Chapter 209: The Father-in-Law’s Judgment

The Prussian soldiers watched Carlos carefully.Though his solitary approach seemed to relax them slightly, their posture remained alert, eyes scanning for any hidden threat.

When he reached the edge of the village, Carlos spoke calmly.

“I am Carlos Gómez, patriarch of the Gómez family. I was told someone here wished to speak with me.”

The translator blinked in surprise. He had not expected the man to come in person.He knew the reputation of this family—the strange middle force in the civil struggle consuming New Granada. Carlos had not betrayed the Crown by declaring independence, yet neither had he offered Spain full loyalty. That ambiguity had given hope to many families unwilling to choose between monarchy and theocracy, though others merely used the uncertainty to enrich themselves without disturbing the fragile balance.

Carlos looked ordinary at first glance—his clothes perhaps cleaner than most—but his black eyes carried a weight the translator immediately understood.To maintain relations between pro-Spanish elites and pro-theocratic factions without igniting open war required a rare and exhausting skill.

“Mr. Kruger is waiting inside his office,” the translator said. Then he coughed softly.”It seems he wishes to see… the bastard who dared to bed his daughter without permission.”

He glanced toward the house, careful not to let Carlos see his expression.

Carlos sighed.”Yes… I suppose I am about to receive a beating.”

The translator allowed himself a quiet chuckle.”Perhaps. Though I imagine he will restrain himself. After all, you are the father of Francisco and Isabella—his two grandchildren.”

Carlos smiled faintly.”So we have reached the day when my own children are the ones protecting my life.”

Together they walked toward a small house—typical of the region at first glance.Its thick walls were built from sun-dried tapia pisada, whitewashed with lime that glowed faintly in the fading light. Heavy beams of guayacán, a wood hard enough to blunt a dull axe, held the structure firm. Above them rested a roof of clay tiles, moss-covered and weathered, supported by a skeleton of bamboo.

To a civilian it was a humble dwelling.To Kruger, it was something else entirely.

The high, narrow windows were perfect for marksmen.The single massive oak door could withstand several axe blows before splintering.Inside, the packed-earth floor remained cool, and the air carried the scent of dry tobacco and old hearth smoke.

It was a house built to survive the tropical heat—but under Kruger’s command, it had become a small bastion.

In truth, Kruger knew little of Carlos’s real position. Almost no one did.The Spanish Crown had not been entirely honest in its descriptions of Antioquia. The theocratic rebellion was nearly impossible to suppress, for its very existence threatened not only the colonies but Spain itself.

Yet the Gómez family was different.

They were not openly independent. They still relied on Cartagena and other territories under Spanish control, and so they dared not declare sovereignty—at least not until they were ready. Spain, for its part, tolerated this ambiguity. One rebellion had already sown enough chaos across the empire, especially in New Spain.

There, the elites were wealthier than anywhere else in the Americas.Compared to them, the nobles of New Granada seemed modest. Silver mines had filled New Spain with palaces, vast estates, and households of servants large enough to resemble small villages. Such prosperity bred loyalty to the Crown, which guaranteed their privilege and profit.

Yet even there, ambition slept beneath the surface.And now, inspired by the theocratic uprising in New Granada, whispers suggested the Church in New Spain was beginning to stir—quietly urging the people to question Spain’s rule.

When the door finally opened, Carlos saw Kruger seated at a table, studying a map.

At the sight of the translator—and then Carlos—Kruger frowned.

“Who the hell is this boy?” he growled. “Did they send another old man to placate me? I said I would only speak with the bastard who took my daughter.”

Carlos could not understand every word, but he clearly heard bastard… and took my daughter.A thin sheen of sweat formed on his skin.

The translator gave a small, nervous chuckle.”He is the one, sir. The father of Francisco. He came personally after hearing your demands.”

Kruger’s hands tightened on the map.The paper tore sharply between his fingers.

He crushed the end of his cigar against the wooden table with unnecessary force.

“So… he is the bastard.”

His eyes lifted—sharp, cold, venomous, like a snake fixing on its prey.

“His clothes are not cheap,” Kruger muttered. “Those pistols are custom work, European make. A poor bastard could never afford such things. And his face… yes, I see Francisco in it.”A crooked smile appeared.”Fortunately, most of what remains comes from my daughter. Otherwise he would be as small as his father.”

He laughed loudly as he rose, each step heavy with deliberate strength while he approached.

Carlos felt a flicker of unease.He knew his father-in-law would not cross certain lines… yet the sight of the burly old soldier closing the distance still tightened something in his chest.

Then—without warning—Kruger’s fist struck his face.

The sound cracked through the room.For a moment, everything fell silent.

The servants behind Carlos, unable to see clearly what had happened, reached instinctively for their swords—but the Prussian soldiers were faster, muskets already aimed at their faces.

Kneeling from the blow, Carlos quickly raised a hand to stop his men.Slowly, he pushed himself upright, drew a deep breath, and spoke in rough, hesitant German:

“Is… that enough?”

Kruger’s expression shifted in surprise.He had not expected the man to know even a fragment of his language.

After a moment, he stepped back and gave a short nod.

“For now,” he said. “Though I admit… I wished for a little more.”

He walked behind the table and motioned for the translator to begin.

“Carlos, I have heard much about you from Francisco. I will admit—you did not raise a bad son.”

Despite the swelling pain around his eye, Carlos smiled faintly at the translated words.

But Kruger’s tone hardened immediately.

“Yet at this very moment, you are wasting the opportunity those fanatics handed to you.”

He struck the map with an open palm.

Carlos’s half-smile vanished into shadow.

“What do you mean I am wasting it?” he demanded. “I respect you as my wife’s father, but I will not stand here and listen to nonsense.”

Kruger sneered when the translator finished.

“You truly do not see the problem, do you?Yes—refusing independence makes sense when you are weak. Most of your troops are servants… or abandoned Spanish soldiers left behind after the fanatics seized Santa Fe de Antioquia. You fear internal chaos.”

He leaned forward, voice sharpening.

“But are you blind?Your influence already spreads across the eastern half of Antioquia—and still you insist on a loose, ’free’ system without central authority.”

His lip curled.

“What are you trying to build?A copy of the Holy Roman Empire?A patchwork of petty states… each doing whatever it pleases?”

Carlos argued back, his voice tightening with restrained frustration.

“I cannot seize those cities by force. If I try, the elites and powerful families will rally behind the Crown and turn against me. I cannot fight the entire world.”

Kruger slammed his hand down on the already-torn map, the wood of the table groaning beneath the blow.

“Are you an idiot?” he barked. “If you cannot use strength, then use assassination. Sabotage. Bribes. Influence. If you play the game correctly, you could control this entire region within months.”

His glare sharpened.

“But what are you doing instead? Preserving a so-called status quo—begging only for safe passage for your merchandise like a merchant, not a ruler. I am certain Francisco sent you letters filled with strategies… yet you have used none of them.”

Carlos fell silent.

It was not ignorance that held his hand.He understood perfectly well that darkness was a tool of power.

But understanding a weapon was not the same as daring to use it.

Seeing his silence, Kruger assumed the accusation had struck true.

Then Carlos spoke again, quieter—but far more dangerous in its honesty.

“I do not dare,” he said. “Because Isabella is still here. Without strength, anything I do to another family… they can do to mine.”

He swallowed, the memory tightening his throat.

“When Francisco showed too much talent, the Viceroy tried to have him killed. If not for the British agent, he would have died in Cartagena. Now Francisco may be safe in Europe—but Isabella is with me.”

His voice lowered.

“I will not gamble with her life.”

Silence settled over the room.

Kruger did not answer immediately.Instead, he sat down slowly, the anger draining from his posture into something older… heavier.

For a brief moment, his thoughts drifted far away—to Anna, his daughter.To the past he could not change.

If he had thought as Carlos did now…perhaps she would never have fled to New Granada.Perhaps he would not have spent years believing her dead.Perhaps he would be nothing more than an old man in a quiet village, living beside his wife, watching the seasons pass in peace.

The vision faded as quickly as it came.

He muttered softly, almost to himself:

“You are right. When you were weak, avoiding risk was wisdom.”

Then he lifted his head, and the old fire returned to his eyes.

“But now things are different.”

He leaned forward.

“We have two thousand Prussian soldiers in San Andrés, waiting to enter New Granada. Your son Francisco—guided by one of my finest officers—is training more troops in Göttingen. If we use these men to train the mestizos and soldiers here…”

A slow, dangerous certainty spread across his face.

“…you could take Venezuela.”

The words hung in the air like thunder before a storm.

“And with the resources of that land,” Kruger continued, his voice growing steadier, stronger, “New Granada itself would follow. From there—a nation.”

Not a colony.Not a rebellion.A nation.

“One worthy,” he said quietly, “of the future of Francisco… and Isabella.A future worthy of my blood.”

The ambition burning in Kruger’s eyes was unmistakable.

For all his age,the old soldier still carried the heat of conquest in his veins.

And in that small, dim room—the shape of a new world was beginning to form.

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