Jangyongyeong (1)
Before dawn broke, thick fog had swallowed the training ground whole. The silence shattered as heavy drumbeats echoed through the air. Dong— dong— dong—! A thousand able-bodied men, who had received their Gigi-cheong repeating rifles less than a day ago, rubbed their eyes and poured into the training ground.
They had traded their ragged hemp clothes for stiff new uniforms and the unfamiliar feel of metal. Their eyes were bloodshot from last night's excitement, but a strange vitality gleamed within them.
Yi Si-woo stood at the center of the training ground atop a high platform, surveying them. The flickering torchlight made the shadows of a thousand men undulate like waves.
"Did everyone sleep well last night?"
Yi Si-woo's voice was low, yet it carried clearly to every corner of the training ground. A murmur rippled through the ranks before a burly man at the front bellowed cheerfully.
"Yes, my lord! I've never slept on such soft bedding in my life! Thanks to you, my body's itching for action!"
Laughter erupted from the men. Yi Si-woo allowed a faint smile to curve his lips.
"That bedding wasn't cheap. From today, you'll repay it with your bodies."
Baek Dong-su, standing beside him with arms crossed, muttered softly.
"Director of the Gigi-cheong, aren't you being too harsh on the first day? Look at their faces. They look ready to die for the country."
"It's not harsh. The battlefields they'll face are tens of thousands of times crueler than this. Every drop of sweat shed here will spare a basin of blood on the field."
Baek Dong-su glanced over the training ground and nodded.
"Fair enough. It reminds me of my first day gripping a sword. My master starved me for three days straight during training—I wanted to kill him. But later, it saved my life."
"That's why I wanted you for this, Brother Dong-su."
Baek Dong-su raised an eyebrow.
"Me?"
"You teach them basic swordsmanship and close-quarters combat yourself. I can handle musket drill, but you're better with blades than I am."
Baek Dong-su chuckled and uncrossed his arms.
"Can't argue with that."
Yi Si-woo slowly raised his hand. At the signal, Gigi-cheong scholars whipped the covers off massive devices stationed around the training ground.
As the cloths fell away, bizarre shapes emerged under the torchlight: intricately tangled pulleys and iron weights, wooden targets connected to spring mechanisms that spun irregularly. A sight never before seen in any Joseon military drill field.
Yi Si-woo stepped down from the platform, facing the thousand elites head-on.
"You are no longer mere foot soldiers. You wield the kingdom's most expensive weapons, eat the finest meals, and learn the harshest skills as His Majesty's blade. Arming one of you costs enough to equip ten ordinary troops. So I ask: Are you ready to deliver ten men's worth?"
"Yes, my lord!"
A thousand voices thundered into the dawn sky. Yi Si-woo nodded in satisfaction and pointed to the training devices.
"Your training from today won't be endured by brute strength alone. Use your heads. Fail to read the machines' movements, and you won't last a day. I promised triple pay, but anyone not worth it packs up and goes home today."
"We will pierce the enemy's heart first on the battlefield and leave last. Let the sweat you shed today become blood that never returns—kill your old selves and be reborn! Understood?"
"Yes, sir!"
The men swallowed hard. The first rays of dawn glinted in the eyes of the Jangyongyeong elites.
On the third day of training, unwelcome guests appeared at the main gate of the Hwaseong training ground. A martial officer from the Training Command, his armor sloppily donned, blocked a Gigi-cheong scholar's path with a cocky stance.
"You're really paying those Jangyongyeong bastards triple—no, several times—the standard military salary?"
The scholar bowed politely.
"Yes, by His Majesty's decree, we guarantee three times the pay of regular commands."
At those words, the officer's eyes bulged. In just three days, the rumors had shaken every garrison near Hanyang. Eventually, a dozen grizzled Training Command officers stormed the training ground proper.
One boar-like brute stepped forward, bowing to Yi Si-woo—though his eyes burned with resentment.
"My lord! We are men forged on battlefields our whole lives. Yet you're giving street toughs who can barely read triple our pay? Give us a chance to join the Jangyongyeong too. We'll prove our worth."
Yi Si-woo looked up slowly from his book.
"No favoritism. Pass the selection test like everyone else."
"Endurance and musket shooting? We're official military exam passers. Child's play!"
Yi Si-woo smirked.
"Then eat that cold porridge. Let's see."
Baek Dong-su, listening from behind, chuckled lowly as he eyed the officers.
"I'll judge personally. Fair and square—no worries."
Confidence shone on the officers' faces.
The next dawn, Baek Dong-su arrived holding the training schedule himself.
[Stage 1: Full kit 40-ri march. Fail to arrive in time limit = immediate elimination]
[Stage 2: Six shots at shaking targets immediately after forced march]
The officers snickered at the schedule.
"Morning exercise level."
With onlookers drawn by the rumors, thirty men lined up. The first march began.
They started leisurely, but past twenty ri, faces hardened. Only then did they realize the Jangyongyeong's kits weren't sandbags but special Gigi-cheong gear laced with lead ingots.
Beyond thirty ri, fifteen frothed at the mouth and collapsed.
"This... this weight makes no sense!"
Baek Dong-su loomed over a fallen officer.
"Jangyongyeong strikes deepest into enemy lines first. Can't march? You're dead weight on the field. Sorry—eliminated."
Fifteen survivors faced the shooting test. Hitting erratic targets on exhausted legs was another beast entirely. Ten more dropped.
Only five of thirty passed. One veteran from Training Command, caked in mud, stood before Baek Dong-su.
"Passed...?"
Baek Dong-su clapped his back.
"Passed. Tough bastard. Usable."
The news spread like wildfire through the five garrisons.
"Five out of thirty? Even Training Command vets got wrecked."
"Triple pay ain't free... Jangyongyeong are real monsters."
"Maybe I should try..."
As rumors swelled, a strange tension brewed. Garrison leaders fretted over losing men; ranks admired yet feared the rigor.
Yi Si-woo savored the shift.
Half a month passed. The thousand Jangyongyeong elites had endured, proving their mettle. Yi Si-woo compiled training scores and Baek Dong-su's sparring results, dividing them into Squads 1 through 10, appointing the top man per squad as leader.
Squad leaders served as instructors under Baek Dong-su, commanding their ninety-nine charges.
Yi Si-woo faced the ten leaders.
"Monthly spars. Anyone in the squad can challenge the leader—win, and take the seat. Rise by skill, fall without. No birth, no connections. Merit alone."
The leaders eyed each other. One, a bastard-born leader, stood before yangban recruits—a scene unthinkable elsewhere in Joseon.
Baek Dong-su, arms crossed, nodded.
"Incompetent leaders kill the men below. I like this system."
General I Bang-mu approached Yi Si-woo.
"Director, you've crushed their spirits—good. But the five garrison heads look uneasy. Reports have likely reached Sim Hwan-ji."
"I know. Push harder while they fear. Stop, and they'll bare fangs again."
The same hour, Hanyang's Bukchon. In the innermost mansion among the powerful, the door to Kim Gwi-ju's study opened silently. Choi Hyeong entered soundlessly, knelt, clutching a wooden box he'd risked life and limb smuggling from Uiju.
Kim Gwi-ju set down his teacup by the flickering candle and murmured.
"You have it?"
"Yes, my lord."
Choi Hyeong offered the box gingerly. Kim Gwi-ju's hand delved inside: faded bundles of paper, smooth and crisp—unlike any Joseon stock.
He held a sheet to the candlelight. Long silence filled the study. The paper brimmed with bizarre curves, cryptic symbols, dense equations.
"...What script is this?"
"Shown secretly to Uiju's top three scholars—all shook their heads. Resembles Western math symbols, but incomprehensible—like devilish talismans."
Kim Gwi-ju's eyes narrowed.
"Summon Joseon's finest. Sungkyunkwan's Chief Scholar, interpreters who've frequented Qing's Imperial Observatory with envoys. Unravel this."
As Choi Hyeong rose to leave, Kim Gwi-ju added.
"And keep tabs on Jangyongyeong. Report every lesson—no omissions."
Days later, in Kim Gwi-ju's study. Sungkyunkwan's Chief Scholar and two interpreters pored over the papers.
An interpreter, thumbing tomes, finally spoke with trembling hand.
"My lord... the symbols match Western mathematics. Very like those used by missionaries at Beijing's Imperial Observatory."
"Learned in Western studies, then?"
The interpreter swallowed dryly, shaking his head.
"Symbols are Western format, but... content matches nothing I saw in Beijing. Impossible level."
The Chief Scholar gaped, dazed.
"My lord... this transcends Western learning. My lifelong math studies feel like child's play before one sheet. As if dragged forcibly from centuries ahead—an knowledge nowhere in this world."
Stifling silence gripped the study. Kim Gwi-ju sat wordless long. Through the window, Hwaseong's sky loomed. Jangyongyeong cheers echoed faintly from afar.