PREVIOUSLY.
[I stood up slowly and began to roll up the large leather map, sealing the conversation. The rough scrape of the material filled the silence of the hall.
"Remember this before you return to your offices," I said, tying the map's cord firmly. "The Europeans, primarily the English, will continue to use the Suaza Isthmus, and the preferential treatment the kingdom offered them in the past still stands... You will have competition. What this Chamber achieves commercially, the fleets you build, and the alliances you forge with the West... depends entirely on you. The door is open, gentlemen. You would do well to cross it before others shut it."
I tucked the map under my arm, offered a slight bow of my head in farewell, and, without waiting for another word, turned on my heel and walked out of the hall, leaving behind a dozen of the most powerful men in the kingdom with the fire of urgency burning in their chests.]
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Year 14 of the SuaChie Calendar, Third Month (May 1496).
Dawn City (Santiago de Cuba, Cuba), Caribá Region (FRFI).
Chuta's Office, Stone Manor.
My footsteps echoed with a steady rhythm against the polished stone floor of Stone Manor as I walked down the long corridor back to my office. The heavy leather map remained under my arm, warm from friction, like a physical reminder of the ambitions I had just ignited in that meeting room.
The afternoon light filtered through the wide, west-facing windows, bathing the tapestries and wall reliefs in a copper hue that seemed to breathe life into the carved figures of our gods.
As I observed those stone deities, my ever-restless mind began to unravel the intricate social tapestry I had woven over the last decade.
When I arrived in this world, I knew I could not simply impose cold laws or incomprehensible economic decrees. The people needed a deeper driving force, something that resonated with their spirit.
So, I had delved into the memories of my past life, taking the most noble and functional fragments of the religions I knew, and molded them into a new value system. I did not replace our gods; I simply whispered through the priests and the teachings what the deities truly expected of us.
I gave them clear virtues by which to be judged in the journey after death: unwavering respect for family, loyalty to one's own, and bravery—not only in war, but in life.
That religious doctrine had been my Trojan horse for a much more pragmatic endeavor in social engineering: well-distributed wealth.
I paused for a moment before one of the windows, resting a hand on the oak frame as I gazed out at the gleaming rooftops of Dawn City in the distance.
I had ingrained an irrefutable truth into the minds of the nobility and the merchants: accumulating gold without purpose was a dead weight upon the soul.
We taught them that, once a man had enough wealth to guarantee a prosperous life for himself and secure his children's future, the surplus must serve to uplift those who had less. To seek boundless, selfish enrichment was, in the eyes of the gods, a dishonor.
That simple paradigm shift had transformed men like Chewa, and his brilliant son Chesua—whom I had just left in the hall—from mere hoarders of capital into true pillars of the kingdom.
Their commercial enterprises not only generated gold, but cemented society itself.
Thanks to the influence of this doctrine, the Suaza Chamber of Commerce had become the primary benefactor of Central Government initiatives that filled me with pride: the Homes of Honor for our veterans and elders, and the Royal Orphanages.
Now, those institutions of white stone and terracotta roofs not only adorned the capital, but stood majestically even in the smaller cities of the realm.
I resumed my walk down the corridor, feeling a profound sense of satisfaction.
Beyond charity, this mindset had allowed me to stabilize our domestic economy in almost miraculous fashion. I had educated the merchants to maintain true prices, aligned with the broader economy.
It was not a matter of imposing "fair" prices by decree or selling for political convenience, but rather respecting the authentic value of goods based strictly on the real supply and demand within our territory.
However, as I opened the door to my office and stepped into the familiar scent of ink, papyrus, and cedarwood, a sigh escaped my lips. The system was perfect on a local level, but the foreign trade I had just set into motion would bring a colossal logistical headache.
I set the map on the desk and slumped into my chair, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
The problem with true prices was the friction with foreign markets. Products that were cheap for us had to be adapted to exorbitant international prices, and vice versa.
Take corn, for example.
That golden grain was the lifeblood of our land. In the Suaza Kingdom, its abundance made it ridiculously cheap, the quintessential staple food. But now that we were beginning to export it eastward, crossing the unforgiving Dawn Ocean toward the kingdoms and sultanates of Guanza Quyca, or to the European courts, the dynamic changed absurdly.
We were selling it at the same price as its weight in wheat.
Even factoring in the colossal costs of transoceanic transport, the corn arriving in those distant lands could be sold several times cheaper than the local European wheat itself, and still yield us obscene profit margins.
I knew something similar would happen with the rest of the exotic crops and goods my fleets would bring from all corners of the world. Adapting these values was going to require brilliant customs micromanagement.
I leaned back, staring at the carved ceiling of my office. If there was one thing that did not worry me in the slightest, it was my people going hungry.
The Suaza Kingdom was a geographical paradise; our expanse encompassed an astonishing variety of climates, from tropical coastlines to frigid valleys. That allowed us to produce biblical quantities of grain of every conceivable type.
Coupled with the revolutionary cooking and preservation techniques—smoking, salting, cold-dehydration in the mountains—that we had standardized, the food supply was, frankly, a problem of the past.
All of this was the direct fruit of the Central Government's efforts. I had kept no secrets. We had deployed our scholars to teach every peasant the most advanced farming techniques from my previous life and from our own research.
Crop rotation, the use of organic fertilizers... and every time we made a new breakthrough or brought in a foreign seed, the knowledge was updated and distributed freely to every corner of the empire.
I closed my eyes, visualizing the majesty of our lands: the endless agricultural terraces climbing the mountains like stairways to heaven, the vast golden fields in the valleys, and the sprawling, artificially controlled wetlands designed to flood and nourish the earth.
Anyone with the will to work had lands at their disposal capable of yielding overwhelming harvests.
And the masterstroke, the true engine of our prosperity, was the tax system. The personal tax was intentionally low, almost symbolic. By not suffocating the farmers, every harvest left them with a gigantic surplus margin.
That massive surplus did not rot in royal granaries; instead, it fueled a frantic and free trade of food and supplies along all our rivers and roads.
I opened my eyes and looked at the reports Umza had left me before the meeting.
We were a well-fed empire, wealthy and driven by purpose. We were ready to devour the world, not with swords, but with sails, trade routes, and overflowing silos. I sighed deeply, finally feeling the hunger for pizza return with a vengeance, and leaned forward to continue working.
The following day.
The morning sun of the Caribá region pierced through the wooden windows of Stone Manor, casting long golden bands across my oak desk. The air drifting in from the bay carried the salty ocean breeze, mingled with the soft scent of flowers and damp earth from the gardens of Dawn City.
I could still feel the lingering weariness of the previous night in my muscles. Spending the night with Umza was always a storm of vitality and laughter; her Pijao energy seemed inexhaustible, and her presence filled every corner with warmth. I allowed myself a brief smile as I remembered her slipping quietly out of the room at dawn to oversee the printing presses of the Suaza newspaper.
But duty offered no respite, and by the time the light had fully illuminated the city rooftops, I was already settled in my study, a steaming cup of herbal infusion at my side and a mountain of documents spread before me.
I carefully arranged the sheets of papyrus and fiber paper, running my fingers over the rough edges as I reviewed the agenda for the meeting scheduled that very morning with the deputy ministers.
My gaze lingered for a moment on the map of the realm hanging behind my chair.
Ever since I made the decision to move my primary residence to Dawn City in Year 10, my daily life had changed drastically. Relocating to this coastal jewel was imperative: I needed to be on the political and diplomatic front lines, at the nerve center where European ships, merchant fleets, and transoceanic missions converged. However, that choice had geographically distanced me from the true heart of our nation's knowledge and power: Central City.
To prevent the State from paralyzing or relying entirely on my physical presence, I had been forced to restructure the highest echelons of government. The solution was functional duplication.
For every minister, director, or agency head in Central City, I created the role of deputy minister in Dawn City, rigorously selecting the brightest and most capable minds in the kingdom to cover every sector.
Before, when I spent all twelve months of the year in the Andean heights of Central City, I met with my advisors several times a week. Discussions on technical advancements, laws, or military decisions were immediate, lively, almost daily occurrences. Now, the distance forced us to operate in longer, more methodical cycles.
The bureaucratic machinery we had designed was fascinating in its logistical complexity.
Everything began with a proposal drafted in either of the two nerve centers—whether by a ministry in Central City or by the deputy ministers accompanying me here. The dossier of documents would then embark on a colossal journey: couriers on horseback crossing the valleys, riverboats descending the Suaza River, and Navy vessels sailing the Caribá Sea until reaching the other end. There, it would be reviewed, corrections or amendments would be added, and the file would return to its point of origin for official promulgation. A single procedure could take three full months.
For that reason, meetings with my deputy ministers were held every two weeks. In reality, we were not debating yesterday's ideas, but proposals that had been navigating and maturing along the kingdom's roads for at least a month.
Although at first, I feared the sluggishness of the process would hinder growth, I eventually came to understand that it was a blessing in disguise. The system was forcing the Central Government to become truly autonomous.
The kingdom no longer depended on me having a brilliant idea every morning; the scholars, administrators, and merchants trained at the Simte Academy were taking the reins.
Suaza science and technology had finally reached a state of sustained, organic growth, gradually shedding the haste and direct pressure I had exerted in the early years.
The creak of the door interrupted my thoughts.
A young aide from Stone Manor, dressed in the light linen tunic typical of the coastal civil service, entered the study carrying a tray with a fresh inkwell and a pair of folders sealed with red wax.
"Leader Chuta," he greeted with a respectful bow of his head. "The Deputy Ministers of Public Works and Innovation are already gathering in the lower lobby. The Deputy Minister of Commerce will arrive in a few minutes."
"Thank you, Karik," I replied, pushing one of the folders aside to make room on the desk. "Tell the staff to prepare lemon verbena tea for the boardroom. Today's session will be long."
"Right away, Sir," the young man nodded before withdrawing with a firm, silent step.
I turned my focus back to the document resting in front of me, its green seal belonging to the Department of Innovation led by Ubatas. That was precisely the focal point of today's meeting.
I skimmed the neat lines written in black ink. Ubatas and his researchers had spent years experimenting with a material that promised to revolutionize the empire's infrastructure: hydraulic lime.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a pang of bitter irony.
In my previous life as Cyrus, I had been an avid fan of strategy games, a normal university student with an interest in history and general logistics born from my gaming passion, but I had never studied civil engineering or industrial chemistry.
I knew that concrete, Portland cement, and reinforced steel existed, but I lacked the exact formulas, the precise chemical composition, or the high-temperature firing processes needed to recreate them from scratch. My knowledge of architecture and engineering was, at best, conceptual and superficial.
That limitation had caused me tremendous frustration in the past.
Water had always been our most ruthless obstacle. Conventional lime and sand mortar would wash away or take an eternity to set if exposed to constant moisture. Building solid foundations for the docks of the great seaports in the bay or erecting the imposing stone bridges I wished to span across the wide inland rivers was a technical nightmare that claimed lives and resources.
Yet, the report from Ubatas in my hands contained samples of an independent victory.
The Suaza sages had discovered that by calcining limestone containing natural proportions of clay and silicates, and then grinding the product, they obtained a mortar capable of hardening and setting even while submerged underwater.
Hydraulic lime... I thought, tracing a detailed illustration in the report with my finger, which showed a test block submerged in a brine tank, completely petrified.
They had achieved it on their own. They had taken the spark of curiosity I instilled in them and turned it into a real solution, tailored to our local quarries and resources.
With this material, building underwater foundations for the shipyards, the seawalls of Dawn City, and the bridges over the Karinamá and Suaza rivers would cease to be a theoretical dream and become blocks of indestructible stone.
I gathered the reports, securing them with a leather strap, and stood up.
I walked over to the window one last time, gazing at the masts of the Tequendama ships swaying rhythmically in the port, and the fledgling city of white stone growing around it.
Tucking the folios under my arm, I smoothed the fold of my tunic and left the office. As I crossed the threshold into the meeting room, the citrus scent of lemon verbena tea, freshly poured into ceramic cups, welcomed me.
My deputy ministers were already gathered around the central table. Upon seeing me enter, their conversation ceased. None of them stood. They simply offered a slight bow of their heads and placed their right hands over their chests in a silent salute.
I returned the gesture with a nod. Gone were the early years of my rule, when exaggerated bows and suffocating protocols robbed me of valuable minutes.
I had insisted so many times that time was our most scarce resource that we had finally pared respect down to this minimal, efficient, and sober expression.
I walked to the head of the table and, without preamble, picked up the first folder of folios my aides had prepared and began sliding copies toward each person present.
"Good morning, gentlemen," I greeted, as the harsh sound of paper sliding across wood filled the room. "Today is a crucial day. After years of research, the kingdom is finally in a position to take a definitive step forward. We are going to establish, once and for all, solid and absolute overland routes."
The Deputy Minister of Development and Construction, a stout man with calloused hands and a sun-weathered face, furrowed his brow, stopping his hand over the document. His confusion was evident and, to some extent, justified. Our kingdom already boasted an enviable network of cobbled roads.
"Great Leader, forgive my boldness," he interjected, clearing his throat, "but what exactly do you mean by solid routes? Are we talking about General Fagua's project? The extensions of the trade trails he plans to open southward, toward the Tahuantinsuyo Empire?"
"It has nothing to do with the south, nor with Tahuantinsuyo," I replied, resting both hands on the table. "I am talking about our own rivers... I am talking about bridges."
I pointed to the document in front of them.
"The Department of Innovation has perfected hydraulic lime. To summarize it in practical terms: we now possess a mortar capable of hardening and holding strong underwater. We will no longer have to design our highways by dodging the great tributaries of the mountain range or seeking out the narrowest stretches to cross. Now, we will draw straight lines. We will forge direct roads and raise bridges of solid stone whose foundations will rise from the very riverbeds."
The Deputy Minister of Development blinked, still processing the sheer scale of the endeavor, but skepticism crept into his voice.
"It is a fascinating technical breakthrough, Sir, I do not doubt it. But... why invest so many resources into this now? The kingdom already has suspension bridges for the gorges, floating pontoon bridges, and an excellent network of ferries and transfer boats for the wider rivers. The current logistics work. I do not understand why this is so imperative at this moment."
I offered a half-smile. His vision, while practical, remained trapped in the limitations of the present. Without a word, I picked up the second folder and slid a new set of pages toward them.
"Current logistics, exactly," I said, inviting them to read with a wave of my hand. "Look at the numbers our analysts managed to extrapolate."
I poured myself a cup of tea and waited.
For a couple of minutes, the only sound in the room was that of bated breath and rustling paper. The diagrams displayed technical designs for four- and two-wheeled carts equipped with rotary axles, specifically engineered to be pulled by animal draft: European equines and bovines. As their eyes scanned the tables detailing weight capacities, travel times, and maintenance costs, the expressions on their faces began to transform.
"As you can see," I broke the silence when I noticed they had all grasped the scale of the shift, "as the number of livestock in our territory increases—whether through births on our new estates or massive foreign purchases—the way we move goods will change forever. A floating bridge or a ferry cannot support the constant flow of heavy cargo caravans. A stone bridge can."
The Deputy Minister of Labor and Agriculture, a slender scholar with a piercing gaze who had remained silent until now, looked up from the pages. His eyes were gleaming, but not solely from amazement.
"Sir... are these analysts' calculations accurate?" he asked, his index finger trembling slightly over the papyrus. "Are we talking about multiplying our overland cargo capacity by five to fifty times per trip?"
"Those are conservative estimates," I affirmed.
The man swallowed hard, clasping his hands in front of his face.
"It is a revolution... but, Great Leader, if a single man guiding a pair of oxen can transport what fifty porters carry on their backs today... what will become of them? A vast portion of the laborers who make their living from manual transport will lose their livelihoods almost overnight. We could face a massive unemployment crisis on the roads."
I looked at him in silence for a second, feeling a profound surge of pride. I was surrounded by impeccably capable people.
Instead of being blinded by the technological marvel and the surge in productivity, this man had been able to see the social cost hidden in the shadows of progress. They were true statesmen, not mere bureaucrats.
"It is a valid concern, but an unfounded one if we look at our recent history," I reassured him, adopting an instructive tone. "Think about what happened a few years ago, when the kingdom faced an urgent need to move larger volumes of cargo. We extensively developed deep-draft riverboats to navigate the Suaza River and its tributaries. Many believed the riverside porters would starve to death. What actually happened? They adapted. They became sailors, dockworkers, shipwrights, and merchants."
I leaned forward, capturing their gazes.
"The same will happen now, and on a larger scale. All that workforce that will no longer have to break their backs carrying sacks will be absorbed by the new economy. We will need cart builders, animal breeders, blacksmiths, road repairers... and most importantly, every idle hand is a man who can join the upcoming drafts for the Second Division of the Army, our Civil Guard, or work in the factories. We are freeing our people from being beasts of burden to turn them into the gears of a modern kingdom."
I let my words sink in. The tension in the Deputy Minister of Labor's shoulders dissipated, replaced by a nod of profound understanding.
"However," I paused, gathering the folders to return to the main point, "large-scale bridges will take time. I estimate that we will develop bridge infrastructure across all our major rivers over the next ten years. But the immediate focus, the order I want you to execute starting today with the hydraulic lime, is a different one."
I stood up, resting my fingertips on the oak table.
"We will upgrade the conditions of all our shipyards, seawalls, and seaports. With the imminent arrival of valuable goods from the East and West, dozens of heavier, larger ships will reach our shores every month. The sea will bring us wealth, but it will also bring the weight of the world. I want stone foundations underwater before the year is out. Dawn City must be prepared to receive the entire world."
Without further ado, I took a final sip of my tea and concluded the explanation. The government machinery now had its course, and my deputy ministers, their minds buzzing with projects and calculations, knew exactly what they had to do.
.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hi everyone.
Thank you all for your support.
I don't really have much to say. I'm a little excited about reaching 200 chapters, but at the same time, I'm trying to rush some things I don't want to.
I've read other novels, somewhat similar, and it's generally very rare for it to be a year-by-year story. Usually, there are time jumps or changes in perspective to bring more 'important' plot points closer.
However, in my case, I feel like I can't do that. I've built this world so much that I don't know how to get out, haha.
I'd like to include a lot of plot lines in the novel. For example, chapters 201 and 202 are chapters I had planned to upload earlier, but I unintentionally left them aside.
On the other hand, so many things happen simultaneously, in periods like this, and with so many possible perspectives, that something like what happened in the novel could occur: the beginning of year 9, meaning 5 years ago within the novel, started in chapter 68.
That's 120 chapters in just those years. And the worst part is that there could have been many more.
To help you cope with this, I'll try to help you visualize things a bit more. We already have maps, we already have a very complete list of characters, but we're missing character images.
Therefore, for chapter 200, I'll upload the official images of Chuta as a baby, his father Hyba in a Zaque's attire, and his mother.
I hope you like them.]