On Roanoke Island, dozens of blacksmiths and various craftsmen who had come from England to support their livelihood were isolated.
The reason for their isolation was obviously because of me. It would be a disaster if they happened to overhear my voice somewhere.
They only knew about the Virginia community as the "Indian Emperor's" territory.
They knew about the Porter and tractors that occasionally passed by, but they just thought of them as "strange native technology."
Of course, we do our best to prevent them from feeling confined. We periodically send them back to England and pacify them by giving them various luxury goods as gifts.
Thus, on land about 10 times the size of Odaiba, only a few dozen people live and maintain the blacksmith workshop. Most of the natives who originally lived there had long since moved to Chesapeake Bay.
And.
"I am the 'Baron of Roanoke,' after all."
Clank. Clank.
Bang! Boom!
