Mysticism

“Um, excuse me, perhaps… could you take us in…? We’ll do anything!”

Good.

I held back the cheer that almost burst out of me as I heard that answer.

At last, in this unfamiliar world, I had created a “friendly force.”

With only myself, surviving in this world was practically impossible.

There were the natives, who would want to beat up the strange bastard who had suddenly popped up on their land.

And there were the white settlers, who would want to beat up the strange bastard who had popped up after simply stealing someone else’s land.

Somehow, I had to keep my balance between the two and seek survival in my own way.

And right now.

“…It would be difficult to give you an immediate answer. I’ll have to think about it for a moment.”

“Uh… yes?”

This was my last chance to gain this kind of upper hand over white pioneers.

The Englishmen before me numbered only thirty.

I had saved them when they were all starving to death, so if they were human, they ought to understand gratitude.

On top of that, with their resources and weapons in such poor condition, they were the ones who had lowered their heads first.

Among the situations I had envisioned, this was about the best-case scenario.

That was why.

For now, I made myself look hesitant. If I accepted too readily, I might expose a weakness.

“…”

“…”

The longer I remained silent, the thicker the anxiety among the Englishmen grew. Several minutes passed like that, and just as the silence grew heavy—

The moment I opened my mouth, everyone’s eyes focused on me.

“…Very well.”

And when my answer came, cheers, prayers, and sobbing burst out all around.

Eleanor, too, seemed unable to suppress her emotions. Her hands trembled as she lowered her head for a moment and clenched her fists… then raised her head and spoke. Her eyes were red-rimmed.

“Th-thank you…”

“However.”

I raised a finger in front of the excited Eleanor.

“It would be burdensome for all of you to come into our settlement.”

“I-if you would simply allow us to settle nearby, that would be enough! If you could share just a little food…”

“Would that be enough? If you build a village near our settlement, we can help you settle down. If you wish, we can provide seeds and tools as well.”

“…”

“In exchange, please keep just one condition.”

“…What is that condition? We’ll keep anything!”

At Eleanor’s question, I answered while trying to put on as gentle a smile as possible.

“…I only hope the friendship between us continues.”

***

…I can’t believe it.

Eleanor nearly pinched her own cheek.

He would permit them to come near the settlement.

He would help them build a village.

He would provide tools and seeds as well.

And in return, he demanded… nothing.

She was left dumbfounded by the absurdly generous terms. It felt as though she had become a child who had received an entirely unexpected gift.

“W-we can’t simply receive so much! If there’s anything we can give you, anything at all, we will.”

“Pardon? What could you give me?”

“Mr. Nichols here is a tailor! If you have any clothes that need mending…”

“I have enough clothes.”

“Ah… then…”

“It’s all right. We will need a few days to prepare as well, so please wait.”

“…Thank… you.”

“Not at all. If you truly feel sorry, you can lend a hand from time to time.”

After that, a few meaningless formalities were exchanged, and he left.

“…”

“…”

“…”

No one could speak first. They only looked at one another.

The painful days they had endured flashed through each of their minds.

Even the process of barely making it to the New World had been an unbroken chain of hardship.

Because of the navigator’s sudden whim, they had arrived too late for the farming season, and instead of their original destination, they had ended up settling on Roanoke Island, full of wetlands.

While trying to catch fish and crabs, they had encountered a hostile tribe and several people had died. In retaliation, they launched a night raid, only to attack their allies by mistake.

They had gone hungry all along, and during the journey to Croatoan Island, several more had drowned. Once here, they had again reached the brink of starvation.

Eleanor could imagine all sorts of terrible possibilities. They might have quarreled among themselves and killed one another, or they might have been attacked and killed by a hostile tribe.

If the “hand of salvation” had been even a little late… that was likely what would have happened.

And now, that savior had promised them another chance.

He had said he would help them achieve the very reason they had come here: a “new life.”

“C-could this perhaps be a temptation of Satan? Perhaps if we follow him to his settlement, a hell of fire awaits us…”

“What kind of Satan brings medicine and food every day for people starving to death?”

“…Well, yes, that’s true.”

Goodwill without a price.

Faced with a kindness they had never experienced before, with an opportunity far too great and far too unexpected, people spouted nonsense about whether there might be some hidden catch.

Even though they knew it could not be true. Simply because it made no sense.

“Now, ‘He’ said he would return tomorrow. Everyone, enough talking, and let’s sleep early! Starting tomorrow, we’ll have to move again!”

At Eleanor’s words, the people lay down one by one.

Beneath the tent made from the cloth “He” had given them.

Sipping the mysterious drink “He” had given them.

Fiddling with the mysterious metal cans “He” had given them.

They dreamed of tomorrow’s hope.

They could not fall asleep. There was no reason to sleep and dream. Tomorrow, while awake, they would be able to see their dream come true.

“…”

Eleanor was the same.

Until now, Eleanor had been nothing.

But before she knew it… even if only among a group made up mostly of women and children, she had taken on the role of a leader, and now stood on the brink of building a new colony.

Having found a new ally they had failed to find before, and having met a new person they had never met before.

Eleanor looked at the beautiful picture and mysterious letters engraved on the metal can. Those incomprehensible characters, some square and some round, looked less like letters and more like mathematical symbols.

And Eleanor could not read a single one of them.

They were going to an unknown world.

Perhaps that man was the king of a kingdom overflowing with gold and pure silver. Perhaps he was a wealthy and powerful monarch attended by thousands of servants and ruling over millions of subjects.

Or perhaps… as someone had said, he might be an angel.

Honestly, she did not think that was likely, but the mercy and devotion he had shown the Englishmen so far had been almost angelic. She could understand why someone might think so.

Whichever it was.

Eleanor stayed awake through the night, imagining the settlement they would begin building tomorrow.

Imagining the mysterious eastern kingdom that stood beside it, Eleanor slowly fell asleep.

And when she awoke the next day.

When they headed there under “His” guidance.

Thud!

“Move the injured to the farm shed inside that fence.”

“The farm… what?”

“That hut over there.”

“What about the rest of us…?”

“You can cut down and use the forest over there. I’ll help.”

“N-no! It’s all right! There are thirty of us! One more person won’t make much of a diff—”

Whiiiiiiir!

Crash!

“It… does make a difference…?”

Every one of Eleanor’s imaginings had been wrong.

…On second thought, he might really be an angel.

***

It was now the beginning of September. The Shine Muscats’ maturation period was coming to an end.

In other words, just before harvest.

While spraying fertilizer for foliar fertilization—applying specialized fertilizer to the leaves so it would be absorbed quickly—I kept adding nutrients centered around potassium phosphate for flavor and storability.

On top of that, to prevent bland fruit that tasted like nothing but water, I reduced the amount of water to just enough that the surface layer of soil would not dry out. About sixty percent of the usual amount would probably be enough.

After working like that for quite a while, I suddenly came to a realization.

‘What… is the point of all this?’

It wasn’t as if I could eat all the Shine Muscats that came out of a 1,500-pyeong greenhouse by myself. So why was I doing this… and all alone, at that?

“…Guuuuugh.”

If one hears the Way in the morning, one may die in the evening.

Wasn’t that what Confucius said?

Having attained enlightenment, I now wanted to die.

‘…No. There might be some other special benefit.’

For example, if the Constellation [Master of Olympus] bought my grapes, I could earn [Coins] and awaken as a Hunter.

Or maybe my grapes were some insane elixir, and if someone ate them and tried meditative breathing, pure internal energy would overflow from their dantian…

As if.

No matter how I’d fallen four hundred years into the past, to the era of my ancestors, just because I bought the wrong game pack, that much would make no sense. If that were the case, a status window should have opened long ago.

Which meant—

What I was doing now, preparing for the grape harvest, had absolutely no meaning.

It was nothing more than the inertia, lingering attachment, and stubbornness of the farming life I had continued for several years.

“…Do they have any idea how I built this farm?”

It seemed the fact that the workplace I had poured my early twenties into had become meaningless in an instant was difficult to bear.

I sat there limply for a while, then heard footsteps from far away and got back to my feet.

Hoooo… Focus. Focus.

Thirty people versus one. I had to minimize any conflict or any opportunity to show an opening. I had to maintain friendly alliance relations while ensuring I never lost the upper hand.

The mode of conduct I decided to adopt for that purpose was as follows.

“…I believe I told you not to come this far in.”

“I-I’m sorry! Someone was injured, so I came to find you…”

“Did you move them to the farm shed as I told you? I’ll be there soon.”

“Th-thank you.”

“That’s enough.”

“…”

“From next time… do not enter this place until I call for you.”

“…Yes.”

Mysticism.

In Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, did the people captured aboard the Nautilus take Captain Nemo hostage or attempt to escape? No. For years, they acted as obedient passengers.

Why?

Because they did not know their opponent well.

Because they could not know what their opponent could do to them, or how inferior they were compared to him.

In fact, the protagonist never discovers Captain Nemo’s identity until the end of the novel.

My strategy was the same.

Mysticism. Mysticism.

“Is this… a vineyard?”

I could tell from Eleanor’s tense expression as she stood before me now.

When she saw the grapevines lined up in long rows, and the large clusters of grapes hanging from them, her eyes went round. The sight of me moving around on a wheeled chair while spraying fertilizer seemed quite unfamiliar to her.

I tried to make my expression as indifferent and calm as possible, and began slowly spraying fertilizer on the leaves again.

“Yes. As you can see.”

“I’ve seen many vineyards when I went to Sussex and Kent… but I’ve never seen grapes this large.”

“They ended up this way because I grew them as a mere hobby.”

That was right. I was not a grape farmer buried in debt, but some mysterious and powerful being. I sprayed fertilizer over the leaves with an expression that was as leisurely and bored as I could manage.

As if I were Bob Ross brushing paint across a canvas—so easily, so pleasantly, as if something like this was nothing at all.

And then I spoke indifferently.

“Would you like to try one?”

“Ah, thank you.”

I plucked off a few grapes with a pop, washed them, and held them out. Eleanor looked them over again and again in fascination, then whispered.

“They’re like jewels…”

Of course they were. They were the product of a research institute under Japan’s Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries, created by concentrating twentieth-century agricultural technology.

And the moment she finally put one into her mouth, her eyes went round.

Delicious, right? When I checked earlier, those were over 20 Brix.

I gave you something that was supposed to be supplied to a department store, so it had better be delicious.

“This is very tasty… Huh?”

“What’s wrong?”

“…”

A grave look appeared in Eleanor’s eyes.

“Th-there are… no seeds?”

Ah, right. I forgot. This was four hundred years ago.

“…Yes. Is it so strange for grapes to have no seeds?”

…Don’t panic. Speak naturally.

“O-of course it is! Then how do these grapes reproduce?”

“By cuttings, naturally.”

“Then without human hands, they cannot reproduce?”

“Yes.”

“How can something like this exist in nature…”

“It cannot.”

“…”

“I removed the seeds.”

By using gibberellin to promote growth.

“G-good heavens…”

“It is a product of my homeland… no, of an island nation in the East.”

National Agriculture and Food Research Organization under Japan’s Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries, thank you for developing it.

Japan’s Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries, thank you for forgetting to register the variety. No royalties needed for cultivation.

“J-just where is your homeland?”

“…”

I merely gazed wistfully up at the sky and said,

“…It is in a place you could never reach.”

I am an honest person.

So I spoke only the truth.

***

As expected, that man was an angel.