city, whose name translates to “Peace,” is mentioned only three times in the entire scripture. One of those instances is merely a citation in the New Testament’s Book of Hebrews. For Manasseh, a scholar of Jewish law, it was a name that appeared only twice in the vast expanse of the Torah and the Prophets. Yet, it was a city he could never forget.

“Then Melchizedek king of Salem brought out bread and wine. He was priest of God Most High.” (Genesis 14:18)

That land was the origin of the tithe and the royal capital of the priest-king Melchizedek, whom Christians believed to be a prototype of Jesus. It is a city widely believed to have later become the holy Jerusalem.

To see such a name suddenly appear on a map of a strange, untamed land was staggering. A New Salem—a New Jerusalem. It was a name apparently prepared forty years ago, long before Manasseh himself was even born.

In truth, places named “Salem” are scattered all across the Americas. One can even find towns named New Palestine or New Israel. However, because Kim Lee-sang had edited his map of North America to include only major hubs, scrubbing away small towns and villages, only one “Salem” remained for Manasseh to see.

It appeared to him like a direct revelation.

***

I took a deep breath to settle the goosebumps prickling my skin and surveyed the scene before me.

Manasseh sat frozen, his teeth chattering as if struck by a sudden fever despite the perfectly insulated room. On the other side, Gershom was trembling, shooting me frantic, pleading glances that practically begged me to do something. The situation was utter chaos, but one thing was blindingly clear: This is going sideways.

This was supposed to be a simple project to find a new home for the Jewish people—a temporary refuge for when the war inevitably ended and things got messy. I didn’t expect them to treat a single place name like a lightning strike to the soul, vibrating and letting out ecstatic moans as if they were in the middle of a revival meeting.

Then again, if I found a sign saying “Mount Paektu” or “Republic of Korea” during a mission to Mars, I’d probably be shaking just as hard.

“Everyone, please, calm down,” I said, trying to regain control.

“Forty years ago…” Manasseh muttered. “Before we were even born…”

“Good Heavens,” the other man whispered. “I am so glad I lived my life as a scholar of the Law… to see such a moment in my lifetime…”

“Gentlemen!” I clapped my eyes loudly and forced them to sit back down. Only then did the room return to some semblance of order. As I sank back into my seat with a weary sigh, Oitotan leaned in and whispered to me.

“It really is difficult to stay sane in this room, isn’t it?”

I ignored him, clearing my throat to draw the attention of the two Jewish leaders. They flinched and turned toward me instantly. I decided to be blunt.

“So, are you truly intent on choosing that location?”

“Pardon?” Manasseh asked, looking dazed. “What do you mean?”

“I gave that place that name, but as I’ve said, it was merely for convenience,” I explained. “Regardless of where you settle, the naming of the town belongs to the settlers themselves. If the land already has a name, we use that.”

“······.”

“······.”

Manasseh still seemed to be struggling to process my words, so I spoke even more clearly. “What I am saying is, do not choose a remote land on the West Coast simply because of a name. That region is far too distant from Europe, it is inhabited by a significant number of indigenous people, and there is no infrastructure nearby.”

“······.”

“······.”

“If the name Salem is so impressive to you, why not just give that name to a new settlement in the East or South? Why must you insist on that specific location?”

Gershom blinked, finally seeming to snap out of his trance. “He… he is right. We were far too obsessed with a name given for convenience. By the way, what is the original name of that place?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “We haven’t had active contact with the natives in that area yet.”

“Ah… I see. So even Your Imperial Highness does not know much about that land?”

“Correct. It is a frontier of little importance.”

It was a brief exchange, but it seemed enough to help the bewildered Gershom find his footing. He paused for a moment of thought before opening his mouth to speak. “In that case, perhaps we should postpone our choice for now—”

“No!”

The interruption came from Manasseh, of course. He pointed at the map with frantic urgency, as if he were afraid the opportunity would vanish. “We want that place as our temporary refuge! Please, allow us to use it!”

Well, honestly, I don’t care, but…

“Isn’t it far too inefficient? As I mentioned, it’s isolated from Europe. Reaching it requires a grueling journey across a massive landmass.”

That wasn’t all. The territory of the Continental Covenant was as vast as China, yet its population was less than ten percent of that. Land was available everywhere. There was absolutely no logical reason to trek all the way to the far West.

Manasseh fell into deep contemplation after hearing my warning. Then, his eyes gleaming with a suspicious intensity, he spoke. “That is true, but as we said, we do not wish for a free handout. We want to pay the price to the Continental Covenant and develop lands that you have not yet reclaimed.”

“······.”

“Therefore,” he added with a dry cough, “being in a remote, unimportant location actually fits our intentions perfectly.”

His logic was so sound it was hard to argue against. No, I can’t let him pull me in. If this were a refugee camp for people fleeing war, the East Coast with its easy access to Europe was the only sensible choice.

“My conscience is troubled,” I said. “It feels wrong to profit from those fleeing the horrors of war. Wouldn’t it be better to settle near the East or South Coast?”

Manasseh shook his head. “We are well aware of Your Imperial Highness’s kindness toward our people. You believe it would be fine for us to settle in the territories of other member states. But whether other Christians will see it that way… I do not know.”

“······.”

I went silent. He had a point.

“The reason we wish to pay for our migration and speak of the benefits we bring is not to convince you, Your Highness. We know your heart is generous. We need that logic to convince the other Christians.”

I wanted to tell him he was wrong. I wanted to say that the Christians of our Covenant were used to living alongside non-believers. But… would they be? To the Christians from Europe, the spirit-worshippers of America were new neighbors, but the Jews were familiar, unwelcome outcasts. Could I truly guarantee their safety in a crowded colony?

Thinking that far, I found it difficult to offer further objections. Moving the Jewish population to Oregon would be incredibly inefficient, but they were the ones who would bear the cost of that inefficiency.

In the end, I couldn’t find a reason to say no. I suppose the name Salem is just a minor annoyance. It’s not like they’re building a new homeland there or anything. It’s just a temporary camp.

“Fine,” I said. “The Jewish refuge shall be built in Salem. We will look into the site conditions and draw up a migration plan soon. Gershom? What are your thoughts?”

Gershom’s face was a mask of confusion. He looked back and forth between me, the map, and Manasseh before letting out a long, weary sigh. “If Your Imperial Highness does not object, then…”

After granting the permission, I glanced around the room. Gershom looked anxious, but Manasseh…

“Oh, heavens… Oh, Lord…”

I definitely had a bad feeling about this.

***

After the meeting ended, Gershom returned to his quarters, but the lingering memories of the discussion kept his anxiety high. He spent a long time reviewing the notes in his journal, replaying the conversation he’d had earlier with the prince.

“I will keep that in mind and be more careful with my actions. In return, I need you to restrain your people from calling me that title.”

“O-of course! I shall never doubt you again!”

He isn’t the Messiah, Gershom told himself. He can’t be. Granted, the prince had seemingly reversed his promise to be “careful” a mere fifteen minutes after making it, but there was no reason for a man like him to lie. Gershom had made a solemn vow to believe and follow him. The prince said he wasn’t the Messiah, so Gershom simply had to believe those words.

Having reached that conclusion, he fortified his resolve. He glanced out the window to see the first light of dawn; he had spent the entire night agonizing over this. As he rubbed his bleary eyes and sat on the edge of his bed to lie down, a voice called out from the hallway.

“Gershom! Are you in there?”

A twinge of unease pricked at him, but he couldn’t ignore the only fellow countryman who had traveled to this land with him. Gershom cleared his throat, and the door handle turned immediately.

Creeeak!

The door swung open to reveal Manasseh, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. He strode toward Gershom and asked, “Did you get any sleep? I couldn’t close my eyes for a second.”

I can see that.

“I haven’t slept either,” Gershom replied. “I was just about to lie down. For the sake of your health, Manasseh, you should really—”

“I could die right now and have no regrets.”

Oh, boy.

“As a man who has spent his life studying the Law and the Scriptures, I could die this instant… No! Why would I die now when such a joyous moment is upon us? I shall spend the rest of my life by his side, serving his great work!”

Manasseh was rambling, talking to himself and answering his own questions. It was clear the lack of sleep had unhinged him. Gershom set his notebook down and waved his hands to try and calm the man.

“What are you even saying? Please, slow down and get to the point—”

“Jerusalem.”

“······.”

“That is my only point.”

Manasseh slumped into a chair, taking deep, ragged breaths to steady himself. Seeming to regain a bit of clarity, he dipped his head toward Gershom in apology. “I am sorry for barging in so early. I was just so overwhelmed with excitement and fear that I couldn’t help myself.”

“I… I understand.”

“The Rabbis were right,” Manasseh whispered.

“······.”

“The elders of the Jewish people, the Grandmasters of the secret orders—everything they said was true. Seeing it proven so clearly… I am simply stunned. To think that the Messiah breathes the same air we do.”

Gershom swallowed hard. He remembered his duty. “I need you to restrain your people from calling me that title.” It seemed his real work was only just beginning.

Gershom cleared his throat to pull Manasseh’s wandering attention back. “I understand why you are excited as a scholar. You have studied the Lord’s word your entire life.”

Manasseh tilted his head, looking puzzled. Gershom ignored the look and pressed on. “But a name is just a name. Didn’t he say himself that it’s an empty land? That it’s unimportant and that he doesn’t know much about it?”

“······.”

“Don’t get so worked up over a name he gave for temporary convenience. Weren’t you the one who said a Christian Messiah was impossible?”

“······.”

“Calm yourself. It hasn’t even been a day. We could still… cancel the plan to use Salem as a site.”

Manasseh stared directly into Gershom’s eyes. “I… I’m asking because I genuinely don’t understand. Are you feeling alright?”

Gershom was flabbergasted by the sudden bluntness. He wanted to snap back, but Manasseh’s expression was one of genuine, pitying concern. He looked at Gershom as if he were the village idiot who had recently suffered a head injury.

“You said it was a name given for convenience,” Manasseh continued.

“I did.”

“But doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“What does?”

Manasseh looked at him with an incredulous expression. “Who on earth gives a name for ‘convenience’ to a land that is empty, unimportant, and unknown?”

Wait. He has a point.

“And you think it’s just a name? For an unimportant land?”

“Well…”

“What kind of ‘angel’ gives the name Salem to a land that doesn’t matter?”

“······.”

It is a bit hard to explain.

“Furthermore, he said he named it forty years ago, didn’t he?”

“······.”

“Even a child knows how many years the Jewish people wandered the wilderness before entering Canaan.”

Forty years. Wait…

Gershom felt a cold sweat break out. Could he really be the Messiah?

Slap! Gershom struck his own cheek.

“W-what are you doing, Gershom?”

“Nothing. I just had a strange thought.”

“In any case, everything is falling into place now,” Manasseh said. “Why he was circumcised, why he calls himself a Christian—it all makes sense.”

How does that make sense? Gershom was becoming afraid to hear more, not because Manasseh was being nonsensical, but because he was being terrifyingly logical.

“He was testing us,” Manasseh whispered. “He was seeing if we had the eyes to recognize the Messiah.”

“······.”

“And today was the second test.”

“······.”

“He asked us: Jews, could your status not rise in Europe? Why not stay in a comfortable place? We could have chosen to stay in Europe, just as the Jews suffering in the wilderness grumbled to Moses about going back. But we didn’t.”

Manasseh was speaking calmly now, as if teaching the alphabet to a child. His words were being forced into Gershom’s ears.

“Then came the third test. I have prepared a sanctuary for you. Are you willing to endure all hardships to go there? And we said yes. We passed his test and proved our faith.”

He spoke as if he were stating an undeniable fact of nature.

“Do you have any proof?” Gershom asked in a small, fading voice. “Could he not have been truly trying to stop us from going to Salem?”

Manasseh frowned, looking as if he couldn’t believe Gershom was being serious. But honestly, couldn’t the prince have been sincere? Even if he had named a place on the opposite side of the continent Salem. Even if he had started helping the Jews exactly forty years later for no apparent reason. Even if he had revealed that name to them without reservation just yesterday.

Could it all really just be a series of coincidences and mistakes?

Is that even possible?

Manasseh glanced at him and sighed. “Right. You were the one who tried to hit him with an axe and shot at him…” he muttered to himself. Gershom felt a sting of guilt mixed with indignation. To think I’m being treated like a madman by someone talking about the coming of the Messiah.

Am I really the abnormal one? Is his judgment the sane one?

The prince said he was circumcised but wasn’t a Jew. He had a body that didn’t age or die, yet he claimed he wasn’t the Messiah. He was helping the Jews for no reason other than it being “the right thing to do.”

Ah. So Manasseh’s judgment IS the sane one.

Still, Gershom clung to his sanity through his faith in the prince’s own words. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say he had abandoned reason entirely. While it was logically impossible for the man not to be the Messiah, Gershom held on.

“We haven’t even seen this ‘sanctuary’ yet,” Gershom told him. “Let’s talk after we actually get there.”

Gershom was certain there had to be a logical flaw in Manasseh’s argument. Just because the man was a famous scholar didn’t mean he was always right. Once they actually saw this “Salem,” the illusion would shatter, and reality would return. If the prince’s words were true, it would be a pitiful piece of land, far from a new holy ground.

With that sliver of hope, Gershom and Manasseh departed for Salem. During the long journey, Manasseh’s excitement seemed to cool slightly.

“Thinking about it, a Messiah who denies being the Messiah is a bit strange. And choosing a place this far away for a sanctuary is also odd.”

“See, Manasseh?” Gershom felt a wave of relief.

He felt relief. Right up until they reached the land.

Salem, Oregon. The designated temporary refuge for the Jews. In the original history, this city would become the capital of Oregon and its third-largest city in the twenty-first century.

Its history began in 1840 with a Methodist mission led by Jason Lee. The land was originally inhabited by the Kalapuya people, who called the area Chemeketa. The name Salem was only adopted later, suggested by William H. Willson for its biblical roots. Many scholars believe the name Salem—meaning peace—was chosen because it echoed the traditional name, Chemeketa.

The reason was simple.

“Cheme… keta? What did you say that means?” Gershom asked, his voice hollow with shock.

The Kalapuya man, casually leading his horse, answered with a shrug.

“A place of rest. A refuge.”

“······.”

“······.”

Gershom’s legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the ground. He turned to look at Manasseh. Manasseh didn’t say a word; he simply looked back at Gershom with an expression that said everything.

So, who’s the crazy one now?

Honestly, at this point, even Gershom was losing his grip. It felt as if the trials the prince was putting them through were becoming impossibly difficult to overcome.