Chapter 236

The aides moved with practiced efficiency, unfurling a massive blank map against the wall. It depicted only the territories of our Continental Covenant, colored in from the Labrador Peninsula in the east to the sun-drenched coast of California in the distant west.

At this moment, the Continental Covenant was the only nation on Earth in possession of an accurate map of North America. That knowledge alone was a weapon, allowing us to build California from nothing and weave a logistics network that stretched all the way to the Great Lakes. Even now, hundreds—thousands—of couriers traversed the wilds, expanding the Covenant’s reach; soon, the lands they claimed would officially become member states.

Though the population of this fledgling nation was currently small, I knew that once it grew into the tens of millions, we would finally be able to harness the true potential of this vast continent. It would likely take a century to reach that point, and when it did, we would need to ensure every corner of North America was connected. It was better to strike the first spade into the earth now.

I picked up a pen and stepped toward the map. Starting from the Pacific coast of California, I drew a long, horizontal line that stretched across the land, coming to a halt near the Mississippi River basin and the Great Lakes. It was a mere sliver of ink, yet every eye in the room was pinned to it.

It wasn’t I who finally gave voice to the line’s purpose.

“A road… connecting California all the way to the Atlantic,” Raleigh murmured, nodding slowly as he took in the scale of the proposal. “Truly magnificent.”

I had spent a long time debating whether we should prioritize railways or roads, but the answer was ultimately clear: eventually, we would need both. However, attempting to lay a transcontinental railroad right now would be an exercise in extreme inefficiency.

The output from our Covenant’s steel mills was nowhere near sufficient to produce thousands of kilometers of track. We had tractors to build, industrial machinery to forge—we couldn’t bring the entire economy to a screeching halt for the sake of a single railway. Furthermore, a railroad could only accommodate trains. The legion of couriers already connecting California to the Great Lakes would be left out in the cold, their livelihoods vanished overnight.

A road was the only logical choice. Building a railway required a staggering amount of resources, its maintenance was a nightmare, its utility was limited to a single mode of transport, and it would rob the indigenous people we were integrating of their jobs. There were simply too many reasons not to build it.

And so, we reached our decision: we would construct a road that spanned the breadth of the Continental Covenant.

However, a grand plan was not without its hurdles. I stared up at the map Raleigh had admired—the “blank map.” While our knowledge was far superior to any other power, it was not a map of the “present.” Mountains and plains wouldn’t shift in a mere four hundred years, but the coastlines, the flow of streams, and the boundaries of forests would be entirely different.

The map was as much a testament to our ignorance as it was to our reach. We needed a survey—a foundation of data to determine how to reclaim and manage the land, where to fill in gullies, where to shave down hills, and where to throw bridges across rivers.

Could I really trust the surveying methods of this era? Would they be enough?

The answer was a resounding no. This was worlds away from modern South Korea, where surveyors equipped with GPS-linked tools could delineate property lines with such precision that border disputes were practically non-existent. Here, “surveying” consisted of people walking the land and eyeballing distances, guessing that a stretch of earth was “about this long.”

Granted, that rudimentary technology had been enough to fill in the sea and connect Croatoan to the mainland, but accurate, high-speed surveying tools were things that wouldn’t be developed for a very long time.

Wait.

“We’ll need to organize an expedition to grasp the local terrain,” Raleigh continued, oblivious to my sudden epiphany. “To draw the maps, we’ll need—”

“We won’t need that many people,” I interrupted.

“Pardon? What do you mean, Nemo?”

I looked at him and smiled. “I have a solution.”

There was a way to measure distances rapidly and gauge the scale of the surrounding terrain. As always, the answer lay within my own home.

***

I set out for Croatoan immediately. By pushing my high-speed carriage for two days, I managed to reach the island without drawing the attention of the pilgrims flocking to the holy sites.

Croatoan was no longer the secluded, lonely island it had once been. Now fully connected to the mainland, it had transformed the Pamlico Sound into a tranquil inland sea. It was home to the world’s only comprehensive university, a place where thousands of people constantly shuttled back and forth from Chesapeake, churning out research that fueled the Covenant’s growth.

I bypassed the bustling academic centers; my destination was far more personal. I soon reached the village characterized by its green roofs and white walls. Passing through the familiar iron gates, I finally arrived at my house.

Ah, home.

My house, complete with a massage chair, a robot vacuum, an air fryer, and even a food waste disposer. My house, which my parents had built with every ounce of their retirement dreams, focusing solely on absolute convenience. It was a tragedy that I hadn’t been able to return to this paradise for years.

I collapsed into the massage chair first, letting it knead the tension from my muscles before I finally dragged myself toward the storage room. As expected, the room was a museum of my parents’ abandoned hobbies—remnants of dreams they had picked up and discarded, from golf clubs to baking supplies and knitting needles.

“Here… here it is!”

I carefully unearthed a specific item. It had sat neglected for decades, but it was a tool capable of achieving things far more significant than its intended purpose.

***

With the item in hand, I headed toward the nearby engineering college. The island was small enough that it was only a short walk. Most of the Croatoan University campus buildings were complete; the red-brick Tudor structures were clustered together like a small, self-contained city—one of the few of its scale in the world.

I wove through the throng of thousands of students and faculty, heading straight for the engineering department. In one corner, several improved tractors hummed, belching steam and smoke. I approached a group of researchers who were surrounded by tools, deep in debate over the machines’ structures.

“Ah, Nameless One!” one of them cried, spotting me.

“How is the research progressing?” I asked.

“Wonderfully! Would you care to see our results?”

I nodded, and they began to chatter with an almost frantic excitement.

“Naturally, we’ve painted the exterior yellow, just like the Sacred Excavator,” a researcher explained. “And with prayers engraved upon every surface, we are certain the Lord will bless this prototype!”

“That is not all,” another added. “The results have far exceeded our expectations. We are confident you will be satisfied!”

They led me to a large machine draped in cloth. I already knew what lay beneath. An excavator—or at least, the best imitation our current technology could manage.

My own excavator was more than just a piece of farm equipment; to the people of the Covenant, it was a relic of divine intervention. I had used it to build the initial settlement and to repel Vicente and the Spanish forces when they first invaded Croatoan. Without it, the English colony—and the Continental Covenant itself—would never have existed. To them, that ten-ton machine was proof of a God who protected their community. Naturally, many had tried to copy it.

“Observe! We shall activate it now!”

Rumble!

A yellow-painted mechanical arm was pulled back, then thrust upward. Its massive bucket scooped up a significant amount of earth before…

CRA-CRACK!

“Look out!”

“Are you alright, Nameless One?”

The machine collapsed in a heap of groaning metal. I stepped closer to inspect the damage and saw that the cables running through the pulleys had snapped under the strain.

“…You’re using pulleys to move the arm?” I asked.

“Ah… yes, that is… well, we haven’t been able to find any other viable method······”

“Show me where your parts storage is,” I commanded.

“Pardon?”

“Now.”

The professor scrambled to follow my order, shouting for the researchers to lead the way. The storage room was a chaotic mess of blueprints for steam engines and various mechanical components. I quickly located a cylinder that seemed to fit my needs; since cylinders were essential for steam engines, I had assumed they would have them. I filled it with lubricant and held it up for them to see.

“Watch closely.”

Clunk. Sshhhht.

I pressed down on one end of the oil-filled cylinder, and the rod at the other end slid outward. The researchers tilted their heads, clearly baffled by what I was trying to demonstrate.

“Pressure exerted on a fluid in a confined container is transmitted equally to every point of the fluid,” I explained.

It was Pascal’s Law—basic scientific knowledge.

“Therefore, by controlling the cross-sectional area of the cylinders, we can precisely control the strength of the force transmitted.”

And that was the fundamental principle of hydraulics.

“······.”

“······.”

“······.”

None of them understood a word I said. So, I grabbed a piece of paper and drew a blueprint for them. It was easy enough, even without being an engineering expert; I simply had to replicate the design of my own excavator.

They puzzled over the drawings for a while before cobbling together a crude, small-scale model to test the theory.

“Heavens… Thomas Hewitt said that a single arm could cast aside Spanish soldiers, move hills, and crush trees as if they were twigs… Now I finally see how it was done!”

“The Angel lifted his arm of iron······”

It wouldn’t be long before they were able to build a modern-style excavator. As they began to offer prayers to the “Angel’s Arm,” I shook my head and approached a heavy equipment operator who was test-driving a newly built machine. Judging by his uniform, he was a member of the Agricultural Knights.

“Is there a surveyor among the people you know?” I asked.

“Ah… I am a surveyor, Nameless One. Why do you seek one?”

I reached into my pocket and handed him the object I had retrieved from my storage room. He turned it over in his hands, looking confused.

“What… what is this?”

“A simple surveying tool. Try it out.”

I gave him a brief explanation of how to use it. He peered through the lens, aiming it at a nearby lighthouse, then lowered it and looked at me, his hands trembling.

“What… what truly is this?”

It wasn’t just a telescope. The moment he pressed the button, the exact distance to the object appeared on the display.

“What is the name of this miraculous device?”

“It’s just a surveying tool,” I said simply.

It’s a golf rangefinder. It was one of the many pieces of equipment my father had bought during a seven-month obsession with golf before abandoning it to the storage room forever.

“If you are interested in building a road that crosses America,” I continued, “you will use this tool to travel across the Covenant’s territories. Your surveys will be the foundation of our road······”

Before I could finish, a crowd began to gather around us. Their eyes were wide with a feverish intensity as they fell to their knees.

“The… the Angel’s Eye!”

“······.”

“Quickly! Someone tell Thomas Hewitt! We must record this new manifestation of his power!”

“······.”

The Angel’s Arm, the Angel’s Eye…

I felt like I was some version of Exodia, with my body parts scattered across the world. I supposed if I started shouting through a car speaker later, they’d call it the “Angel’s Voice.” I wondered if I’d end up with a mobile suit if I gathered the “Angel’s Legs” and “Angel’s Hands,” but I shook the thought away.

I felt a sudden, inexplicable sense of dread.