In 1840, the founding of the Liberty Party had, in a sense, officially opened the curtain on the struggle between America's two opposing economic systems. In 1854, just two years ago, the Republican Party had been founded with the goal of opposing slavery. Like a spark thrown onto a pile of firewood, it had ignited a blazing fire across North America.
President Buchanan, a Democrat who had taken office that year, represented the entire slaveholding class in submitting the "Scott" proposal to the Supreme Court, seeking to extend slavery nationwide.
A storm of resistance and reform was brewing across America, and James Howlett was keeping a close eye on the upheaval in the neighboring country while overseeing the expansion of the estate's foundations and cellar.
"Given the instability of the times, much of the family's wealth doesn't have anywhere safe to be stored. It would be better to expand the cellar into a vast underground complex, just in case. I'm also planning to build several more tunnels linking the estate to the racetrack, the warehouses, and other places. We should have a couple of hidden routes in case something happens in the future..."
"You don't need to tell me all this. Do whatever you want! You're in charge of this family now."
Mr. Howlett sat on the balcony in a rocking chair, basking in the sun with a wolfskin blanket over his legs. His grandson peeled an apple beside him while reporting on the family's recent affairs. The old man's eyes narrowed as he swayed gently, interrupting James's steady stream of explanations. His wrinkled face was full of contentment.
"Very well. I'll continue with the plans, then. With all this construction going on at the estate, would you like to spend some time resting at the cotton plantation to the east? I'm worried the work might disturb you, Grandfather."
James held the peeled apple in his hand, turned it over, and cut it into eight pieces, placing them on a plate. He picked one up and held it to Mr. Howlett's mouth.
"No, no." Mr. Howlett chewed as he spoke. "At my age, a trip like that might kill me before I got there. I'm fine staying here. Watching everyone come and go, rushing about the estate, keeps me from getting bored."
Mr. Howlett swallowed bit by bit, glanced at James, and continued:
"You don't need me looking over your shoulder anymore. Daniel said the same thing when he left—you're a decisive young man, and you've read plenty of books. All I can do now is keep those old fellows in line. I'm not much use for anything else."
Mr. Howlett gave a mischievous smile, then raised his voice:
"You're the one who ought to find yourself a woman. Our family has always been short on heirs, and you can't let things carry on like this! What sort of family has only an old codger and a little boy? Don't worry about whether she's a wife or a mistress. Find a few women who can have children! That little maid of yours has grown up, hasn't she? Why don't you start with her..."
James interrupted his grandfather's shameless remarks with an awkward smile. He promised to give it serious thought soon, then made an excuse about having other matters to attend to and fled the room amid Mr. Howlett's curses.
Herbert Vernon had never before been given such an unusual construction project. He was French, and when France and Britain had fought over ownership of this colony, his ancestors had been high-ranking officers in the French army. After their defeat, the Vernon family hadn't returned to France. Instead, they had gone into business on this land.
Since the family had once been chiefly responsible for building fortifications and maintaining supplies in the military, the Vernons had continued in their old line of work.
Decades later, no builder in all of Canada was bigger than Herbert Vernon. The business built up over several generations had proved far more rewarding than staying in the military.
"Mr. Howlett, are you sure you want the work done according to these plans? You can rest assured that we have the skills and ability to handle it. That won't be a problem at all! It's just that there's really no need to build so deep. The time and labor costs would be enormous." Mr. Vernon jiggled his triple chin as he discussed the plans with James.
By now, outsiders were calling James "Mr. Howlett." In private, people referred to him as Young Howlett to distinguish him from Old Howlett.
"I'm sure, Mr. Vernon. Follow the plans exactly. Don't worry about the cost; just do everything you can to get it done. And don't forget the most important thing: it must be sturdy."
James gave his instructions with firm resolve. Mr. Vernon shifted his bottom, which nearly filled the armchair, and slowly took his leave. James then asked the butler to bring in the owner of the machine shop.
James had spent a long time thinking things over recently and had begun drawing up plans, one by one, and putting them into action. On one hand, there was the construction of the family estate. As his "lair" and training ground for the foreseeable future, James needed an extremely large and deep hidden space underground.
To prepare for problems that might arise decades or even a century from now, James had designed this place—what he called a basement or cellar—on the scale of an Underground Palace. It would extend from beneath the estate's foundations into the earth, with its main section reaching thirty meters deep, about as far down as the subway systems of his previous life.
To leave room for additional functions and modifications in the future, the entire underground structure, besides being built to an almost excessive degree of sturdiness—strong enough to withstand a magnitude-seven earthquake—was designed around a basic framework. Its layout wouldn't hinder any changes that might be needed later.
If people in this era had known what missiles and nuclear weapons were, James would have wanted to build this "Underground Palace" into a nuclear-blast shelter.
The other matter was his own martial arts training. His extraordinary physical strength and potential had forced him to custom-build himself a set of "torture devices."
There were five enormous hollow lead balls, weighing between five hundred and three thousand kilograms, each filled with varying amounts of mercury. There was also armor-like weighted gear for his lower legs, thighs, chest, back, and arms. It allowed him to move freely while leaving room for additional lead weights, with a maximum load of three hundred kilograms.
He had also commissioned a series of strength-training devices from his previous life, all of them astonishingly heavy. The most unusual was a solid steel roller, a "cylinder" two meters in diameter and four meters tall. Seven or eight thick iron rods, each as thick as a calf and more than half a meter long, jutted out from it at irregular intervals like the spikes of a Wolf Fang.
The entire enormous iron cylinder was also covered in fist-sized round studs. The roller could be pushed along and turned using its protruding iron rods, but moving the massive thing would require at least three tons of force.
At the same time, James had already sent people to major cities in northern America to learn about conditions and gather information. In this era, an estate owner with vast tracts of land was the very image of power. But with industry advancing at breakneck speed, factories and massive machines being invented and built, and the electrical revolution—and even the internet revolution—on the horizon...
If he stubbornly clung to the land and refused to adapt, he would sooner or later become no more than a farmer. More importantly, the sharpest conflict in the future society of this world would be the one between James Howlett's race and ordinary humans.
He had to prepare.
With the American Civil War drawing near, making a move in this land, destined to become the most troubled yet powerful country of the future, was inevitable.
The machine-shop owner, a man named Tom, had always cast parts and equipment for steam locomotives and ocean liners. He had never seen such strange blueprints and designs, and his first instinct was to turn down Young Mr. Howlett's business. But tempted by the nearly threefold profit the young man offered, he decided to go home and give it a try.
He couldn't understand what these things were for. They looked a bit like medieval armor—or perhaps instruments of torture. But he couldn't very well turn down money, and James had also promised to cover all the costs of casting, testing, and manufacturing the molds.
Although Mr. Howlett had said that James could make all the decisions, if the old man saw his grandson spending the family fortune he'd amassed on such pointless and absurd projects, he might well have passed out from anger.
After putting everything in order for the time being, James returned to his room and fished a black leather notebook out from under his desk. He studied it carefully, stopping now and then to think before adding something to its pages.
Ever since the day he realized what kind of world he was in, he had recorded everything he remembered about the Marvel Universe in this notebook. Most of it consisted of fragments: words, dates, and the details of some events.
To keep it secret, he had written in Chinese, a language few people in this era knew. Even if someone found it, they wouldn't recognize it for at least a century.
He circled one word twice and murmured, "What happens in the future all depends on whether I can find it..."
Finally got it done. I had to delete and revise a lot, so please bear with me. There was no other way. I've posted tonight's chapter early. Thank you all for your support—I've seen all your comments!
Before you continue