PREVIOUSLY. (Chapter 174)
["It is a system of reciprocity," I explained, looking at them with fervor. "The kingdom will financially back and fund the higher education or research of our youth—even their commercial ventures—on the condition that, in exchange, they serve as teachers in the primary and middle schools of the provinces for a set period... They return to the people what the kingdom has invested in them."
The headmaster and Foza looked at each other, their eyes widening with a mix of surprise and admiration. The silence that followed was not one of doubt, but of awe at the elegance of the solution.
I watched the headmaster nod slowly, a smile beginning to trace upon his lips, while Foza gently struck the table with his fist, visibly thrilled by the prospect of bringing this influx of young teachers to the schools of his islands.
The educational reform of the Suaza Kingdom had just been born at that very table.]
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3 Months Later
Year 13 of the SuaChie Calendar, Seventh Month (September 1495).
Dawn City (Santiago de Cuba, Cuba), Caribá Region (FRFI).
Three months had passed since that pivotal meeting where the kingdom's educational reform was conceived.
I found myself back in the vibrant Dawn City, taking refuge in the quietude of my personal office within Stone Manor. The arched window let in a Caribbean breeze that played with the edges of the scrolls piled upon my mahogany desk, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of sea salt and damp wood from the nearby shipyards.
I allowed myself to lean back in my chair, closing my eyes for a brief moment.
My mind drifted to my recent journey, a vital respite that my soul—trapped between two eras—so desperately needed. The tour through the capital of the FRFI and, subsequently, Guava City, had been a balm to my spirit.
I remembered with a smile the adventure of shedding my responsibilities and donning my identity as "Sansua" once more, blending in as just another student alongside my wives. The covert shopping in the bustling market, dodging glances and savoring the anonymity, had been the perfect prelude to the trip.
Then came Guava City, the birthplace of Turey.
There, my wife had shone with her own light, guiding us with an overflowing enthusiasm—something highly unusual for her—along the paths of her childhood. She had introduced us to the local orphans, her former companions, and a living, palpable reminder of the purpose behind the royal orphanages I had founded myself. Seeing the hope on those children's faces recharged my energies more than any diplomatic alliance ever could.
Opening my eyes, the administrative reality of the empire anchored me back to the present.
Before me, the spread-out reports confirmed that the seeds of my drastic reforms were germinating at an astonishing rate.
I had strategically decided to postpone the educational reform until the start of the new school year. I wanted to ensure that the new teachers and administrators had ample time to absorb the merit-based reciprocity system without causing chaos in the classrooms.
As for the commercial reform, everything had progressed swiftly. The liberation of key industries was a resounding success. The peripheral regions were awakening, raising forges, shipyards, and distribution routes at a pace that defied even my own initial expectations.
The political restructuring across the eight macro-regions was already a reality, and the subdivision into municipalities was in full swing. Several governors, demonstrating an administrative maturity that filled me with profound pride, were relocating their capitals to optimize the management of their territories.
Foza was the prime example; following the lesson left by the devastating storm in the southeast of the FRFI, and acting on my direct suggestion, the island governor had begun moving all administrative bodies toward the sheltered Yuboa City, just kilometers from the island.
The latest waves of reform were the ones that brought me the most peace of mind.
The army and the navy had adapted to the new hierarchy of generals and admirals with impeccable martial discipline. For my part, I watched the religious unification continue its course with an organic serenity, devoid of friction.
They adapt incredibly fast, I thought, resting my chin on my intertwined hands, feeling a profound admiration for our people. They do not resist progress; they hunger for it... They possess the flexibility that the old empires of Europe lack.
A rhythmic knock on the heavy oak door interrupted my analysis.
"Enter," I called out, straightening my posture and once again donning my mask of leadership.
An aide from the Ministry of External Ties entered, bowing deeply. In his hands, he carried a clipboard laden with wax seals.
"Chuta Leader, forgive the interruption," the young man said, approaching the desk with quick steps. "The ministers request an urgent directive. They need to know who will be appointed as the official liaison and aide for the English in the establishment of their new territory in the north."
I nodded slowly, gesturing for the aide to wait in silence.
The mention of the English settlement in Northern Quyca unleashed a cascade of thoughts regarding the latest messages that had crossed the Dawn Ocean following the successful return of the Joint Expedition.
The European chessboard was reacting exactly as I had orchestrated, dazzled by the power and diplomacy of our kingdom.
The Crown of Castile and Aragon—or rather, Spain—had sent a formal, highly ornate document, sealed by the Catholic Monarchs themselves, reaffirming an amicable gratitude and formalizing the alliance. The greatest surprise was that they had allowed our merchants to establish their own permanent trading posts in certain ports of the Castilian Crown. It was a concession of commercial sovereignty that, until then, only England had been willing to grant.
The approach of the Portuguese Crown had been more pragmatic. The nascent King Manuel I had sent a direct, personal letter, accompanied by a beautiful royal banner, confirming his friendship and his intention to maintain fluid routes free from the frictions of the past. A gesture that proved they harbored their own plans for the future.
England's case was the one that pleased me the most. Henry VII, true to his calculating style, had wasted no time.
Faced with the pressure from the lords in his own court, the Tudor king had reacted with a political audacity that struck me as brilliant: he had publicly announced the official betrothal of the young Margaret to me, the Leader of the Suaza Kingdom. That single declaration had swiftly silenced any dissenting voices in London, cementing England as our most intimate ally in the New World.
England is clinging to us with all its might, I mused, knowing that this English settlement on the North American coast would be the first great experiment in coexistence between the two worlds. I could not leave it in the hands of just anyone.
"Tell the minister to assign one of the senior graduates from the Simte Academy—specifically, someone from the urban planning branch who possesses a fluent command of English," I finally ordered, ensuring my voice conveyed a calm, absolute authority. "Have them escorted by a small, discreet detachment from the Explorer Division... No, I've changed my mind. Summon Captain Quemuen. He will be the one to accompany the delegation."
The aide nodded vigorously, noting down every word.
"It shall be done immediately, Chuta Leader," the aide replied, offering a final bow before hurrying out.
I was left alone in the office once more. The murmur of Dawn City drifted through the window, a reminder that the world never stopped turning. I rose from my chair and walked to the arched window, gazing out at the vast blue ocean. The warm Caribbean wind tousled my hair.
Out there, the Dawn Ocean seemed infinite, a canvas where the Europeans were only just beginning to trace their lines. Yet, as my eyes rested on the turquoise immensity, my mind traveled in the opposite direction, pulled southward toward the frigid, craggy peaks of the Andes.
Behind me, resting upon the heavy mahogany desk, lay two reports with their wax seals already broken.
They had been delivered that very morning by direct messengers from two of my border governors: Fagua, in charge of the Western Region (WR) or Eyadobida, and Chuhis, responsible for the Southern Region (SR) or Suamox-iki.
I turned around, leaving the landscape of Dawn City behind, and sat back down. I ran my fingertips over the rough texture of the Suaza paper.
For several years now, ever since the kingdom first expanded to lay the foundations of our ancient regions, inevitable geopolitical friction had become a reality. Reaching so far south, we had collided—indirectly, almost ghost-like—with the giant of the continent: the Inca Empire.
According to the maps I retained from my past life, the Tahuantinsuyo was the most extensive and structured empire in this part of the world. And, much like the Mexica in the north, they possessed a profoundly bellicose and expansionist culture.
I recalled my own doubts back then.
Initiating formal contact with an empire of that magnitude, just as the Suaza Kingdom was barely learning to walk as a unified nation, would have been strategic suicide. I did not want a war front in the southern jungles while dealing with the challenges of the north.
But fate—or history itself—had granted me a reprieve: the Incas were plunged into an extremely turbulent period of succession following the death of their previous monarch.
Capitalizing on that internal chaos, I had appointed Fagua. He was not only a competent governor for Eyadobida—formerly the Southwest region—but a lethal operative; a high-ranking member of the Shadows, trained in every trick of counterintelligence, sabotage, and subtle diplomacy that Zasaba and I could instill in him.
His orders were clear: act as a silent shield and keep the Incas looking the other way. And he had succeeded.
Fagua had dealt with the scarce Inca envoys who dared to probe our borders, transforming military tension into a cold, pragmatic commercial exchange. For years, I did not know exactly how he had managed it.
Reports from other undercover agents, operating as simple laborers or merchants in the area, indicated that Fagua had woven a web of bribes and direct influence with the Tocricoc, the governor of the northern zone of the Inca Empire. Surprisingly, he also enjoyed the backing of someone very powerful from within the very court of Cusco.
That mystery had been solved only a week ago.
I closed my eyes, recalling the exact moment I read Fagua's confidential message. The name written on that scroll had struck my mind like lightning, unearthing demons I thought had been buried for nearly ten years.
Sicaza.
The mere mention of his name had made my blood boil. For a blind instant, I was once again that three-year-old boy standing before a bloodstained altar in the ancient East City.
I smelled the iron again, the nauseating incense, and saw the small, lifeless body of Hyqua, my younger brother, sacrificed in the name of a deaf deity by a priest who refused to let go of the past.
That day, I had felt a festering, murderous rage. But now, almost a decade later, with the forced maturity of governing millions, the fury had diluted into a bitter understanding. I no longer hated him.
To me, Sicaza was not a monster; he was simply a man trapped in the old ways, a terrified cleric who had spilled blood convinced that, by doing so, he was saving my family from divine wrath.
Knowing that he had survived his exile, and that he now operated in the upper echelons of the Inca Empire, was simply incredible. Fagua had detailed his current psychological profile and his movements: Sicaza, ironically, remained loyal to the idea of the Suaza Kingdom—or rather, to my figure as the "Son of Heaven"—manipulating the Incas to ensure they did not attack us.
I let out a long, heavy sigh, opening my eyes to focus on the messenger reports in front of me.
According to the logistical data sent by Chuhis from Suamox-iki, the Incas had begun to empty their coffers. They were purchasing exorbitant amounts of corn grain from the southern region, securing a food supply line that likely fueled their military campaigns in the south.
But Fagua's report from Eyadobida contained the real bombshell.
The Incas had spent a fortune in pure gold to acquire several Wayamú, our medium double-masted ships, straight from the western shipyards. They weren't buying them to trade; they were buying them to gut them.
"They are dismantling the Wayamú piece by piece, Chuta Leader," Fagua's report read in his sharp, precise handwriting. "They are developing their own vessels using our hulls and pulley systems as a model. Our spies on the coast confirm they can already replicate them, though it takes their carpenters far too long to cure the wood and assemble a single functional ship."
I leaned back in my chair, interlacing my fingers beneath my chin. A faint, humorless smile appeared on my lips.
Sometimes, the arrogance of progress blinds us. I had assumed that the technological abyss would protect us for generations, but reality was relentless. In any culture, no matter how isolated or focused on stone and obsidian it might be, geniuses would always be born.
Brilliant minds capable of seeing a gear, a lateen sail, or the sternpost of a rudder, and understanding their physics merely by dismantling them. The Incas were adapting. Slowly, clumsily, and at an exceedingly high cost, but they were doing it.
"So, they too look toward the sea," I murmured to the empty room, feeling the weight of the continental game adjust upon the board. "It does not matter how long it takes you to build one, southern neighbors. The fact that you can do it at all changes everything."
I leaned back in the mahogany chair, interlacing my fingers as my mind traveled northward.
Through Menasuca, operating skillfully beneath his identity as Painalli, I had personally leaked and granted access to certain naval construction and logistical knowledge to the Mexica and the Triple Alliance.
I had done so as a calculated gamble: unlike the Incas, the Mexica had initially proven 'cooperative' in terms of trade, and their borders were surrounded by formidable enemies like the Purépecha and the Tlaxcalans, which naturally curtailed their expansion.
But the Sapa Inca was different.
In guiding his people, he had immediately understood that absorbing and replicating our knowledge would grant him a brutal advantage for his own campaigns. What gnawed at me inside was the uncertainty: did the Incas feel so confident in their vastness that they were underestimating us, or was their apparent calm the mask of meticulous preparation for war?
Moreover, the shadow of doubt lingered over whether Sicaza, the old exiled priest, had truly influenced the recent decisions of the court in Cusco.
It would be fascinating, and at the same time terrifying, to see the Aztecs and the Incas attempt to expand simultaneously across the waters of the Dusk Ocean, I thought, a half-smile forming at the irony of a continent abruptly awakening to oceanic navigation.
My geopolitical musings were interrupted by a soft yet rhythmic knock on the door of my study in Stone Manor. An assistant poked his head in with a respectful bow, breaking the scent of fresh ink in the room.
"Chuta Leader, Lord Kahaku Aliʻi, hailing from the Isles of the Dusk, has just arrived at the manor."
"Direct them to the main meeting hall," I ordered immediately, standing up and adjusting the folds of my white tunic. "I will see them there."
I walked down the polished stone corridors, letting the sound of my own footsteps center me in the present. Crossing the threshold of the great hall, the air seemed to shift, bringing with it the essence of a distant sea.
There, standing with a posture that radiated both power and serenity, was Kahaku Aliʻi, the great leader of Kauai. He was an imposing man; his coppery islander skin was exquisitely adorned with intricate tribal tattoos that told the history of his ancestors.
Beside him waited Supquagi, our official translator. Upon seeing me, Supquagi bowed deeply.
"Chuta Leader, it is an honor to present to you the Great Leader of the island of Kauai," Supquagi announced with solemnity.
I approached with a warm smile and, calling upon my prodigious memory, uttered a few words of welcome directly in his native tongue, mimicking the island cadence I had studied.
The reaction was instantaneous: both Supquagi's and Kahaku's eyes widened, perplexed by the sound of their own language leaving the lips of the leader of a distant empire.
I could not maintain the formality for long. I offered an apologetic gesture and turned to Supquagi with a light laugh.
"Please, ask the Great Leader to forgive me. That is absolutely all I have managed to learn of his beautiful language."
When Supquagi translated my words, Kahaku's rigid countenance transformed. The diplomatic tension vanished into thin air, and the three of us shared a clean, frank burst of laughter that echoed against the stone walls.
"Convey to him my deepest gratitude for having crossed the vast blue to honor us with his presence," I instructed, sensing that a new, royal bond had just been forged in the Dusk.
...
An hour later, the clamor of diplomacy was left behind, and I found myself once again in the intimacy of my personal office. Seated before me was Umza.
The scene, however, was unusual.
Umza, my wife of Pijao descent—known for her hyperactive energy, her contagious laugh, and her insatiable extroversion—kept her lips pressed tightly together. She looked uncharacteristically serious, or at least, she was making a monumental effort to appear so.
Her face reflected a complexity rare for her, watching me with wide eyes, as if I had just handed down a sentence that would alter the course of her life.
I didn't want to let her overthink the situation. I rested my hands on the desk and looked directly into those deep, dark eyes.
"Umza, I will repeat it so there are no doubts," I said, softening my voice but maintaining my firmness. "I need you to take charge of leading the Suaza newspaper."
I saw her blink, processing the weight of the responsibility. I had been nurturing this idea for a long time.
As the primary and middle schools, and the subsequent Simte Academy, bore fruit, and reading and writing became popularized throughout the kingdom, our method of communicating edicts had fallen short.
Until now, we had relied on officials, teachers, or priests reading sheets of paper aloud in public squares and temples. It was a functional system, akin to the concept of a journal, but it lacked formality, periodicity, and above all, a centralized direction that would give a unified voice to the Suaza Kingdom.
The choice was no conjugal whim. Umza had dedicated much time in the past to being a teacher, leveraging her superior linguistic talent. But a few years ago, when we moved our residence and the center of certain operations to the ceaseless, bustling Dawn City, she had stopped teaching.
Since then, her immense and vibrant energy seemed to be desperately seeking an outlet. For the sake of the kingdom's cultural development, and for my own sanity, I needed all that creativity channeled into something constructive.
"You have the gift of tongues, and you understand people better than any of my ministers, Umza," I added, offering an encouraging smile. "You will be the voice that connects everyone, from the fishermen of the Floating Islands to the artisans in the Muisca mountains... It is time the kingdom reads its own history, and I want you to write the first page."
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
Thank you all for your support. Let's get straight to the chapter comments.
CHAPTER COMMENTS
First, I wanted to let you know that I decided to write a separate section for the 'colonizations' that won't have an immediate impact, but will be important in the future.
This is why the envoy from the Simte Academy is mentioned as helping the English, as well as poor Quemuen, who had accompanied Chuta on his adventures as Sansua, but was defeated by Turey's owl and revealed these adventures to Chuta's wives. Hahaha.
Second, I want to clarify that Zasaba, the leader of the Shadows, and now chancellor of Dawn City, already knew about Sicaza, since Fagua had already informed him.
But Chuta wasn't notified because they believed it would be painful for him, given the death of Hyqua, his little brother.
Now he's not only older, but his little sister has even been born. Furthermore, he's much more emotionally mature.
AUTHOR'S COMMENTS
First, I'll be honest, and this chapter and the following one aren't that great in my opinion.
They contain key information and vivid interactions that help Chuta and the rest of the characters seem more real, but I don't think they work perfectly.
The problem is that I don't know when to integrate them into the story.
From my perspective, they're fine, and from the perspective of a regular reader, they're fine too, haha.
By the way, we'll meet little Margaret soon, and I have an AI-generated image of what she looked like as a young girl and as an adult.
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Read my other novels.
#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future (Chapter 91) (ON HOLD)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis (Chapter 34) (ON HOLD)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 14) (ON HOLD)
You can find them on my profile.]