Year 8 of the SuaChie Calendar, Second Month (April 1490).
Somewhere in the East Ocean (Future Dawn Ocean).
The East Ocean (Atlantic) had been a vast canvas of uncertainty, but the Eastern Expedition plowed through its waters driven by an unshakeable faith. Chuta, the leader of the realm and Son of Heaven, had guided them toward new horizons, and his vision materialized in this specific month.
After weeks of voyaging, the fleet finally caught sight of the immensity of the unknown territory across the sea: the lands of Guanza Quyca (Africa).
The northern and southern divisions of the expedition managed to converge with mathematical precision at a latitude astonishingly similar to that of their own kingdom. The northern division had arrived first, sailing under the command of General Nygua, who had masterfully harnessed the northern sea currents previously studied by the realm's explorers.
Aboard the general's flagship, Soca clung to the port rail, his knuckles white with tension. As the chief builder assigned to the expedition, his eyes sought not glory, but foundations. And what he initially saw made his stomach knot.
The first shores they spotted from the north stretched out like a sea of pale sand and sun-scorched rock; a barren, desolate landscape the likes of which Soca had never witnessed.
How are we supposed to raise walls on dry dust? he thought, feeling the sweat trickling down his neck.
He knew that attempting to establish a settlement there would be a monumental challenge, an absolute waste of the fleet's resources.
To his immense relief, Nygua ordered the exploration to continue, and the arid landscape soon gave way to lush greenery, revealing a far more habitable territory.
At first, Soca had been certain they would put down roots near one of the massive rivers the lookouts had reported from the crow's nests. Fresh water and riverbank clay were a builder's dream. However, the spyglasses also revealed the presence of locals and, worse still, violent skirmishes between different factions in the area.
"Too unstable," Nygua had declared, with his characteristic tactical coldness. They would not risk the first colony in the middle of a foreign conflict. The order was absolute: they must keep searching.
Barely a day later, fate smiled upon them.
One of the crews sighted a peninsula that, from a maritime and defensive standpoint, was a paradise. Shielded from treacherous winds and boasting sufficiently deep waters, it was the perfect canvas. The team of Suaza linguists sprang into action immediately, securing the locals' permission to settle through barter and diplomacy.
…
A week later, the breeze no longer smelled of salt and stagnant dampness, but of fresh sawdust and campfires.
Soca sat inside his own cabin, tracing lines on a piece of parchment by the light of an oil lamp. He ran a calloused hand along the wall beside him; it was built from a dense, reddish local wood, yet assembled using the flawless mortise and tenon techniques of the Suaza Kingdom. It was a modest shelter, but solid.
As he took a sip of fresh water, his mind wandered back to the disconcerting news the scholars had shared that morning. The geopolitical landscape of this territory was a chaotic puzzle.
The nearby peoples, men and women of very dark complexions, called themselves Lebu. They lived in autonomous coastal territories, peacefully dedicated to agriculture, herding, and fishing. However, they were not the absolute masters of the land; the area lay under the shadow of the Wolof Kingdom.
What truly complicated matters was the information the linguists had managed to "buy."
The Wolof Kingdom was in steep decline, seemingly manipulated from the shadows by a mysterious "people from the north." As if that weren't enough, the region's ancient hegemon, the Mali Empire, was also crumbling, violently pressured from within by the relentless advance of the Songhai Empire.
For Soca, accustomed to the peace and the clear power structure of his homeland, that chaos of fragmented empires was a profound headache. But none of that worried him quite as much as the rumor about these "people from the north."
A colleague had confessed to him, his voice reduced to a whisper, that the locals described these foreigners sailing in enormous ships that rivaled the imposing Tequendama I of the Suaza armada in size.
Other nations with heavy galleons? Capable of braving the open sea? Soca pondered, feeling a sudden chill.
The mere thought threatened the sense of technological invulnerability that had accompanied the realm since the arrival of Leader Chuta.
He shook his head, forcing himself to look away from the parchment to dispel his anxiety.
"My duty is wood, stone, and mortar... Not war," he muttered to himself, putting away his measuring tools. The eastern perimeter of the settlement still needed the final blueprints for the storehouses.
Soca pushed open the door of his cabin and stepped outside. The scorching midday sun bathed the peninsula, illuminating the constant bustle of the artisans. Instinctively, as the warm wind ruffled his hair, he looked up toward the immense blue ocean.
His breath caught in his throat for a moment.
Cutting through the waves toward the bay with aggressive majesty, an unmistakable vessel forged its way forward. The taut sails and aerodynamic design gave away the fastest and most famous ship in the fleet: the King of Snipers.
And that could only mean one thing. The great Captain Sogeking himself, Guardian of the East Ocean and leader of the Explorer Division, had arrived.
One year later.
Year 9 of the SuaChie Calendar, Second Month (April 1491).
Desert Oasis City (Dakar, Senegal), Guanza Quyca (Africa).
The warm, dry eastern wind carried fine particles of sand that pattered against the interwoven wooden shutters. Soca, standing before the window of the Mayor's Office, observed the ceaseless bustle of the city.
Barely a year ago, that rectangular building with its high ceilings had been nothing more than the ornamented Chief's House; the lowest-ranking building in the realm's political structure. Now, reformed with precise Suaza joinery techniques to maximize ventilation and structural integrity, it served as his office... The Mayor's office.
It was the second month of Year 9; little more than a month until Leader Chuta's birthday, and Soca still hadn't fully grasped the radical turn his life had taken. He was a master builder, a man of blueprints, squares, mortar, and wood, not a politician.
When the expedition landed, the fear of hostility from the native peoples had led them to assume that a general or a strict military leader would take the reins. However, the reality of raising a city from its foundations had forced him to move tirelessly.
It was Soca who had laid out the streets, who had dealt with the scholarly linguists to negotiate boundaries with the neighboring clans, and who, almost by inertia, had begun establishing the first trade routes and agreements.
He had taken upon his shoulders an immense burden of diplomatic and administrative work for which he was never trained, but which, to his own surprise, he deeply enjoyed. Every forged pact felt like fitting the perfect beam into the structure of a new society.
His gaze drifted over the roofs of the dwellings that stretched toward the port, coming to rest on the infinite blue of the ocean. He remembered the early months of tension and uncertainty.
Of the colossal original expedition, only some two hundred brave souls—sailors, weathered soldiers, technicians, and scholars—had stayed behind to cling to that foreign coast. The pressure of being isolated on the other side of the world threatened to break their morale, but the brilliant foresight of Chuta, the Son of Heaven, had saved them.
Barely two months after they had raised the first palisades, a second wave of ships appeared on the horizon, bringing with them vital supplies, fresh hands, and the unconditional backing of the realm.
With their survival secured by this steady flow of resources, Soca had poured himself into transforming that first enclave in Guanza Quyca—the official name the realm had bestowed upon this vast and mysterious continent—into a true bastion of prosperity.
His first great strategic move had been to intercept the region's rich flow of trade. He knew that the locals, especially the emissaries of the powerful but declining Wolof Empire and its vassal state, the Kingdom of Cayor, traded actively with the enigmatic "men from the north" via maritime routes.
Soca stepped away from the window and walked toward his sturdy desk made of local mahogany, caressing its polished edges with his fingertips. The recent negotiations with the envoys from Cayor had been fascinating.
Those tall men in loose tunics had earnestly requested "horses." At first, the translator hadn't known how to interpret the word, for the Suaza had never seen such a creature.
But when the emissaries drew in the sand and described enormous beasts, docile yet swift as the wind, capable of carrying an armed warrior or pulling heavy carts, Soca's builder mind ignited.
If we can acquire or tame these animals, the transport of stone blocks and logs will change forever, he had thought, supremely interested.
To his relief, he discovered that the Suaza Kingdom possessed an enviable commercial arsenal with which to negotiate and acquire such marvels. Gold and silver laid down the law in those lands, just as in any other part of the world.
But the Saharan merchants also desperately coveted the iron and copper forged by the Suaza, as well as the resplendent precious stones mined from the mountains of their homeland.
Their exotic liquors, preserved foods, and above all, a strain of cotton different from the local one (far finer and more resilient), had become highly prized bargaining chips.
Through this nascent exchange, the enclave would obtain indigenous raw materials, gold, and—according to the crude customs of the region that they were still trying to assimilate—slaves and manual labor to accelerate their expansion.
Three sharp, rhythmic knocks on the solid wood door interrupted his train of thought.
"Enter," Soca said, straightening his posture and adopting his firm countenance of authority.
The door creaked, and one of his chief aides, a young agronomist technician with his tunic stained in reddish soil and thick drops of sweat on his brow, stepped into the office.
"Greetings, Mayor Soca," the young man said, bowing his head with deep respect, though his dark eyes shone with a feverish and hard-to-contain excitement.
"Greetings. You look enthusiastic," Soca replied, leaning against the edge of the desk and crossing his arms. "Tell me, what were the results of the latest harvest in the test plots?"
The aide stepped forward, hastily unrolling a small parchment filled with notes.
"Sir, the results with the seeds we brought from Great Quyca have been exceptional. Not all of them managed to take root in this soil, of course; the climate and salinity are punishing. But the ones that did..." The boy paused to catch his breath. "The corn, the peanuts, the beans, and the recent chili peppers have shown a yield that vastly exceeds all our initial projections. They are adapting marvelously to the harvest cycles and the terraces we prepared."
A broad, genuine smile crossed Soca's weathered face. A deep sigh of relief escaped his lips, untying a knot of tension in his stomach.
Food independence was the master pillar of any settlement. With this, they would no longer have to look to the sea every week, praying not to depend entirely on the holds of the ships sent by the realm.
"That is the best news I've heard in months," Soca murmured, feeling an invisible weight lift from his shoulders. "But tell me, do these crops demand highly specific conditions? Will they grow in any type of terrain in this coastal region?"
The aide rolled up the parchment and shook his head slowly, his expression growing more serious and intrigued.
"Unfortunately, no, sir. The most arid and sandy zones choke the beans and dry out the corn very quickly. However, ..." The young man leaned a little further over the desk, lowering his voice as if he were about to reveal a state secret. "We have found something else. Something revolutionary. Yuca."
"Yuca?" Soca frowned, processing the name of the hardy tuber.
"Yes. We planted yuca roots in the most hostile terrains, and not only did they survive the dry heat, but they thrived incredibly well. They adapt perfectly to this arid, scorching climate where almost nothing else grows. Mayor... if we mass-produce this tuber, it could change absolutely everything. Not only will it guarantee an inexhaustible caloric base for us and the city's future expansions, but the natives themselves would benefit immensely if we share the knowledge... It is an agricultural revolution."
Soca stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the map spread across his table, and nodded slowly, sharing the same awe that shone in the young agronomist's eyes. In his mind, the yuca wasn't just a plant, but the definitive foundation of his project.
His main motivation had always been to fortify the Suaza settlement to guarantee its survival, but over the months he had come to understand that promoting peaceful relations was equally vital.
He knew that if he could stabilize food security in the region, indirectly helping to alleviate the famines and struggles of the local tribes, trade and diplomacy would flow far more naturally.
He tore his gaze away from the map and locked his dark eyes on the aide.
"Tell me one thing," Soca said, resting both hands on the mahogany desk. "Exactly how much land would we need to condition in order to sustain ten thousand people?"
The young man blinked, visibly confused, and scratched the back of his neck.
"Ten thousand, Mayor? But... we barely number a thousand souls in the settlement, counting the latest wave that arrived from the realm."
Soca straightened up, adopting a solemn posture.
"I want to prepare us for a massive expansion. We must have everything we need secured beforehand, before hunger or a lack of space forces us to improvise." He took a deliberate pause, lowering his voice slightly. "The latest ciphered orders that arrived from the realm suggest we adopt a new measure driven by Leader Chuta: we will begin the systematic purchase and liberation of slaves on this continent. The Suaza population will multiply rapidly."
The aide's eyes went wide, but he nodded in deep understanding. He began to mutter a few numbers, counting on his fingers as his mind calculated yields and planting cycles.
"If that is the case... the required lands are not as massive as you imagine, sir. Especially if we rely primarily on corn and yuca, which boast a high caloric yield. However, I highly recommend that we try to secure the lands closest to the great rivers inland. If that proves too hostile, then we must immediately purchase the borders of the small lakes right here on the peninsula. Fresh water will be indispensable to maintain the variety of crops I mentioned."
"Well reasoned," Soca conceded, satisfied with his subordinate's proactivity. "Prepare your reports and projections. First thing tomorrow morning, we will have a meeting with the full council to decide our course."
The aide gave a hasty bow and withdrew from the office, closing the heavy door behind him. Alone in the silence of his study, Soca turned back toward the window, resting his forehead against the wooden frame as he listened to the constant, random patter of fine sand striking the shutters—a perpetual reminder of the unforgiving world they were attempting to tame.
…
The following morning, the air in the great hall of the mayor's office felt dense.
Soca occupied the head of a long, sturdy rectangular table, surrounded by the rest of his aides and department heads.
Everyone present wore light linen and cotton tunics that blended the formal cuts of Suaza aesthetics with the loose-fitting weaves of the locals; a pragmatic adaptation that not only helped them blend in diplomatically with the natives, but was the only sensible way to endure the suffocating arid climate of Guanza Quyca.
After formally greeting the assembly, Soca wasted no time and informed them of the revolutionary breakthrough in food sustainability. The Head of Agriculture nodded proudly at the mention of the corn and yuca, prompting several of the veterans in the room to rap their knuckles on the table, moderately celebrating the news that secured their independence from the sea.
"With our stomachs secured, we move to the next directive backed by the realm," Soca continued, unrolling a new map across the table. "Territorial expansion. We will proceed with the classic assimilation of small villages, dedicating efforts to learn from their cultures to integrate them into our way of life, and we will commence the aggressive purchase of all 'unowned' lands surrounding our peninsula."
The Major, the gruff head of local defense and former military leader who had served as the first provisional mayor, frowned. His scars tensed.
"Mayor, with all due respect... Won't this move damage the recent and fragile friendship we've forged with the Cayor kingdom? We are at a clear numerical disadvantage; if they see us extending our borders, they might consider it an act of war."
Soca nodded, perfectly understanding the soldier's legitimate tactical concern.
"I have anticipated that possibility, Major. I have already reached out unofficially to the local king. The expansion is approved by his court, provided we meet one condition: that Suaza goods arrive with greater frequency and at significantly cheaper prices in their central markets."
From the other end of the table, the Head of Commerce offered a cunning smile.
"We can reduce prices quite a bit, sir. We must remember that we matched the sky-high local values from the beginning; our current profit margin is absurd. How much should we lower them? Will thirty percent be enough to placate them?"
"No," Soca flatly refused, with the cold mind of a strategist. "If we drop them that much, they will think we've been swindling them or that the quality has diminished. At the first negotiating table, we will propose only a five percent decrease. After 'tough negotiations,' we will allow them to pressure us, and our final price will drop by ten percent. Not a single coin more."
The Major rubbed his chin, contemplating the map.
"Ten percent? Won't that be a problem if their king demands a royal tribute?"
It was the Head of Commerce who chimed in to clear his doubt, letting out a raspy chuckle.
"They don't know our true cost of production, Major. To them, ignorant as they are of our methods of forging, farming, and trading, they will find that ten percent concession to be already incredibly costly for us... They will believe they have won the bout."
The Major blinked and nodded in understanding. His face showed genuine surprise at the way civilians could wield prices and economics as if they were sharpened swords.
"Besides the perimeter expansion," Soca continued, retaking control of the room, "the Central Government has ordered us to implement the policy of purchasing and liberating slaves."
The Head of Logistics, a man who hadn't stopped taking frantic notes, looked up.
"That measure will help enormously to populate our expansion of farmlands, sir, but I fear it will not be enough. Even if we liberate hundreds, we still have a very limited workforce for the sheer scale of the fields and constructions we are planning."
"I know," Soca agreed, pressing his lips together. "The Head of Agriculture mentioned yesterday that high-yield crops would not require as much raw land to sustain us, but as Mayor, I want to be certain. I need surpluses, not just short-term survival. The problem is that I don't know what logistical measure to adopt to cover that massive shortage of hands."
The Head of Commerce leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with the sharpness of a newly discovered opportunity.
"Mayor, what do you think of this? We could lease part of our new agricultural lands directly to the local tribes. We provide them with the seeds, the water, and the tools, and we formally hire them as our workforce and, perhaps, even as our own perimeter security."
.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Thank you all for your support.
I'm so sorry for the delay, but guess what happened?
To upload chapters, research, translations, and for leisure, I used a neighbor's internet, which he kindly lent me. But it turns out his son got a new service, and obviously, I lost internet access.
At first, I thought, "Oh well, I guess I'll have to pay," but in the end, I talked to the young man, and he had no problem giving me the password.
Regarding this chapter and the chapters related to Soca, I just wanted to showcase this part of the world and hint that there will be significant developments on this continent in the future.]