Chapter 256: The Chimila Demand

Krugger shifted his weight, his boots sinking slightly into the black mud of the riverbank he entered the small house.

Behind him, a group of soldiers stood guard, their eyes constantly scanning the surrounding brush. Las Pailitas was, after all, a place beyond the firm grasp of the Crown—beyond any true authority. If they reacted too slowly, they could easily fall into the hands of thieves… or worse.

Suddenly, a movement of the trees startled them.

One of the soldiers hesitated before opening the window. The moment he saw the figure outside, he froze.

The man’s face was painted in shifting shades of green, blending almost unnaturally with the jungle. His torso was bare, his skin marked with faint scars, and several daggers rested across his back. He stepped inside without asking permission, ignoring the soldiers entirely, his gaze locking directly onto Krugger.

“Glad you made it back,” Krugger said quietly, his eyes briefly flicking toward the treeline, searching for any sign of movement—any indication of an ambush or someone following behind. “Did the group tell you anything? Will they allow us to take the clearing… or are they prepared to defend it to the death?”

The Barí stepped closer, his expression unreadable.

He had spent days deep within the marshlands, carrying out Carlos’s orders, speaking in the tongue of the river tribes.

“The Chimila are willing to let you stay,” he said, his voice low, rough—like stones grinding against one another. “They already know of the German men who appeared in Antioquia… though they call them by another name.”

A slight pause.

“They also know what Carlos did—how he brought down a mountain and buried an army beneath it. They are not eager to test themselves against you.”

Krugger said nothing, but his posture relaxed slightly.

“So no,” the Barí continued. “They will not take the initiative to fight you. And now that they know your men are coming… they are already preparing to abandon the surrounding areas.”

Krugger let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Good,” he said. “Then we can send word to San Andrés. They can begin moving.”

“Wait.”

The Barí raised a hand, his eyes sharpening.

“Their silence is not a gift.”

A brief pause.

“It is a lease.”

Krugger frowned slightly.

“The Chimila chiefs have a condition,” the Barí continued. “They understand that once Mompox falls, the Gómez family will control the flow of the Magdalena.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“They do not want your coins.”

Another pause.

“They want the salt.”

Krugger raised an eyebrow.

“The Salt Monopoly of the Lower Ciénagas,” the Barí said. “They demand that the moment the Spanish flag falls, the salt tax is abolished for their people… and that Carlos grants them sole rights to distribute salt from the coast to the interior.”

“Salt monopoly… eh?” Krugger murmured, a faint, thoughtful tone in his voice.

He had not expected such a demand.

Yet, as he thought about it, it made sense.

Control over salt was control over survival. Control over the Ciénagas meant control over movement, trade… and influence.

The indigenous had learned.

“Did they say what happens if we refuse?” Krugger asked calmly.

The Barí stepped closer, the damp scent of the swamp clinging to his skin.

“If you refuse,” he said quietly, “they will not fight you.”

A slight pause.

“They will simply… stop being invisible.”

Krugger’s eyes narrowed.

“They will guide the Viceroy’s troops,” the Barí continued, “so that they ’coincidentally’ discover your forces in the area.”

Another pause.

“And once that happens… taking Mompox will become very difficult.”

Silence settled in the room.

“I would think carefully before making them your enemies,” the Barí finished.

Krugger shrugged slightly.

“I cannot promise them anything,” he said. “You know I am a soldier, not a politician. Only Carlos can decide that.”

He studied the Barí for a moment.

“But I am curious,” he added. “Shouldn’t you be concerned?”

A faint pause.

“If the Chimila gain control over that region… they could control you as well.”

The Barí looked around, a little embarrassed.

When Krugger saw that expression, he immediately understood.

“So your tribe also made a deal with the Chimila,” he said, a faint, knowing tone in his voice. “You are a smart one, eh?”

He paused briefly before continuing.

“My advice—tell Carlos the truth. Maybe he can include whatever the Chimila promised you as part of the agreement. That way, it becomes impossible for them to betray you without our interference.”

A slight pause.

“It becomes a double lock.”

The Barí hesitated… then nodded.

He couldn’t simply trust the word of another indigenous group. They had been betrayed too many times—sometimes by the Spanish, but often by their own people. Trust, in these lands, was never absolute.

Even so… this situation was different.

Carlos was not the Crown.

He was something new.

And more importantly—he was strong.

At least in this region, his power was undeniable. If he managed to take Mompox, then everything would change. He would not remain just another faction.

He would become the new Spain.

In that case… accepting him as a guarantor was not a bad decision.

Slowly, the Barí nodded again, this time with more certainty.

Krugger, seeing that the matter was nearly settled, immediately began writing letters toward San Andrés, calling for troops to move.

There was no reason to delay.

The Chimila’s demands reached Carlos soon after.

Inside his office, the candlelight flickered against the mahogany walls, casting long shadows over the maps of the Magdalena and the blueprints of the mill.

Carlos sat at his desk, the letter from the Barí trembling slightly in his hand.

The Chimila’s demand for the Salt Monopoly was bold… dangerous… and strategically brilliant.

Amelia stood by the tall window, her silhouette framed by the silver moonlight of the Perijá. She was quietly organizing a stack of correspondence from Río Negro, her movements graceful and precise.

She had known the silence of a house without a husband.

Just as Carlos had known the cold emptiness of a forge without purpose.

“The Chimila are pretty bold, I must say,” Carlos muttered, his voice slightly weary.

He dropped the letter onto the desk.

“What do you think?” he asked. “If we give them control of the salt… even if we create a new country, it may become impossible to control those indigenous groups.”

Amelia turned and walked toward him, placing a hand gently on his shoulder.

“Then you must ask yourself,” she said softly, “do you want to be like the Spanish—threatening the indigenous day and night to secure their loyalty, making massacres whenever necessary…”

A brief pause.

“…or do you want to build a country where they can become part of the same nation?”

Carlos remained silent.

“This decision,” Amelia continued, “is not only about autonomy. It represents your intentions.”

She glanced down at the letter.

“When other indigenous groups hear about this, they will react. They may join your cause… or they may turn against you.”

She lifted her gaze again.

“The Chimila are testing you. They don’t want to replace the Spanish with a new overlord.”

A slight pause.

“Because if that is the case… then it is better for them to remain with the one they already know.”

Carlos sighed, reaching up to cover her hand with his.

“Well… at least we can use the Barí to create a double lock,” he said.

“That gives both sides certain guarantees.”

His expression hardened slightly.

“If the Chimila betray us—or the Barí—then both of us can unite and push them out of the region.”

A brief pause.

“I am not against granting some level of autonomy,” he added. “But I won’t allow another empire to rise within our lands.”

He leaned back slightly.

“I don’t want a new Inca Empire forming here.”

A short silence.

“If that were the case,” Carlos said quietly, “I would rather become the new Spain.”

Amelia chuckled softly.

“But you do need to start thinking about how you are going to deal with the indigenous in general,” she said, her tone calm but firm. “Most of them seek autonomy… but realistically, you cannot allow a collection of independent lands to emerge within your territory.”

She paused, letting the thought settle.

“Even if you were willing… the criollo elites would never accept it.”

A slight glance toward the maps.

“There are too many resources in those mountains.”

Carlos frowned, a familiar headache forming behind his eyes.

Dealing with the indigenous had always been difficult.

He leaned back in his chair, pressing his fingers lightly against his temple.

It was not simply a matter of control.

It was a matter of balance.

Too much freedom—and the territory would fracture.

Too much force—and he would become the very thing he claimed to oppose.

And somewhere between those two extremes…

Was a path he had yet to define.

“The only system I can think of that could protect the interests of everyone is a republic,” Carlos said, his voice thoughtful but tired. “But neither Francisco nor Krugger support it… and honestly, after seeing the chaos in Paris, I’ve also lost interest.”

Amelia smiled faintly.

“Then why don’t you write to Francisco,” she suggested, her tone gentle but certain, “instead of worrying unnecessarily?”

She tilted her head slightly.

“Your plan is for him to be your successor, isn’t it? Then it would be better for him not only to know… but to help you make these difficult decisions.”

Carlos’s eyes lit up.

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