Chapter 218: Between Crown and Liberty

While Spain was planning its new tactics to recover control of the colonies, Carlos stood in the middle of making a decision that might place his name in history—either as a hero and liberator or as a sinner and traitor. Inside the government office of Medellín, his father-in-law stood before him, pressing Carlos to declare independence at once.

Krugger said, “It is time to take the initiative yourself and force those elite families to choose a side. Now that my men are training the mestizos, and those people have only a rabble, this is the best moment. If you wait until Spain decides to contact them and they betray you, you will have no good path left.”His tone carried a severity that sent a chill through everyone present.

Apart from Krugger, several servants remained inside—those Carlos trusted most, who had been helping him maintain control over Medellín and the surrounding areas. One servant in charge of dealing with Río Negro nodded and said, “Sir, Mr. Krugger is right. You may not fully understand how Río Negro is functioning right now, but those families always demand supplies whenever we try to enter or pass through for trade. Their appetite is not great yet, but if you allow this to continue, they will soon have no limits. We are already facing conflicts with them. Some families are even speaking with hostile Indian groups. I do not know their exact plan, but it is clearly nothing advantageous for us.”

Other servants who worked in different regions nodded seriously, thinking of their own experiences. Of course, there were also a few who received better treatment and said, “Though I do not know exactly how things work in your area, in mine they remain peaceful—but only because you act in the name of the Spanish Crown. If you delay this decision too long, they may pretend surprise when the Crown declares you a traitor and attacks with Spanish troops.”

Carlos frowned, pressing a hand to his forehead to ease the growing pain.”Very well… what advice do you give, father-in-law?”

Krugger smiled with quiet smugness.”I believe we should follow the steps of Frederick the Great. With the strength of my men, you must take power little by little. The best way is in two steps: first, seize the assets of the Church; second, sell them to all who support you—like the people in this room. As your servants, they already owe you loyalty, but more importantly, you send a message to every mestizo who dreams of a better life: that serving you can achieve what the old empire never could.

“And this is not limited to mestizos. Indians, criollos, Irish—anyone capable may rise. The idea is to create the image of a meritocratic government. Once that image exists, men of ability will rush to your side, while those without talent will cling to the Spanish Crown. This will not only strengthen your own power, but also weaken the pool of talent available to your enemies.”

One loyal servant, eyes wide at the scale of the treason being discussed, whispered,”The Indians… including the hostile tribes? Are you certain they would accept—and not attack us the first chance they have?”

Krugger shrugged.”I have spoken with some members of those tribes who have recently come seeking work here. What they want is land and respect. Offer them both in exchange for labor in the steel plant and service as scouts for the militia. Integrate them. A good country should not care about the color of a man’s skin—only his productivity and his oath.”

Francisco felt the weight of pain in his head recede, replaced by a cold, calculating clarity.”So we strike the Church first—take its lands and use its wealth to expand the army and build the steel plant based on that boy’s blueprints. Once our forces are strong enough, and our numbers sufficient, we can expand internally…”He turned toward the wall, where a map of New Granada hung in silence.”…and then we take the Captaincy of Venezuela.”

“Exactly,” Krugger replied with a satisfied smile. “Even if they discover your plans, by the time word reaches Spain, you may already be the king of a new country. And then they can only fight to take it back.”

Around Francisco, the servants’ eyes shone with rising excitement. They did not fully understand what a king truly was; they only knew that New Granada had long belonged to a distant monarch they had never seen—only heard through rumors and decrees. The same was true of nobles: so few existed in those lands that most people never encountered one.

But they understood power.And if they followed Carlos until he became a king, they too might claim ranks as high as the nobles of Spain.Their ambition ignited like dry tinder.

Carlos sighed as he watched their expressions. From this moment forward, these men would be fiercely loyal to him—but loyalty carried expectations. They were already imagining the rewards that would come with a crown.

He coughed, breaking their reverie, and dismissed them so he could speak privately with Krugger.

When the room was empty, Carlos retrieved a small box of cigars from Havana and offered one. Krugger accepted it, lifting the cigar to his nose and inhaling its scent. With a deep sigh, he said:

“I always wanted to try a cigar, but Frederick the Great hated them. Strangely enough, he enjoyed snuff, so I never dared smoke in his presence. The most I allowed myself was a little tobacco—and only far from him.”

Carlos took the cigar back and, with steady precision, used a small silver-handled knife to make a clean, surgical cut across the cap—far from the crude bite of a common sailor. He returned it to Krugger and offered a flame, then prepared his own in the same careful manner.

After drawing a slow breath of smoke, he said quietly,”These came from Cuba. Francisco de Miranda sent them to me through a contact in the Caribbean.”

Krugger’s eyebrows rose at once.He knew that name well. In military circles, Miranda was spoken of in hushed tones—the man who had fought in the American Revolution and later served as a general in France.

“Miranda?” Krugger muttered, his voice rough. “That man is a ghost. How did he reach you?”

“Through the rebel cells in Bayamo,” Carlos replied, unfolding a thin, crinkled piece of parchment hidden inside the lining of the cigar box. “He writes that these cigars were confiscated from a royal warehouse by Cuban patriots. He says he is overjoyed to hear that someone in the heart of New Granada is finally following in the footsteps of France.”

Krugger’s eyebrows twitched.”But from what I know, he is a staunch anti-monarch.”

Carlos smiled faintly.”That is exactly the point I want to make.”He took another slow puff.”Father-in-law, you must understand that monarchy is not the only system—nor always the best one. If we attempt to follow a purely monarchical path, only a few kings might support us, and in truth most would shun us. To them, a ’king’ of New Granada would seem lowly… not a true monarch.

“Republican supporters, however, are different. Their numbers may be smaller than those of the monarchs, but the ones who do support us would do so wholeheartedly.”

Krugger understood the subtext. Carlos was not pleased that he had tried to inspire the servants with dreams of kingship.Yet Krugger did not truly care. Having lived under the discipline of Prussia, he believed no system surpassed monarchy.

“You know,” he said slowly, “if we show enough strength, I could secure aid from Prussia and perhaps other states within the Holy Roman Empire. You should not limit yourself to that rabble who speak endlessly of republics. Have you heard the news from France? Under the terror of Maximilien Robespierre, that place has become hell on earth.

“Would you truly risk someone like that seizing power from your hands—after you have done all the work of liberating this territory?”

Carlos inhaled deeply, a shadow crossing his face.He had heard of France.It was one of the fears that restrained his path toward independence—the vision of a madman like Robespierre gaining control… threatening Francisco, threatening Isabella… sending a chill through his bones.

But as if remembering something distant, he spoke again:

“Tell me—you who know Francisco. Do you truly believe that boy would be happy imprisoned in a palace, forced to act like a king?”

“Happiness?” Krugger scoffed, the word sounding alien on his tongue. “A king is not meant to be happy, Carlos. A king is meant to be the axis upon which the wheel of the State turns.

“You fear the madness of Paris? You fear Robespierre’s guillotine? Then you must understand why we need a throne.”

He lifted his cigar toward the map on the wall, tracing the lines of the newly built roads.

“The French killed their king and replaced him with a thousand petty tyrants who all believe themselves equal. That is why they drown in blood.

“But a boy who loves machines… a boy like Francisco… he understands discipline. He knows that if one gear fails, the entire engine stops. He would not be imprisoned in a palace—he would be the master architect of this entire valley.”

Krugger drew slowly from his cigar, letting the smoke fade between his words.

“Do not give the people liberty, Carlos. They do not know what to do with it. Give them a dynasty of steel.

“If Francisco sits upon a throne, the mestizos will obey him, the Church will fear him, and the law will become whatever he designs in his forge. He would not be a king of silk and lace… but a king of iron.

“And a machine, Carlos, only functions when a single hand rests upon the lever.”

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