South 6 Degrees, at the mouth of the RioPotengi, Brazil, the Portugal colonial camp, Natal Port.

This is the northeastern tip of the South American Continent, and also the closest place to the African continent. In fact, from Brazil’s natural harbor of natal to Sierra Leone in West Africa, the straight-line distance is only 3,000 kilometers. With a fair wind and full sails, the voyage takes only a month, or even less!

The shortness of this route to the New Continent far surpasses anything the Castilians could imagine, and it is an absolute nautical secret of the Portuguese people. And in Bruno’s calculations, natal Port is roughly a full 6,000 kilometers from the dangerous Native Kingdom, from that Cipangu Island called Cuba, with no native tribes of any size nearby, utterly removed from all danger! So this is an excellent colonial site, a transit station that must exist on the "Atlantic New Route."

According to the West Africa currents and monsoons already mastered by the Portugal Navigators, the best time to go from West Africa to South America should be to ride the northeast trade wind, setting out in autumn; one month is enough to arrive. And the return from South America to West Africa should ride the southeast trade wind, setting out in spring, taking a little more than a month. One must especially avoid the weak-wind period from July to September, because the Equator doldrums at that time will be a nightmare for every Sea Ship captain...

"Almighty bear witness! We are going to establish the first Portuguese Kingdom’s Colony at the point of the New Continent closest to West Africa! Without a doubt, all ships sailing from West Africa to the New Continent will stop at this transit colony. And I, Baron Bruno Kang, as the Governor of this colony, even as the Nnobility of this Fief, the future income of my family will be beyond measure!..."

Four months earlier, it was with this understanding and expectation that Fleet Commander Bruno brought a five-ship colonial exploration fleet, laden with food, crew, and immigrants, to the Brazil Coast. Afterwards, he inspected for only a few days, scarcely hesitating at all, before choosing this good harbor by the river and announcing the establishment of the Portuguese Kingdom’s first colonial camp in Brazil, natal "Christmas Port."

Then, on Bruno’s orders, more than eighty white men immigrants disembarked, and together with several dozen Sailors who had gone ashore, built rough fences and wooden houses. As for Father Faiar, sent by the Lisbon Church as the first colonial Priest, he took on the religious affairs of this harbor camp and in practice became the civil head of the harbor.

"Almighty! What a desolate Jungle coast, what arduous and fearless pioneering! Father Faiar, the development of the harbor I leave in your hands... I’m going to lead two Light Sailing Ships, following the coastline south to explore. The Jungle coast to the west is already clear, but the coastline to the South is still a complete Chaos..."

"Holy Mother protect us, I must personally explore the South! Perhaps we can find a safe new route, bypass those Barbaric and warlike Caribbean Natives, bypass the evil and hostile Cipangu Kingdom, and sail directly to Seris, land of Silk and Porcelain!..."

After staying in the Pioneer Camp for only one month, Bruno left these instructions, then took two Light Sailing Ships and fifty Sailor Soldiers to once again launch exploration of the southern route. Of course, this was only the excuse he could say aloud. Certain reasons he could not speak of were that the establishment of a new colony was intolerably dull and tedious. In a vast Forest Sea, it was nothing but felling trees and opening land; apart from chopping wood it was fishing, with no trace of romance and no talk at all of getting rich.

Thus, at present, natal Port had only two Clark Galleons and one Supply Ship. As a functional vessel of the Portuguese Navy, the Supply Ship carried only two Two-pound Cannon, better than nothing. But those two medium Clark Galleons, main ships of the Portuguese Navy, with six plus six six-pounder guns, represented a true corner of Portuguese Navy strength!

"Boom-ka! Boom-ka!..."

"Bang! Bang-bang!..."

The sound of felling trees echoed day and night, and the camp of nearly two hundred people was full of clamor. The immigrants sweated like rain, laboring hard to build wooden houses. The Sailors, bored out of their minds, come up with every trick to shirk work. The sporadic cracks of Matchlock Guns were from Navy Soldiers hunting, especially the one-eyed Quartermaster Matim, whose shooting was the most accurate. The long-snouted tapirs of America had fairly good, rich meat. The wine-red parrot Feathers were extraordinarily gorgeous; as long as they could be brought back to Lisbon, they would surely fetch many a copper coin, even a silver coin...

"Woooo! Woooo!..."

The horn is the instrument that carries farthest at sea, sometimes even sounding out for several league. When the deep horn call drifted in from the sea, the slothful Sailors all started and looked toward the southern coastline, seeing two sailing ships bearing the Portuguese flag.

"Holy Mother! Two Light Sailing Ships... the Commander is back!..."

"Quick! Send a squad of Soldiers to the harbor to receive them! The others... get to work, now!..."

"Yes!..."

Soon, the two Light Sailing Ships of the exploration squad, after three months away, again berthed at natal Port. Fleet Commander Bruno stood on the foredeck, face full of travel-worn fatigue, his expression far from pleasant. Only after he carefully examined the colonial camp, now taking modest shape, did he show satisfaction and nod.

"Disembark! Go ashore!..."

Bruno, together with head cook Ado (Haroldo) and Translator-carpenter Shushu, left the Light Sailing Ship and stepped onto the Sun-warmed sand. The first words out of his mouth were...

"Holy Mother protect us, we finally made it back! Quick! Get me something to eat, preferably fresh fish soup! That Native mush—if I eat any more of it, I’ll puke..."

"Boss! You’re finally back! How was it? Where does the coastline to the South end? Did you come across any big Native towns?..."

"Damn it! Matim, there’s nothing to the south, nothing at all—nothing but forest and birds, not even a fart!... This Forest Sea of the New Continent is staggeringly vast, and terrifyingly desolate, even more desolate than the Southern Continent of Black Africa! We kept going south, I reckon we sailed 800 league (4,445 kilometers), before we saw the Forest Sea gradually vanish and wide, man-high grasslands appear..."

Bruno drank fresh stream water, took a few bites of the strange fruit Matim handed over, then glanced at the fish soup Haroldo had just set to boil; the irritation on his face finally eased a little.

"Almighty bear witness! A three-month round trip, always sailing across 20 degrees of latitude, reaching South 26 Degrees, and still we did not reach the end of the Southern Continent... I’m almost inclined to suspect this immeasurably broad New Continent has no end at all and stretches right to the polar regions! I fear a new route from the South to Seris simply doesn’t exist! We still have to head west and crack that hard Bone, the Cipangu Tribal Kingdom!..."

"What’s even more maddening is that we sailed 800 league south along the coast and never saw a single large Native village or town! At most we came upon some hut villages of a few dozen to a hundred people, miserably poor, with nothing but food to their name—much less any Gold and Silver! We slaughtered two villages and all we got was some Cassava mush; we even lost two Sailors and ruined more than a dozen Scimitar for nothing... Damned place! These Natives are even poorer than those on the Southern Continent!..."

At this point Bruno suddenly caught himself and immediately lowered his voice. He glanced at the Cross in the camp, then looked around among the Sailors before finally breathing a sigh of relief and asking:

"Matim, Father Faria isn’t here? Where has he gone?..."

"Boss, that annoying old coot should be in the church! Yeah, that biggest wooden house! He’s just gained a newly converted Native believer and is over the moon. These last few days he’s been holed up with that Native, muttering away, saying things nobody can understand..." 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

"Captain Bruno, Boss Matim! Father Faria isn’t muttering; he’s learning the language from that Native. From the looks of it, he wants to go find the Natives’ tribes and convert an entire native tribes..."

"Convert a native tribes? Heh! We’ve been stuck here for four months; my brothers and I are practically growing mold. If it weren’t for that nagging old man watching us, we’d have found that Native’s village long ago and had ourselves a good time!..."

The one-eyed Matim’s gaze was vicious; he gripped the Scimitar at his waist, his whole body brimming with murderous intent. Bruno frowned slightly, patted Matim on the shoulder, and rebuked him sternly.

"Shh! Matim, you are not to show disrespect to Father Faria! He’s a Priest from the Carmel Mountain Holy Mother Monastery, not like those nobodies without backing... He’s someone who can make himself heard in the Lisbon Church!..."

"..."

"In any case, do not offend the Priest in this camp! And you are absolutely forbidden to lay a hand on the Natives and villages he is preaching to!... If you want to have your fun, I’ll take you to sea next time and we’ll find some Native villages far away for you to enjoy yourselves... Do you hear me?!"

"Yeah... I hear you, Boss!..."

"Good!"

Hearing Matim agree, Bruno finally nodded. Then he took the bowl of fish soup Shushu had carefully ladled out, finished it in a few gulps, and motioned for another bowl. This second bowl of fish soup he did not drink; instead, smiling, he held it in both hands and walked toward the wooden-house church of the Holy Cross.