NOVPUBPain spread from Alonso’s head throughout his entire body. At the same time, his whole body wouldn’t move properly, as if it had fallen into a deep sleep.
Sharp pain like a knife and drowsiness that spread like clouds gave contrasting sensations as they penetrated Alonso’s entire body.
Through blurry eyes, he witnessed a chaotic scene. More than a dozen men armed with guns and swords were being mercilessly beaten by dozens of people armed with only stones and bare fists.
The muskets of this era were good for hunting animals and intimidating the ignorant, but not suitable weapons against enemies approaching at close range.
Swords, too, were difficult to wield properly in the midst of dozens of people fighting in a tangled mass. They couldn’t handle those who desperately bit with their teeth, hit with their fists, and kicked with their feet.
That’s how the vigilante members fell one by one. Likewise, even more slaves fell. In the street that suddenly became chaotic, spectators and passersby fled in terror.
And then.
"Look, the slaves killed the vigilante members!"
This is San Agustin.
The place with the most soldiers prepared in Florida.
After a few minutes, dozens of armed soldiers rushed in, cutting through the crowd.
Unlike the vigilante members, they were properly armed with breastplates and more accustomed to killing. They appeared as the final variable in a fight that was nearly finished.
The slaves, who had seized the guns and swords from the vigilante members and were covered in blood, began to scatter and flee among the crowd. They believed Alonso’s body would be left behind.
"G-Good heavens...! Father! Father!"
In the midst of this, heavy hands picked up his body. A broad back carried him.
Alonso just watched the scenery changing rapidly as he felt his whole body shaking as if he was going to vomit. As his consciousness and vision gradually blurred, he began to lose his judgment.
When he blinked...
It was a different place.
==
Governor, now slaves are causing a disturbance in the square area!
Just when the Indians are becoming rebellious... Should we recall the troops?
Pedro de Ibarra, the Governor of Florida, did his best to calm the riot in the capital.
And fortunately, he succeeded.
Half of it, at least.
Father Alonso wasn’t originally a very famous person.
He was just a priest who was kind to some slaves around him. At most, only a few dozen to a few hundred slaves in San Agustin had goodwill toward him.
Because of such a priest, suddenly in San Agustin, at a coastal fortress where 500 troops were stationed, the first riot by slaves broke out.
He needed a story, if only to reassure the citizens.
Fortunately, after searching his belongings and his room, a story was quickly created.
’Alonso García, a traitor who colluded with foreign powers to help slaves escape during peacetime, eventually led slaves in rebellion in San Agustin but was suppressed. He fled somewhere...’
The governor considered all elements of this story perfect. Satisfied with the story he had pieced together, he spread wanted notices for Alonso García to all stronghold cities in Florida.
It contained all the elements that would anger patriotic slave owners.
Slave escapes, rebellion, and flight.
Slave owners would remember that a riot had occurred even in the capital where the governor resided, becoming more vigilant, and the military forces across the region would also focus on suppressing slave uprisings.
However, the governor couldn’t think of the opposite.
Slave escapes, rebellion, and flight.
If all the elements of that story were turned upside down, it contained all the elements that slaves would cheer for.
A priest who worked to help slaves escape, eventually incited rebellion, and succeeded in escaping.
As the governor’s wanted notice spread throughout Florida, slaves could also learn of this news.
Soon, wildfire-like anger covered Florida in the spring.
==
After a moment of contemplation, Alonso raised his upper body.
Surprisingly, his body felt light.
It was a modest room. Curtains covered the windows, and the only furniture was a bed, a desk, and a chair. It was the room where Alonso usually stayed.
Someone was sitting at the desk, facing the wall. As Alonso tried to speak, the person turned his head first and said:
"You’re awake."
It was Bishop Sebastian of San Agustin.
"This is..."
"As you can see, where you should be. Your home. The dormitory attached to the cathedral."
"..."
"The place where you’ve been for the past decade. Comfortable, isn’t it?"
"...D-Did you save me, Bishop? But..."
"You’re wanted on charges of inciting a slave rebellion."
"..."
As expected.
Alonso lowered his head. A slave rebellion. Clearly, many people must have died.
Because of him.
Because he couldn’t endure a moment of anger. He had fallen critically ill, the slaves at the scene had confronted the vigilante members, and eventually, many people died and were injured.
Most of the slaves had probably died.
Distressed by this fact, Alonso’s hands trembled. He clutched his head. Sebastian approached and patted his shoulder.
"Don’t... blame yourself too much. Although your mistake was significant, you couldn’t have known that some drunk would attack a priest, could you? Of course, you would have known. How thoughtless passion and a sense of justice can create such tragedy."
"..."
Sebastian poured a glass of wine, handed it to Alonso, and said:
"You certainly worked for the slaves. But look. How many slaves did you help escape? 100? 200? Because of you, hundreds, thousands of people will now die."
Bishop Sebastian’s voice was somehow both gentle and cold. Alonso kept his mouth shut at the criticism.
"Didn’t I tell you? You’re a priest. Your job isn’t to wash and feed each slave one by one. It’s to clean and feed their souls. What if you had accepted reality and persuaded slave owners in various places where slavery flourished? If you had told them not to abuse their slaves and to treat them with love..."
"..."
"How many more lives could you have saved?"
Alonso flinched at Sebastian’s words. Sebastian glanced at him while quietly looking out the window and continued:
"If you had taught the slaves how to obey their masters and ensured their souls could go to heaven, in the end, so much blood wouldn’t have been spilled..."
"Bishop."
"What is it?"
Bishop Sebastian was a good and upright person. He was also someone who had told Alonso, who opposed slavery, to wake up to reality.
"I cannot do that."
Alonso said to him. Raising himself as much as possible from the bed, he rubbed his furrowed brow with his finger.
His head hurt, and his anger was boiling inside him again.
Sebastian said that if that’s the case, it would be better to shed less blood.
Then Alonso replied:
"If that’s the case... it would be better if blood flows."
==
"He tried to save us. Until the moment he fell, he tried to save those who were slaves!"
"..."
"..."
"..."
"So, now it’s right for us to continue his will!"
Miguel shouted. He still remembered the hope that Alonso had planted in him. The hope of escape, the hope that they could overcome this despair.
And he remembered everything until the moment that hope completely flew away as Alonso’s body collapsed.
From the moment hope disappeared, his mind was filled with anger. Anger toward those who crushed hope suppressed despair and frustration. He clenched his fist.
He shouted what he had been thinking since fleeing San Agustin with Alonso’s body on his back.
"We will not stop until slavery disappears from this land!"
That led to a battle cry. Many people raised the muskets and swords they had taken from their masters, shouting their own stories along with him.
