Chapter 211: Krugger’s Lesson

Krugger walked through Medellín, visibly surprised by its size. Having lived in Berlin—a city of more than one hundred thousand inhabitants—this place could scarcely be called a town. It felt more like a small frontier outpost, with perhaps two thousand souls at most.

What puzzled him even more was how such a settlement could possibly sustain a thousand troops. Unable to contain his curiosity, he asked,”Are all the men here part of your army? You claim to command a thousand soldiers, yet these men look more like farmers than warriors. Something is not right.”

Carlos shifted uncomfortably.”Father-in-law, the troops are divided among several cities and remain under the influence of the local families. In exchange for supplies and trade privileges, they allow me to move and coordinate them. Here in Medellín, I keep only four hundred men—and half of those guard my estate outside the city, protecting the plantations and factories.”

Krugger fixed him with a hard stare and sneered.”Are you a complete idiot? You are paying other families to maintain their troops while you control less than half yourself. Either you are far more naïve than I thought, or simply a fool—and considering you managed to resist the fanatics, I am inclined toward the first.”

Carlos spread his hands helplessly.”I understand your point, but I cannot maintain the entire army in this place. It is too small. The surrounding towns fear bandits and criminals who exploit the chaos in Antioquia to steal and kill. I cannot abandon them—and they would never allow my soldiers to remain unless they retained some influence over the forces stationed there.”

Krugger fell silent, wondering how this man had managed to hold power at all.

Carlos continued, almost defensively,”When the troubles began, Medellín held barely a thousand people. Thanks to the immigrants Francisco brought—and to the factories that attracted workers from other regions—the population has already doubled. And the school your grandson supports has filled the city with children eager to study that philosophy of nature he speaks of so passionately.”

This surprised Krugger. A city doubling its population in a single year revealed a potential that could not be ignored.

They continued riding until they reached the mansion that housed the administration—where Francisco’s agents and the representatives of other families conducted their affairs. Krugger pulled on the reins and stared at the structure Carlos proudly called the Seat of Government.

It was a broad, whitewashed residence with elegant balconies and tall windows overlooking the plaza. Krugger did not bother to hide his disgust. To him, it looked fragile—a doll’s house built of mud and prayers.

“You rule this supposed order from a merchant’s villa?” he asked, his voice heavy with Teutonic irony.”In Berlin, the halls of power are built to endure a siege of a hundred years. This… this would not survive a single determined mob. One barrel of gunpowder, one spark, and your ’government’ becomes burning splinters. Even a small Spanish detachment could set it ablaze and scatter your men. You possess Roman cement—why have you not at least reinforced the place with it?”

Carlos was speechless. He had never expected that even the place where he worked would become another reason for Krugger’s criticism. Yet, thinking back, several of his own men had indeed suggested reinforcing the building. He had simply been too busy—and, in truth, unwilling to bother. From his perspective, if the enemy were strong enough to reach this place, he would rather retreat to his estate and resist until the end.

“I’m sorry, Father-in-law. I haven’t had the time,” Carlos admitted quietly. “Honestly, I was far more worried about a second invasion from the fanatics. We were fortunate the mountain collapsed and killed them… otherwise, we might never have met.”

Krugger’s smile widened—not with warmth, but with the cold satisfaction of a craftsman admiring his own work. He nodded to the translator, who recounted the thunderous fall of Boquerón with such vivid detail that the very air seemed to grow heavy.

Carlos’s eyebrow trembled. He stared at Krugger in stunned disbelief, then toward the distant pass where the mountain had once stood. He reined in his horse abruptly.

“Wait… did you truly cause the mountain to fall? With nothing but gunpowder?”He leaned forward, his thoughts racing like a hunted rabbit.”Could we use that… to open a controlled passage? A tunnel to the east—one that avoids the Spanish patrols entirely? If we succeeded, we might trade through the Captaincy of Venezuela, create a new route. It would still take time, but we could escape those greedy bastards along the Magdalena. We might even pass as locals and pay only the most basic taxes.”

Krugger leaned back, his eyes thoughtful, as though recalling distant campaigns. When he finally spoke, his voice was slow and measured.

“What you describe, Carlos, is the very soul of Prussian siegecraft—a method Frederick the Great refined during the Siege of Schweidnitz. He did not fight only upon the earth; he fought beneath it. We called it the war of the mole.”He paused briefly.”But what you imagine is not a tunnel beneath a fortress—it is a wound carved through a mountain. Blowing apart stone is one matter; controlling the explosion so it opens a passage instead of a grave is quite another.”

His expression hardened with seriousness.

“We could attempt it. Yet this is not merely digging with shovels and powder. It is geometry… pressure… calculation. Frederick taught us that an army is only as strong as its mathematicians. To pierce a mountain without burying ourselves inside it, we would need skilled engineers and precise measurements. And even then…”

He shook his head slightly.

“I do not know whether such a thing is truly possible.”

Krugger pointed toward the jagged peaks rising beyond the city and spoke with quiet authority.

“In Prussia, the Corps of Engineers—the Ingenieurkorps

—are the true elite. We require men who understand the science of parallels, men capable of calculating the precise weight of stone against the expansion of explosive gases. It is an art born from Vauban’s systems in the last century, refined through German precision.

If we intend to carve a road to Venezuela through the heart of the Andes, we must recruit scholars—men of science able to read the veins of the earth itself. That is no simple task. Even I was able to bring only twenty engineers, and they are considered priceless in Europe. At this moment they remain in San Andrés. At times, their lives are valued more highly than that of a general.”

He lowered his hand and continued more practically.

“So our first step is clear: we reunite those engineers with us. We open a secure path from San Andrés to Medellín—no easy endeavor. Then they must teach their craft to others: mestizos, Irishmen, anyone capable of learning. Only when we possess enough trained minds could we attempt such a passage through the mountains.

Until then, it is far simpler to seize control of the Magdalena and force the Spanish back toward Cartagena… or out of this land entirely.”

Carlos only shrugged. It had been an idea—nothing more. Difficult, distant, and of little immediate use. Perhaps, once Spain was gone, such ambitions could be attempted.

Thinking of the strange innovations Francisco pursued in Europe, Carlos found himself strangely hopeful for that distant future.

They dismounted and approached the mansion. Krugger brought twenty soldiers with him, men so disciplined and unyielding that they casually forced aside Carlos’s household guards, creating a brief disturbance. Yet after tense words and hurried negotiation, the two groups were merged, and the doors to Carlos’s office finally opened.

The servants belonging to the allied families were the most alarmed. These newcomers moved with iron precision—hard men, unmistakably foreign. It was obvious to everyone that something fundamental had changed. Many slipped away under various pretexts, no doubt to send urgent messages to their masters.

Watching from the window, Carlos sighed.

“You see? They are already afraid. By tonight I will receive a dozen letters asking who you are, what you want—every detail they can uncover.”

Krugger merely shrugged and accepted the cup of coffee Carlos’s butler offered him.

“That only proves you and they do not stand in the same camp,” he said calmly. “They do not truly trust you. They only pretend to follow. Tell me, Carlos—when Spain finally comes to reclaim this territory, what do you think those families will do?”

A dull headache pressed behind Carlos’s eyes. He already knew the answer. He simply had never found another path.

He sat down heavily and lifted his own cup. After a slow sip, he spoke in a tired voice.

“Give me whatever that boy sent with you. Perhaps with those plans we can gather the strength to do what you propose. Honestly… if you were not a foreigner to New Granada, I might even give you my place.”

Krugger drank as well, and for the first time his stern expression softened.

“This coffee is remarkable,” he murmured. “I have not tasted one so fine in Prussia. You could build a fortune selling this in Europe.”

He took another long sip, clearly savoring it.

Carlos watched him with mild surprise. In New Granada, coffee was only an occasional drink—useful for the alertness it brought, nothing more. If not for the restless energy it gave him, he would scarcely have bothered with it at all.

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