Chapter 50

A man was reading two letters in front of a burning fireplace. Reports that had crossed the sea, written by an uncle and a nephew, respectively.

—‘…The level of the various skills handled by the natives was extremely crude and greatly different from the claims of the English. Your Majesty, too, upon seeing the naked savages, would be able to think of nothing but the word ‘barbarism.’ Furthermore…’

This was the content of the report sent by the uncle, François Gravé. And.

—‘…One could never ignore the level of their civilization. Each and every tool they used was exquisitely precise, and contained much technical consideration. Their fruits were large and sweet, and their livestock was fat. He who reads ‘barbarism’ here is a fool. On top of that…’

This was a passage from the report of the nephew, Samuel de Champlain. The two reports contained strangely, completely opposite contents.

—‘…Everything was a vile fabrication by the English. They have co-opted or detained the so-called ‘Emperor’ of the savages to fabricate a fake empire and are exploiting the local savages…’

This one said this.

—‘…A strong bond was evident between the savages and the English. If one called the local Indians ‘savages’ to the English here, they would become very angry and correct the term to ‘natives.’ The ‘natives’ here send luxurious gifts to the English…’

And that one said that.

“Hmm…”

These were conclusions drawn about the same place, at the same time. Was one of them a lie? Unlikely. What reason would there be for that? Then there was only one conclusion. Both of these contained the heartfelt observations of the reporters, and both had looked at different sides of the same coin. Even so, for the reactions to be this contradictory.

And there was a part even more interesting than the contradictory reactions.

—‘To the so-called ‘Native Emperor’ whom the English have…’

—‘To the spiritual leader who leads the ‘natives’ here…’

“…Hah.”

—‘There is definitely something there.’

—‘Something was evident.’

They overlapped on that one part. There was a monarch whom the natives and the English, with their different religions, simultaneously respected and admired. Their opinions were divided on whether he had practical power or if he was Baron Roanoke’s puppet, but they were in agreement that he wielded some kind of powerful influence.

‘…I’m envious.’

As Henry IV, the legitimate and rightful monarch of France, he couldn’t help but feel envious.¹ He had only just begun to finally settle the religious disputes of this country. But the war between him and his enemies was not yet over. He was still excommunicated by the Pope in Rome. It was only natural. He had been a Protestant until the year before last. Now he was a Catholic excommunicated by the Catholic Church.

In any case, the French Wars of Religion, which had continued for the past thirty years, were finally nearing their end. It was the second year since he had entered Paris. His enemies would be ruined, and he would be victorious. But the war had lasted for thirty years. Catholics, Royalists, Protestants—they had all amicably racked up every debt in the world and still lacked money. Even he himself was on a leash held by Queen Elizabeth of England. Besides that, there was a mountain of debt to be repaid.

That wasn’t all. The situation was precarious. The kingdom was devastated, and the royal authority was weaker than ever. The great lords, who were not just diminishing the king’s authority but coveting the throne itself, were everywhere. Untrustworthy prospective traitors, who had been pointing guns and swords at each other until just a moment ago, were sharpening their blades on all sides.

To survive, to restore the royal authority… he needed money. And a new source of funds that he could use without any strings attached. That money had to come from the outside. He could not take on the risk of incurring another debt to someone at home or abroad.

He needed gold, silver, and luxury goods. He needed a massive amount of luxury goods, enough to be able to extort money from the domestic upper class at any time. He needed a source of funds. A source of funds to build an army for the king alone, a bureaucratic organization for the king alone. A source of funds for the royal authority.

He, like Elizabeth, wanted an ally that spewed out aluminum and fur. Because he desperately wanted the power to lightly tread upon the various great nobles of his country with the heel of his boot, just as she did.

‘But… it is a feat that cannot be achieved within my lifetime.’

For now, however, he had to refrain from actions that could provoke his ally, England. Henry de Bourbon, the monarch of France, sighed and looked at the map of America placed on the side table. He would not expand his sphere of influence beyond a certain point. It would be better to establish a few trading posts with a dozen or so people in residence, so as not to provoke England. The explorers had said that the fur trade seemed not bad even up there, so that would be just right.

One day, he, too, would live in splendor like that Elizabeth of England. But that was not now.

Henry IV suppressed the great sense of interest blooming in his chest, folded the two letters neatly, and put them in a drawer. And he did not forget. Beyond that Atlantic Ocean, there might be a wealthy and powerful monarch. A potential ally who could help place the royal authority of France on a firm foundation. It seemed as if he were beckoning to him.

***

Gasp… wheeze…

“W-We’ve finished registering the names of 400 people. Now, if you just go over there and finish the land register registration, you’ll be done!” At Hewitt’s words, my joy was short-lived.

This is insane… I’ve been working for 7 hours straight, walking around without a break, and the work still isn’t done? This is all because of those French bastards. They had to come and cause trouble, wandering around and interfering with the work, so the already piled-up work got piled up even more. I won’t forget this grudge…

“Uh… are you alright?”

No.

“I’m fine, Mr. Hewitt. So, where to now?”

“The western settlement over there. It’s where the Ocohanock and Accomac tribes have newly settled.”

“…”

And so, after 14 hours of labor that day, I collapsed onto my bed and fell asleep. The next day, I worked for 13 hours. The day after that, 15 hours, and the day after that, 12 hours… Is this… a life?

Strange. The other people who knew how to work with Excel didn’t seem to be suffering this much. Why is all the work piling up on me? Let’s briefly summarize my daily routine. After doing the Excel work, I have to clear land and break rocks with the excavator, do logging with the chainsaw, plow fields with the cultivator, and manage the consumables from my house. And that includes managing whether the other people doing the Excel work are doing it properly.

Wow! One person doing office work, production, and management all at once!

…I’ve found the problem.

‘There are too many things that only I can do.’

That day, too, I lay on my bed, completely exhausted. The only difference from other days was that I had only worked for about 12 hours. Thanks to that, instead of passing out immediately, I could think before falling asleep.

‘Only I can handle the cultivator, only I can drive the Damas and the forklift, and the chainsaw, the mixer, the pesticide sprayer—none of them run without me.’

And the population of the settlement had increased by more than 70,000 percent in 7 years from the original 30. The population of our settlement now exceeds 20,000. But the way it’s run is the same as before. It’s just me, grinding, grinding, and grinding some more.

This… is not right. I have to devise a way, like I did with Excel.

‘For example, teaching others how to use some of the equipment…’ Yes. That’s it!

At the brilliant idea, I sat up without even realizing it. For example, instead of one person running one cultivator for two or three hours a day and then doing other work, wouldn’t it be better to pick three or four people and have them run it for ten or sixteen hours a day? And while that’s happening, if someone else is operating the chainsaw, another is driving the Damas, and another is spraying pesticides, wouldn’t that be perfect?

We’ve already built a boat and a greenhouse out of plastic. There’s no need for me to hoard all the equipment by myself, saying, ‘I have to hide the fact that this is modern civilization!’ If I pass on several of these skills to a few trustworthy people, not only will productivity increase several-fold, but my work-life balance will be restored!

I barely managed to calm my swelling heart and began to organize this genius idea in my notebook. Right. Let’s start slowly. With what’s easiest to teach, least tiring, and safest first…

***

“This is what’s called a chainsaw.”

Right. I started with the most difficult and most dangerous thing to teach. The reason was absurd. It was because logging with a chainsaw was the hardest work. I… want to be liberated from hard work, too.

“Ooh… a ch-chainsaw!”

“That’s right, Oitohtan.”

The guy in front of me now was not trustworthy at all, but at least he was a man of status and name. It wasn’t a bad condition for entrusting the tool of an ‘angel.’ I took Oitohtan and a few other ‘chainsaw user’ candidates to a nearby forest.

“Oitohtan, hold it.”

“Y-Yes!”

Perhaps because of the tension of being able to handle the angel’s tool, sweat poured down Oitohtan’s face. I patted his shoulder to relax him and handed him the chainsaw.

“Now… what did I say?”

“Here, you touch this to start it, but the ignition is done by touching here…”

“Wait. You have to engage the brake first.”

“Ah!”

Hsss… this is making me nervous. Still, I’ve trained him for several days and nights, so it should be fine. I gave Oitohtan one last encouragement and said, “As I said, always work with your arms extended, but instead, hold it close to your body and apply force.”

“Ah, I understand! I’ll try it just like that!”

Vreeeeeeeeee!

G-Good. At least it started safely. It was just the task of trimming some tree branches. I had done the safety training thoroughly, so no one should get hurt…

“Ah, wait! Don’t work with the tip of the blade…”

CLANG!

Ah, kickback. Fortunately, Oitohtan wasn’t injured. Because he had instantly let go of the saw at the recoil. That didn’t mean everyone was safe. The chain of a chainsaw can rotate at a speed of 20 meters per second. The saw, thrown off by that force, flew through the air. And that flying chainsaw…

“Gyaaaaaaaah!”

“P-Pull it out! The chainsaw is stuck in Sir Nemo’s shoulder!”

“G-G-G-Good heavens!”

…And so, that happened.

***

Alright. I’ve definitely learned one thing. Never, ever put a tool that can become a murder weapon in the hands of a beginner. In this era, there is no YouTube, no systematic teaching materials, no proper teacher, and no academy that can provide all of the above. In other words, you have to learn by feel.

I can learn by feel. Because I have infinite lives. But other people don’t. I don’t need a heavy equipment safety manual that’s completed as people die, like some kind of fugu sashimi recipe. I’d rather handle the potential murder weapons myself, no matter how hard it is.

“Damas, chainsaw, excavator, forklift, weed whacker…” I meticulously listed the potential murder weapons, and only then could I get a feel for it. Wow, so this is why they say not to get on your neighbor’s bad side in the countryside.

Anyway. Pesticide sprayer, fertilizer spreader, pesticide mixer, cultivator, power sprayer, water pump… The other people, besides me, must only handle these relatively ‘safe’ things. And that… is not just limited to the simple use of agricultural equipment.

—“A-A-Are you alright?”

—“…”

—“S-Sir Nemo, your arm is gone! Y-Y-Your arm…!”

—“First, support Sir Nemo and get his arm!”

…I felt it before, when I had the blacksmiths try to replicate the two-stroke engine of a brush cutter. The technology of the 20th and 21st centuries was not something that could be imitated with the crude hand skills of the pre-industrial revolution. A 20th-century tin can surpassed everything of the most exquisite machine of the 16th century. I will never again try to have 16th-century blacksmiths replicate dangerous technology. Especially not something with the potential to explode. Ugh, when the engine blew up, I almost died for real.

Whoever it is, they must only handle safe technology. Otherwise, I’m not human.

“Mr. White, watch carefully from now on. I will show you how to use the cultivator. You can decide to go forward or reverse with the gear here.”

“Forward… reverse…”

Of course, now I would only entrust even those ‘safe technologies’ to truly trustworthy people. I didn’t know it yet, but who knew if there was a way to kill someone even with a pesticide mixer. The hitman I saw in a movie once killed three men with a single pencil.

Anyway, seeing John White handle the cultivator quite well soon made me feel proud. Before grabbing the cultivator handles, White even made the sign of the cross and muttered some Bible verse…

Indeed. There was one more reason why I had to entrust this equipment only to trustworthy people.

Authority.

In this world, since I was the only one who had these things, and the only one who could handle them, the act of handling modern equipment could be seen by people as some kind of heavenly power. In that situation, if I carelessly bestowed authority on some clueless person, I didn’t know what might happen. It was best to entrust it to a reliable person who wouldn’t cause trouble in the long run.

…Right. I should create something like a certification system. I won’t be selecting that many anyway, so they can take a test in front of me, and I can hold a ceremony to personally bestow the qualification. Like selecting a master craftsman. What should I call this…? Agricultural Machinery Technician? No, those are the people who make and repair farm machinery. Something like a Heavy Equipment Operator… right.

I watched as the people responded to White driving the cultivator with tears and applause, then said to White, “Congratulations. You have now taken the first step as an ‘Agricultural Equipment Operator’.”

“Pardon? Did you perhaps say, ahem, Surgeon (Operator)?”

…Huh?

The high-performance language patch that Hwangsook Soft had created immediately sent a signal to my intuition that something was wrong. The word ‘Operator,’ which referred to a ‘technician (技士),’ only had the meaning of a surgeon at this time. In other words, I had to come up with a name for it here.

…What should I call it? Something with a suitable amount of authority. Something suitably familiar to the people of this era. Something that sounds like they’re engaged in a professional job… Uh…

…I’ve got it.

“Ah, I meant, a Knight of Agricultural Equipment.”

“Pardon?”

‘Knight (騎士)[1]’.

And so, the investiture ceremony of the New World’s first Knight of Agricultural Equipment began.