Joseon's Area 51 (Part 2)
As Yi Si-woo stepped out through the heavy bronze gates of Changdeok Palace, the mocking gazes of the ministers bored into his back.
"A lowly Grade 4 miscellaneous post like Special Commissioner? Even His Highness has a wicked sense of humor."
"A kid covered in iron filings dares to talk about state affairs?"
Their sneering voices echoed like hallucinations in his ears, but Yi Si-woo only curved his lips into a thin smile. The greater their arrogance grew, the more secure his secrets would become.
"Young master! Or should I call you Lord Special Commissioner now? Aigoo, our young master has finally planted his flag in Hanyang soil!"
Man-seok, shouldering the wooden crate with glee, strode ahead energetically. The site granted by King Jeongjo for the Gigi-cheong was a warehouse plot under the Military Armory along the Han River. Deeming it a prime location—away from the capital's bustle yet ideal for easy transport of materials—the two headed toward the riverbank without a doubt.
But the reality that greeted them shattered Man-seok's expectations cruelly.
"...My lord, am I seeing things right now?"
Man-seok's jaw dropped. What they called the Gigi-cheong site—supposedly a Military Armory warehouse—was in truth a crumbling ruin overrun by sagging rafters, a hole-riddled roof, and weeds towering as tall as a man.
"Squeak squeak!"
A massive rat, as if it owned the place, sauntered right over Man-seok's shoe.
"Ack! You damn rat bastard, how dare you! My lord, this is outrageous! Even if His Highness has to watch out for those court heavyweights, how could he give our young master—who's been the apple of everyone's eye since he was five—this kind of dump? It's better to just lay out a mat in an open field and call it home! My lord, let's march back to the palace right now and tell them we can't do this!"
Man-seok jumped up and down in outrage, but Yi Si-woo silently stepped into the warehouse.
The river bends sharply here, crashing against sheer cliffs—perfect drop height. No better spot to harness the fierce upstream current through waterwheels for rotational power.
"Enough complaining, Man-seok, and unpack the luggage. This place is perfect. Let the ministers see it and think the kid who relied only on His Highness's favor has finally met his end—they'll relax and laugh. That's my aim. The more they underestimate us, the deeper our secrets will burrow."
Yi Si-woo tapped the deep inner floor of the warehouse with his foot.
"From today, this will be the furnace where all of Joseon's technology is reborn. Man-seok, get the tools. First, we'll turn this haunted wreck into the most dangerous zone in Joseon."
As Yi Si-woo and Man-seok were dusting off the place, a group dispatched from the Ministry of Works entered the warehouse yard. At their center stood Choi Hyeong-do, a Grade 5 Left Minister of Works, clad in ornate official robes. Though one rank below Yi Si-woo, he wielded real power in the ministry thanks to his Noron elite family background.
Choi Hyeong-do glanced alternately at the dusty warehouse and Yi Si-woo's face, snapping his fan shut with a clack.
"Aigoo, so you're the famous Lord Special Commissioner? To receive such a high Grade 4 rank and come to this haunted dump—His Highness's intentions run deep indeed."
Choi Hyeong-do approached with a grin. The clerks and smiths behind him eyed Yi Si-woo like a sideshow, watching their superior's cue.
"My lord, I am Choi Hyeong-do, Left Minister from the Ministry of Works, here to assist you. As you see, this is no different from a rat-infested ruin. His Highness must hold your talents in high regard to send you to such a harsh place, but to my eyes, it's downright embarrassing."
He covered his nose with his sleeve in mock disgust at the dust, then nodded toward the smiths beside him.
"The ministry is buried in official duties right now—no time to idly dust off ruins like this. These artisans have decades at the Military Armory, so my lord, just enjoy your cushy life here, leave it all to them. Who knows? Maybe the rats will be so impressed by your skills they'll fetch you a plowshare."
No sooner had Choi Hyeong-do finished than his burly henchman smith stepped forward.
"Lord Special Commissioner, you look like a noble who's spent his life with books and brushes—workshops with flying iron filings aren't for delicate types like you. One whiff of red-hot molten metal, and that fair complexion of yours will turn to dirt in an instant."
Choi Hyeong-do patted the smith's shoulder in agreement.
"He's right. Forging iron is done with the body, not those paper sketches you're clutching. Don't strain yourself—hang your nameplate and spend your days at the capital's gisaeng houses. It'll be better for your health. I'll handle the real work, so just stay out of the way."
Turning his back on Yi Si-woo as if he were the superior, Choi Hyeong-do began issuing arbitrary orders to the smiths. Ignoring his actual boss right there, he strutted like it was his own living room, acting as if he owned the Gigi-cheong. The officials and artisans lined up behind him, chatting idly and treating Yi Si-woo like air.
Yi Si-woo ignored their racket as worthless of reply, pulling out unfamiliar instruments one by one from the crate Man-seok had brought. As a steel caliper gleaming coldly in the sunlight and a bizarre glass lens gauge emerged, curiosity and scorn flickered in the artisans' eyes.
"Not yet. Put it back."
Yi Si-woo's cold voice pierced the workshop noise. He was pointing at the iron lump the smith was about to pull from the furnace.
"Pardon? My lord, it's at the perfect color for hammering now. These eyes of mine, honed by thirty years at the fire, don't lie. Heat it more, and the iron will burn useless."
As the smith offered his unsolicited advice, Choi Hyeong-do fanned himself and chuckled.
"Aigoo, Lord Special Commissioner. Heating iron isn't in books. Why not trust this artisan and step back? If a spark hits your fine robe, my heart would ache."
Ignoring Choi Hyeong-do's mockery, Yi Si-woo peered through the glass lens gauge into the roaring furnace.
"The surface is red, but the core hasn't fully heated. Thrust it to the flame's heart and breathe ten more times. Molten metal has its grain and path. Wait for the instant when outer and inner heat unite. Pulling it early is as good as killing the iron."
Yi Si-woo's voice carried irrefutable conviction. Observing the flames' dance through the lens, he murmured under his breath. Finally, as the lump shifted from transparent orange to eye-searing white light, his command rang out.
"Now! Pull it!"
The smith, dazed, yanked the lump and slammed it on the anvil. Choi Hyeong-do crossed his arms, smirking as if waiting for failure, but Yi Si-woo's next instructions were precision beyond imagination.
"Strike three finger-widths right of the anvil's center. Use half your usual force, faster than a heartbeat. Don't pound the iron brutally—guide the hammer as if aligning its inner grains one by one!"
"Y-yes, my lord!"
The smith swung like a man possessed. Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Hammers that would have flailed wildly followed Yi Si-woo's lead like magnet-drawn, tracing perfect arcs into the metal. From the side, Yi Si-woo read the metal's subtle shifts with every strike, issuing nonstop directives as if x-rayed.
Choi Hyeong-do's sneer had turned to shock.
"Quench it now. Exactly three deep breaths. A second early, and it lacks temper; a second late, and the edge chips. Go!"
Hiss—! Thick steam filled the workshop. The smith, soaked in sweat, tremblingly lifted the blade from the water. As the vapor cleared, the blade gleamed with a subtle, profound blue no Joseon workshop had ever produced.
The artisans gaped at its sheen, but Choi Hyeong-do scoffed, dousing their awe.
"Hmph, flashy surface doesn't make a real sword. Iron's secrets aren't skin-deep. Lucky color—you call that a miracle? Pathetic."
Choi Hyeong-do slowly drew his ornate, jewel-encrusted ring-pommel sword from his belt.
"This heirloom? Forged a century ago by the capital's master, infused with the Seven Stars' essence—a legend among legends, passed down my family. Think that shiny scrap you made can withstand one strike from this?"
His bluster peaked, and Yi Si-woo's eyes narrowed. Glancing indifferently at his own blade, Yi Si-woo met Choi Hyeong-do's gaze.
"You seem awfully proud of that heirloom, Minister. Care for a wager?"
"A wager?"
"If this blade shatters under your famed sword, I'll hand over full authority of the Gigi-cheong today and retreat to the palace, obeying your every whim. But—"
Yi Si-woo smirked crookedly.
"If your precious sword breaks or even scratches this blade, you'll become my subordinate from today, following my orders without question. What say you? If you're not confident, sheath it now."
Flushing at the provocation before the watching artisans, Choi Hyeong-do bellowed.
"Fine! I accept! Let's see that cursed scrap shatter and hear your excuses!"
As Choi Hyeong-do raised his sword high, Yi Si-woo's mind had already calculated the outcome. Swinging with all his pride and family honor in one strike, he brought it down.
Ching—! A piercing rupture tore through the workshop. But no shattering followed—only a chilling metallic screech. Instead of slicing, Choi Hyeong-do's boasted heirloom cracked from the impact point, spiderwebbing outward with a crack.
"Th-this... impossible... my heirloom... a century-old masterwork...!"
Choi Hyeong-do's hands shook violently. Hideous fissures marred the once-flawless blade, mirroring the slash across his pride.
"Eek!"
Horrified and aghast at the vivid gashes on his sword, he toppled backward onto his rear. Worse than a clean break—this was utter humiliation. The blade was now worthless scrap, stripped of its legendary value.
"Looks like I win the bet, Minister Choi."
Yi Si-woo smiled, locking eyes with the kneeling, dumbfounded man.
Stunned by his heirloom's ruin, Choi Hyeong-do just gaped wordlessly.
"As promised, from today you're my deputy, obeying all Gigi-cheong orders. Start by dusting that corner pile. Your robes are too flashy for an aide serving his superior."
Choi Hyeong-do glared up, clutching the broken hilt with trembling hands. But with dozens of artisans and officials watching, having staked the bet himself, he couldn't back out.
As Choi Hyeong-do crawled on the floor, quaking with injustice and shame, Yi Si-woo turned away indifferently. In his eyes, the man was no longer an official—just a useful tool for running the Gigi-cheong.
Congratulations, Minister Choi. You've walked into hell on your own two feet. From today, you're my personal slave number one.
Yi Si-woo picked up a stray charcoal lump and drew a thick, bold line on the floor.
"From now on, inside this line is Gigi-cheong forbidden territory."
Straightening, he swept his piercing gaze over the room.
"Without my permission, not even the Minister of Works—or anyone—may cross it. Violators will face strict military law. Even a rat sniffing across will be dealt with by code, and the punishment will be severe."