The morning sun, filtering through the crack in the wooden door, illuminated fine dust particles dancing in the hut's humid air. Carlos, sitting on the edge of his rustic bed, was talking with Aqua, who occupied the room's only solid wooden chair. The smell of damp earth and burnt wood permeated the space.

  "Now that I know that with Tassi we won't have food problems in the short term," said Carlos, rubbing his hands excitedly, "I think I can assign more workers to other projects."

  Aqua, her calloused hands resting in her lap, watched him with her thoughtful gaze.

  "I understand your haste, Carlos. But you need to understand that not everyone is happy to leave their farms. Of course, everyone is willing to work to maintain our freedom, but we can't abuse their goodwill."

  Carlos sighed, the sound echoing softly in the quiet room.

  "That bothers me too, Aqua. We still can't pay a decent salary, but if all goes well, that will change when we start selling the clothes. Of course, at first, we won't sell much to the local farmers, but sales will increase when merchants become interested. Anyway, it's urgent. I need cement and bricks to build the factories and, later, decent houses for the people of the mocambo."

  Aqua furrowed her brow, skeptical.

  "I don't see such urgency. The important thing is that the walls don't fall down and we have a roof over our heads."

  Carlos leaned forward, his voice growing more intense.

  "But just one heavy rain is enough for these thatched roofs to leak and the wattle and daub walls to crumble! And considering we're in a humid region… it's not ideal. Not to mention the factories, which will house heavy equipment. And the streets! They turn into a mudbath when it rains. When the carts start transporting pyrite and saltpeter, it will be impossible! The wheelbarrows are already a challenge in the mud. The amount of material is only going to increase!"

  The wheelbarrows were one of Carlos's recent innovations in this world, but they were different from modern ones, being made almost entirely of wood.

  He paused, taking a deep breath.

  "Besides, I need a decent house, a town hall to handle the mocambo's affairs… And we have people available now, thanks to Tassi's powers in agriculture."

  Aqua watched him for a long moment, her face marked with concern. Finally, she let out a resigned sigh.

  "Alright. Although I don't fully agree with all this rush, you are the chief of the mocambo. I'll recruit the workers you need. Just tell me what they'll be working on. The rest is up to you."

  ***

  The following days were intensely active. Carlos dove into his memories and the few books he had brought. To make cement, limestone, clay, and gypsum were needed. The process involved heating limestone and clay to absurd temperatures of 1450 degrees – something that, fortunately, the fire gems could provide – in a proportion of 80% limestone to 20% clay. Then, the resulting material, the clinker, would be cooled, ground, and mixed with gypsum. The bricks would be simpler, made of molded clay and fired at high temperatures.

  Within a week, local sources of these resources were identified. In a newly erected shed in the industrial zone, the air was already heavy with the smell of dry earth and smoke. Carlos, his hands dirty with a gray paste, demonstrated how to lay bricks with the new cement.

  Quixotina, beside him, watched skeptically, her nose wrinkled at the material's pungent odor.

  "This slimy, stinky stuff can really make a house?"

  "It can, yes!" Carlos replied enthusiastically. "It can make a house so sturdy you'd have a hard time destroying it. Look at that test wall I made a few days ago. It's already hard as rock."

  Quixotina's eyes shone with a mix of challenge and curiosity.

  "That sounds like an invitation to me!"

  "What? No, wai—"

  Before he could finish, Quixotina shot towards the small wall. With a short cry, she channeled the power of the strength gem into a flying kick delivered with all her might. A dry CRACK echoed, and a piece of the wall broke off. At the same instant, she fell onto her back, holding her leg with a muffled groan.

  "Quixotina!" Carlos ran to her. "Are you okay?"

  She quickly stood up, trying to hide her limp, and brushed the dust off her pants.

  "Ha! I did it! Another challenge conquered!"

  "If it was so 'easy'," Carlos retorted, crossing his arms, "then why is your leg trembling, and your face looks like you bit into a sour lemon?"

  Quixotina's face turned red. She was clearly holding back pain, but she stubbornly raised her chin.

  "It's… it's the side effects of the strength gem! You wouldn't understand!"

  "Uh-huh, sure," Carlos said, shaking his head with a half-smile. "Anyway, thanks for demonstrating the cement's strength. Now let's see if you can walk back here without limping."

  He returned to work, and Quixotina followed him, disguising her uneven gait as much as possible.

  At least that time I worked part-time as a bricklayer's helper was worth it, Carlos thought, satisfied.

  However, when he finished the demonstration for the group of new workers, the mood was not enthusiastic. The men and women watched with tired, disinterested expressions. Carlos wiped his hands on a cloth and addressed them.

  "I know many of you aren't excited. I understand you're working for free, away from your farms, on something that doesn't seem to defend the quilombo. I know motivation is low. But this is just the beginning! With these inventions, our lives will improve! We'll have better houses, proof against rain and wind! Solid streets where we won't get stuck in the mud! And I guarantee you: starting now, you'll have all your meals at the restaurant. I guarantee that everyone, without exception, will get a new, spacious house. And when the mocambo starts selling our products, you'll receive salaries that will allow you to buy good clothes and eat well, every day!"

  Despite the fervent speech, only a younger man of indigenous origin, at the back of the group, seemed to perk up. The others maintained impassive, resigned faces.

  It's a start, Carlos consoled himself. With this, I'll transform this place into a real town. First, I'll rebuild the factories and workshops, build a town hall. Then, proper streets, with concrete slabs and layers of gravel and sand for water drainage to prevent flooding. Plant trees on the sidewalks for shade… And finally, new houses for everyone. I wanted to put all the idle workers on this, but I can't just go to people who've worked their whole lives in agriculture and order them into a completely new role without pay. That's why, for now, it will only be these two hundred.

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  After finishing the demonstrations, Carlos helped them begin the construction of the mocambo's first cement building: his own house. It would be the perfect test before starting more advanced projects.

  The sun was already beginning to beat down on the packed earth as Carlos left the cement workers. The humid morning air carried a sweet smell of burnt wood mixed with the earthy aroma of clay. He went straight to the gunpowder workshop, where a small contingent was preparing to deliver the orders to the Mocambo da Serra.

  The payload—three flintlock muskets carefully wrapped in cloth and a dozen iron grenades—was being loaded onto handcarts, another of his inventions that now made transport easier around the quilombo. The rhythmic squeak of the wheels on the dirt formed a constant melody, accompanied by the heavy footsteps of six guards flanking the shipment, their watchful eyes scanning the surrounding forest. This would be his first time visiting the capital of the Jabuticaba Quilombo, and a chill that wasn't just from the morning dew accompanied him.

  The climb to the Mocambo da Serra was steep, flanked by a dense wooden palisade. From the watchtowers above, sentinels watched his arrival with impassive expressions. The massive gate, made of sturdy logs, swung open with a deep groan as the guards recognized Carlos.

  Inside the military compound, the atmosphere was different. The smell of sweat was intense. The sound of clashing metal and commanding voices echoed across the yard. Dozens of sweaty men trained with spears, their bodies moving in rough synchrony. It was then that Carlos spotted Pedro who had been forcibly conscripted into the army. His face, once marked by peaceful resignation, now bore a hard, concentrated expression as he followed his instructor's movements.

  It didn't take long for the imposing figure of Espectro to emerge before him, blocking the sun. The general crossed his arms, his critical gaze shifting from Carlos to the arriving cargo.

  "We have another batch already? That makes four guns with these," Espectro commented, his voice a low rumble. "But you didn't need to come personally, Carlos. My men know how to make the delivery."

  Carlos swallowed dryly, feeling the weight of the man's authority.

  "Actually, I wanted to explain how to make the best use of these weapons, General."

  The silence that followed was sharp. Espectro didn't change his expression, but Carlos could feel the irritation hanging in the air like the smell of ozone before a storm.

  "I think I understand more about war than you do, boy," Specter replied, each word measured and loaded with meaning. "I can handle these weapons on my own. I don't meddle in your mocambo, and you don't meddle in my army. It's a simple agreement."

  Carlos felt a chill run down his spine but forced himself to stand his ground.

  "It's not about meddling, Espectro. It's about efficiency. I understand how these firearms work, and I have knowledge of tactics tested in battle in my world. For example, with these muskets, the best way to use them is in a three-rank formation."

  He gestured, drawing the positions in the air.

  "The first rank kneels, the second stays crouched, and the third remains standing. When they all fire at the same time, they create a wall of lead that sweeps away anything in front of them. The key is incessant training," Carlos insisted, the heat of enthusiasm taking over his fear. "They need to repeat the procedure until they can do it with their eyes closed. The reload speed is slow, so the initial impact needs to be decisive."

  Specter, a man who seemed carved from granite, didn't move a muscle. Slowly, his right hand went down to the hilt of the broad sword hanging from his belt, his fingers closing around the metal. His piercing gaze swept over the training soldiers, then fixed on the wrapped muskets, and finally returned to Carlos. The seconds dragged on like minutes.

  "I'll consider what you've said," the General conceded at last, his voice still deep but without the previous hostility. "Continue the good work in your mocambo, Carlos. I will report the deliveries to King Ganga."

  Carlos nodded, a sigh of relief caught in his chest.

  Phew, good thing he didn't blow up, he thought, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease a little. Anyway, he'll see it's the most effective tactic. It's a shame I still can't produce precision weapons... that will have to wait.

  Without another word, Specter turned and walked back to the center of the yard, his gaze already fixed on his soldiers. The meeting, as abruptly as it had begun, was over.

  Accompanied by Quixotina, he returned to his mocambo, headed to one of the new factories, made of earth and raised by Tassi. The place smelled of new wood and oil. In the center were the textile machines. He had summoned the most experienced weavers from the mocambo for a demonstration.

  One of them, a young man with somewhat long hair named Gabriel, spoke in a higher-pitched voice than expected:

  "So you're telling me that these… contraptions will help produce much more fabric?"

  "That's right," Carlos confirmed. "To be exact: the Cotton Gin increases cotton productivity by up to fifty times. The Flying Shuttle doubles the speed of the loom. The Spinning Jenny, depending on the model, can increase spinning from eight to eighty times. Only the sewing machine is missing, which would increase sewing speed twenty-five to fifty times, but we're still having trouble producing it. For now, sewing will be manual."

  Gabriel's jaw dropped, his eyes wide with disbelief.

  "Boy, you must be joking with me! That's impossible!"

  At that moment, the other weaver, Malaika, intervened, placing a calming hand on Gabriel's arm.

  "Calm down, lo— Gabriel," he said, almost letting something slip. "Let's first see the machines in action. And remember who you're talking to; he's our chief."

  "Lo? What was he going to say? Love?,' Carlos thought, intrigued.

  Gabriel seemed to freeze for a second, then lowered his head.

  "You're right, Malaika. I apologize, Chief. It's just that I was incredulous. I would really like to see these wonders working."

  Carlos wasted no time. He demonstrated the use of each machine, one by one. He was lucky he was the official tester for everything produced, otherwise it would have been a disaster, like his first solitary attempts.

  When the machines started working, the rumble of the wooden mechanisms and the speed at which raw cotton transformed into thread and then into fabric left the two weavers absolutely astounded. Within minutes, they lost their shyness and approached, touching the machines with reverence, getting the hang of it with impressive ease.

  "These machines of yours… are truly incredible!" exclaimed Gabriel, his skepticism giving way to contagious enthusiasm. "There were rumors that the new chief was crazy, but I see it was just envy! Forgive my earlier rudeness, Chief! Starting tomorrow, we will train all the workers in this new 'factory'. If this helps the quilombo, I'll work without complaining!"

  That's good. Finally, someone genuinely excited to work, Carlos thought, relieved.

  "Thank you, Gabriel. I'm glad. I'll be awaiting the results."

  "Yes, Chief!" the two said in unison and turned to familiarize themselves with the machines.

  Carlos left, and out of curiosity, he looked through the slightly open door. He saw the two naturally hold hands, their fingers intertwining in a gesture of complicity as they examined one of the machines.

  Yeah, they're definitely a couple, he thought with an internal smile. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that they do a good job.

  Quixotina, beside him, noticed his curiosity.

  "You're curious about them too, huh? They seem to be good friends. I heard they even live together. They say they helped each other a lot even before they came to the quilombo."

  Carlos couldn't contain a low laugh.

  "Ha ha ha, yes… they're great 'friends'."

  "What are you laughing at?" Quixotina asked, genuinely confused.

  The innocence of the question only made Carlos laugh more, until his laughter was abruptly interrupted by a guard who came running up to them. The man was panting.

  "Chief Carlos! General Specter requests your immediate presence! They caught an intruder at the quilombo's borders… and the man claims to be an acquaintance of yours!"

  "An acquaintance of mine?," Carlos thought, the smile instantly vanishing from his face. "Who the hell could it be?"

  "Take me there!" he ordered, following the guard outside, with Quixotina sticking to his heels, all the pain in her leg apparently forgotten.