Chapter 239

The blueprint for the great road was finally taking shape. We would carve a path from California through the rugged expanses of Nevada, Utah, Wyoming, and Nebraska, eventually reaching the lifeblood of the continent: the Mississippi River. Once connected to the river’s vast shipping lanes, the road would effectively grant us a direct link to the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic beyond. Furthermore, by extending the line several hundred kilometers north in the future, we could tether the Great Lakes to this network, unifying the core regions of the Continental Covenant into a single, cohesive whole. It was a magnificent plan—on paper.

However, the reality of our demographics weighed heavily on me. I estimated our population to be somewhere between three and four million, and as for the number of people actually available for labor… I could only sigh. To put it in perspective, our population was smaller than that of Joseon, yet the territory under our various tiers of influence was dozens of times larger. We were facing a catastrophic shortage of labor.

Building a road of this magnitude—roughly three times the length of the Korean Peninsula—would require the mobilization of tens of thousands of workers. It was a logistical nightmare. Beyond the sheer physical labor, we faced the modern-day equivalent of property disputes. Without resolving the ambiguous land claims of the local tribes and securing their cooperation, the road would be impossible to operate. It wouldn’t be a highway; it would be a series of chokepoints where travelers were regularly plundered by resentful natives. Unless, of course, we deployed a massive military force to guard every mile, but we simply didn’t have the manpower for that either.

Ultimately, our lack of people was the anchor dragging down our every ambition. I was beginning to understand, not just intellectually but instinctively, why the Wild West of my original history had been so lawless. When people are scattered like drops of water in a vast desert, and the native populations have been decimated by plagues or long-standing conflicts, who could possibly maintain order?

Even if we simplified the construction—using crushed stone, simple signage, and wooden fences rather than Roman stone or modern asphalt—the true challenge lay in maintenance. Keeping such a long stretch of road functional required a constant, local presence to handle repairs. The thought alone was enough to make my head ache.

“I am at a loss as to how to resolve this,” Walter Raleigh admitted, turning to me for guidance during our meeting. “The issue of the indigenous tribes, the struggle to secure labor, and the perpetual nightmare of maintenance… they are hurdles we cannot seem to clear.”

I remained silent, staring at the map. You’re the Chairman of the Continental Congress, Walter, I thought with a touch of exasperation. Can’t you figure this out yourself instead of dumping it on me? Of course, I was the one who had proposed the road in the first place, and if I had a solution, I would have offered it. I had handed the problem to him precisely because I didn’t have the answer, and here he was, handing it right back.

However, I couldn’t say that aloud. It would be far too undignified for an “Angel.”

“In the first place, these regions are areas where our influence is tenuous at best, aside from the complex web of allied tribes,” I said, adopting my most profound and serious expression. “We must never forget that reality if we wish to see this through to completion.”

I was merely stating the obvious, but in my experience, people were often satisfied with vague, high-minded platitudes. I had mastered the art of striking a pose and speaking in riddles, letting others find their own “divine inspiration” in my words so they would stop bothering me.

“Ah!” Raleigh suddenly exclaimed.

“···What is it, Raleigh?” I asked, startled by his sudden outburst.

Raleigh, though now reliant on a cane and a heavy smoker’s cough, still possessed a sharp, opportunistic mind. He crushed his cigarette into an ashtray and bowed deeply toward me. “As always, you illuminate the path forward. You are right. We cannot overlook the fact that our allied tribes are already there. I should have seen it sooner.”

“···.” I managed a small, enigmatic smile and a nod. “I am glad you understood my meaning.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about, I thought. But Walter has been running a government for years now. Surely he’s come up with something functional.

I put the matter out of my mind until our next briefing.

“···Excuse me? What did you just say?” I stammered.

“Yes. It occurred to me that as long as the road is built, it doesn’t necessarily have to be built by our own hands,” Raleigh explained with a satisfied grin.

“···.”

“So, I delegated the task to our allied tribes.”

“···.”

“We will handle the surveying, the engineering, and the logistical support. In return, the tribes will handle the actual construction. Furthermore, they will be granted the right to collect tolls on the segments they maintain.”

“···.”

And just like that, our transcontinental highway project was privatized. In modern terms, it was as if the Gyeongbu Expressway had been sliced into dozens of pieces, with each section managed by a different corporation. I found myself wondering if this was truly a good idea. Would the tribes even agree to such a proposal?

***

“You’re saying that if we build this road, more people will travel through our land?” a tribal leader asked, his eyes narrowing as he processed the potential. “Which means more people to buy our pemmican? More people to buy the trousers our women weave?”

“Precisely,” the Covenant envoy replied. “In exchange for maintaining and securing the length of the road that passes through your territory, your tribe will be authorized to collect a passage fee from every traveler.”

“What? You mean they will give us money… just for walking across the path we made?”

“Indeed. Based on our estimates for this sector passing through Bannock territory, the potential revenue would be roughly…”

“···Oh.”

To my surprise, the tribes moved with a fervor that bordered on frantic. Since the “Gold Rush,” they had already tasted the fruits of capitalism by operating courier services and stagecoach stops, selling supplies and food to the influx of migrants. They weren’t just “civilized” by our standards; they were thoroughly motivated by the promise of capital.

Surveyors and engineers dispatched from Virginia and Florida began to map the terrain, and as the designs were finalized, the American Indian tribes mobilized. Under the direction of their chiefs and our technicians, they hauled materials and dug into the earth with a vigor I hadn’t expected. Of course, the shovels and equipment they used were iron tools sold to them at a discount by the Covenant—a double victory for us.

Furthermore, every tribe that participated in the project was promised an upgrade to Sapphire-grade status or higher. It was a world where everyone seemed to be winning, and the tribes had absolutely no reason to refuse the deal.

In fact, the competition became so fierce that tribes began to lobby—and eventually fight—for the right to manage longer segments of the road. More miles meant more equipment, more labor wages, and, most importantly, more toll revenue. However, the path of the road was fixed by engineering reality, which meant there was only one way to expand one’s territory.

Clang!

“Aargh! The Goshute are attacking!”

“Grab your tools! You men on horses, get your rifles!”

“Are… are we allowed to shoot?”

“Of course not! Do you want to lose our contract with the Covenant? Just grab your tools and keep them from damaging the roadbed! Hold the line!”

Skirmishes broke out, though they rarely escalated to true bloodshed. The Continental Covenant government was watching too closely for that. Instead, the conflict moved to the realm of bureaucratic sabotage and competitive petitioning.

“The Ute and the Pawnee are inherently lazy; there is no way they will meet their construction deadlines,” one chief argued during a hearing. “Our tribe, on the other hand, is ready to take over their segment and finish it ahead of schedule.”

“That is a bold-faced lie!” a rival representative shouted. “We only fell behind because those scoundrels kept raiding our supply depots!”

“You’re the ones who would rather sneak around and attack your competitors than actually do the work the Covenant requested!”

“Gentlemen, please, calm yourselves,” the Covenant mediator sighed. “The central government cannot monitor your every move forever… and strictly speaking, you aren’t even member states of the Covenant yet, are you?”

“···.”

“···.”

“···.”

The situation forced the Covenant’s hand. While member states like California or Illinois could resolve their internal tribal disputes through their own governments or Covenant arbitration, the vast majority of the western tribes were not yet part of the union. Their competition for road segments was pushing them to the brink of war.

Ultimately, the Continental Congress reached a decision.

“To resolve these disputes, all tribes involved in the construction of the Mainline Road must participate in a standing consultative body—the Mainline Council! Only those who send representatives to this council will be granted road construction rights, and all jurisdictional disputes will be settled within its halls!”

And so, a council and a court were established to oversee the tribes of the road. Circuit judges began to travel the route, adjudicating disputes between tribes, while tribal representatives gathered to coordinate construction efforts and cross-tribal cooperation.

As the physical conflicts subsided, a new, more subtle transformation began to occur.

“@##@$@%···!”

“What the hell is that guy saying?”

“How should I know?”

The council and the courts required a common language. Fortunately, the solution was already at hand. Over the past several decades, the “multi-level trade” network had spread Virginia-style English across the continent as a lingua franca. As cooperation between the tribes deepened and the exchange of labor and resources became more frequent, Virginia English began to take root as the official language of the road. Merchants taught it to tribesmen, and those tribesmen taught it to their children.

Simultaneously, to manage the construction sites stretching across thousands of kilometers, various news bulletins and official proclamations were printed in English and distributed along the route. Through these, the Council could issue decrees that were understood from one end of the road to the other.

Stagecoaches began to traverse the finished segments in numbers far exceeding our expectations. These weren’t just travelers heading from East to West; they were people engaged in trade and communication within the burgeoning network of the road itself. The local economies surged, drawing even more people into the project. Within just six months, hundreds of kilometers had been completed—a feat that left the Covenant government in awe.

“At this rate, these tribes will be ready to join the Covenant as member states much sooner than we anticipated!” one official exclaimed.

“To expand our territory and population while simultaneously building a transcontinental road… Truly, the strategy the Nameless One gave to Lord Raleigh is divine!”

“Ha… hahaha…” I could only offer a hollow laugh.

I was privately bewildered by the sheer momentum. At this pace, the highway connecting the Pacific and the Atlantic would be finished in just three or four years. Already, hundreds of Jewish refugees were traveling along the unfinished road, followed by scores of migrants chasing the dream of gold. Their passage fees only fueled the motivation of the tribes, creating a self-sustaining engine of expansion.

Everything was going perfectly. Everything was…

“···.”

And yet, I couldn’t shake a strange, nagging feeling. I looked down at the latest edition of The Mainline Press and frowned.

“They used to fight like cats and dogs,” I mused, turning to Raleigh. “But lately, they’ve started to act as if they were always one people. They’re even publishing their own newspapers now.”

“Ah, they have no choice,” Raleigh replied smoothly. “Other tribes are trying to get in on the construction, which would reduce the existing members’ share of the profits. They’ve banded together to protect their common interests.”

“I suppose that’s true. But…”

“But?”

“···It’s nothing.”

I squinted at the newspaper, feeling a sense of unease that I couldn’t quite name. They had created a common language, they were reading a common newspaper, they had established a common government, and they were united in protecting their common interests. I felt a jarring sense of déjà vu.

“···What will we do when they eventually join the Covenant?” I asked.

“Pardon? What do you mean by that?”

“No, never mind. I’m just worrying about things that won’t happen for decades.”

I closed the paper. On the back was a mockup for the new flag and motto of the “Mainline Council.”

There was definitely something strange about it, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was.