Chapter 3
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 003
Chapter Title: Is This Starting Luck Real?
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"This is exhausting, for real."
The jar ghost—no, the Dragon King—would borrow Hector's body every few days to chat with In-ho.
The Dragon King's approach felt like some kind of spy operation.
"You can't come in here!"
He always got chased out whenever he was caught sneaking into the nursery.
Before making contact, a few rats or birds would loiter around the cradle to check for anyone else nearby. Once the coast was clear, he'd possess Hector in a flash and slink over like a 007 agent. After the Dragon King finished his business and left, Hector would get an earful from the maids, clueless as ever.
Unable to stand the sight, In-ho—the kind-hearted one—would step in. It was only natural.
"Kku-kku. Kku."
'Why not just possess a rat or bird as your spy? Or skip that and possess me directly for some dual-core ghost British king action?'
- Your tiny baby head couldn't handle three minutes.
"Tteoya?"
'Then forget beasts—just possess me and we can dual-core it.'
- If only it were that easy. Borrowing or asking animals is within my powers, my divine abilities, so no issue there. But possessing a human? That's the domain of lowly stray spirits. I'd rather become an imugi with a chance at rebirth than fall that low...
In-ho didn't know the details, but it seemed the ghost world had its own complicated hierarchy.
The Dragon King could command other animals around Hector too. Just look at how he used rats and birds as his minions. If he'd been born a hundred years earlier, he could've leveraged that power in all sorts of ruthless ways and skyrocketed to the top. Hell, perfect control over homing pigeons alone would've made him the king of the London stock exchange.
Unfortunately, this was the age of civilization and science. The era of railroads and telegraphs. What good was pigeon mastery now?
In-ho pondered for a moment. Become an immortal circus ringmaster in the history books? Or an animal communicator for the ages? It might let him live well enough, but changing history? Probably not.
But constantly hijacking Hector's body like this—wouldn't that shorten the dog's lifespan?
- Don't worry. It'll make him smarter and let him live longer. A massive stroke of luck for a mutt like him.
Fair enough. In-ho had nothing else to do all day but eat, sleep, and shit. Having a conversation partner who could actually communicate—and knew the future—was like rain in a drought. No point wasting calories arguing with the Dragon King, so he let it slide.
Anyway, now it was time to seriously plan for the future.
- You're going to live to 99.
"Kkwe...?!"
- I've guaranteed it myself. Barring death by external causes, your natural lifespan is 99—hitting that white longevity mark.
'Why not push for 120 or 150 while we're at it?'
- The lifespan slot had two lines, so I just scribbled 99 without thinking. I was just practicing, not seriously trying!!
So casual about it.
It was 1832 now.
Add 99 healthy years, and he'd depart around... 1931? 1932?
As a pro webnovel reader, the moment In-ho saw 1930, he drew the obvious, ironclad conclusion.
World War I would break out in his old age.
World War II? Not his problem. Someone else's. Hitler building gas chambers and turning the world into hell—that was for his descendants to deal with.
Suddenly, the mission difficulty felt laughably easy. Just snipe kid Hitler and call it cleared?
- That won't cut it. You think no Hitler means no WWII?
Without a nutjob like Hitler, maybe no "six million" or gas chambers?
- Is that some massive historical shift? You willing to bet your soul on it?
Put like that, In-ho wasn't so sure. The collateral was his own soul, not Hector's.
Anyway, he wasn't just grinding to avoid soul seizure.
Instead of dying like a dog at work in his first life, he'd scored this absurd second chance. Plus, unlike others, he had a fixed expiration date at 99. With a second shot and future knowledge cheats, failing to achieve greatness meant drowning in a puddle of shame.
Flip it around, though.
Guns and blades aside, survival to 99 was guaranteed. In this barbaric 19th century, imagine scraping by as a penniless wretch without wealth or glory. What horrors awaited?
Normal success wouldn't do.
Even becoming a chaebol chairman—how much history could that change? Honestly, he doubted it.
He needed massive success. The kind with biographies and posterity's praise. At least Napoleon or Marx level legend for safety. But how?
"Kkweu."
Politics. That was his first conclusion.
- Politics, huh. British Prime Minister?
Exactly. To change history, grab the British Empire's wheel and turn the rudder.
But how to become PM? Nothing concrete came to mind.
Plenty of time left, though.
He could think it over more.
One thing he overlooked in his pondering, however:
A child's fate is usually decided by their parents.
Time flowed on.
1837.
"We've decided to go to Whampoa."
"Pardon?"
In this era, a patriarch's decision east or west was usually the family's decision.
Henry Leigh fit the categories of doting husband, fine gentleman, and splendid father. But he wasn't democratic enough to consult the children on family matters.
The kids glanced at their mother, but her quiet nod told them protests wouldn't sway things.
"Daniel has school anyway, and Violet too. We've sorted places for you both, so no worries."
"What about the baby?"
"The baby..."
Right then.
"I wanna go with Mom and Dad!"
"To China?"
"Arthur, China's too far. And rough living."
"I still wanna go!"
Inside Arthur lurked a grizzled uncle, but outwardly, he was pure innocence and cuteness.
Plus, since Arthur's birth, the Leighs' modest hopes had come true. Beyond true.
'The young master is remarkably bright.'
'Genius or not, he's incomparable to peers.'
Wet nurse and tutor alike said the same.
Talking early, walking early, pulling books from the study as a toddler, mastering the alphabet in a flash. Henry bragged so much, the whole club knew.
But China?
"I wanna see it."
"Just don't wanna leave Mom and Dad?"
"Curious how Easterners live."
What kid says that at his age? Henry fought a grin.
But Arthur was desperate.
China, let's go!!
By this era's standards, India and China were lands of opportunity.
His first-life job? Businessman. Fluent in Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Hanja.
Already hyped as a prodigy thanks to Dad's boasting. Show off mastering Chinese or Japanese in months? No TV, but newspapers would splash "genius" headlines.
In a pirate-plagued, colony-spanning British Empire, overseas success was the natural path. Henry himself struck it rich in India and returned.
India coin was fading; jump into skyrocketing China coin early, and milk, honey, opium would flow.
He had to go to China.
To fully leverage first-life skills and future knowledge!
"Don't leave me behind!"
"We didn't have a good spot for him anyway. Might as well bring him."
"Nonsense. I've already arranged it. With a fine gentleman who'll tutor him—"
"No whining! I'll eat well, no dozing in church!"
"Arthur! Who's whining?"
"Take meeee!!"
No choice.
A toddler waddling around pitching a PowerPoint on "Why I Must Go to China" would be weird. Might end up in a monastery instead.
After endless whiny negotiations, Henry sighed.
"Fine. Early new experiences might help."
"Yay!!"
"Sailing's tough. No whining on board?"
"Yes!! Can we bring Hector?"
"No."
Some issues aside, Arthur finally got parental approval to tag along. The genius trader Arthur Leigh's second-life easy mode began!
"Big bro, sis. Don't cry without me. Be good."
"Pfft!"
"No crying there?"
"They say Chinese eat white babies when sick. Don't get eaten."
Entrusting the London house to friends, prepaying Daniel and Violet's boarding schools, trusts for stocks and land, packing, moving—the Leighs had tons to do. Kids? Nothing. Watching is helping enough.
And finally.
The Leigh family boarded the China-bound ship, curtain rising on Act 1, Scene 1 of genius trader Arthur Leigh's saga...
Kurrrung!!
Kurrrrung!!
The sea is fickle.
Humans lash wood scraps into "ships" and cross it.
But when the sea rages...
They feel their place as mere creatures.
"Faster! Move if you don't wanna die!!"
"Captain, water's pouring in!"
"She won't hold!"
"God."
Kwajijik-!
"Mast! The mast!"
"Run!!"
With a horrific crack, ropes snapped from the proud central mast, whipping like lashes. Unlucky sailors flew into the sea.
"Boats away?"
"Look there—"
In the pitch-black storm clouds, no sun in sight.
A small boat launched with crew, but the sea god summoned house-sized waves, smashing it instantly.
Blink, and boat and men vanished.
Everyone aboard was doomed.
"Shouldn't have brought the kid."
"Sorry... I went soft..."
"The Lord is cruel. Why take this child too?!"
Henry bellowed at the sky. Salt rain poured into his eyes, nose, mouth—he ignored it.
Guided to a boat, but survival hopes? Nil. Without wife and child, he'd sip wine in his cabin awaiting the end.
"My son. Mommy's sorry."
"It's fine. I wanted to come."
"So brave. Yes... a gentleman... stays composed to the end."
"I'll row! Don't give up!"
Words even the crew didn't believe.
Still, they gave their all.
No matter the storm, they fought the sea to the last.
But finally...
Last moments arrived.
Wind swept again.
Giant swell swept.
Ship, boats, people, cargo.
All plunged into the depths.
The dinghy barely qualified as a boat. One smack, and it shattered like truck-hit scrap. My parents, clutching me to the end, flew off with the impact into the distant sea.
The raging sea devoured everyone aboard mercilessly.
I'm dying.
Like this.
Second life ends here?
Without doing a damn thing, "perished at sea in storm"?
99-year guarantee meant no natural death.
I knew.
Accidents, murder—possible anytime.
But this? Never crossed my mind.
Maybe all a dream?
No jar ghost, no Britain—just terminal pancreatic cancer in a hospital bed, mashing morphine till death's final hallucination?
No regrets.
Tasted hope and joy, however briefly.
That sufficed.
Second death was easier to accept.
Like there was no second chance—peaceful even—
- Hey! Hey, you punk!
Then.
- Snap out of it! Hold on tight!
Hold what?
- Me, idiot!!
I stretched my tiny hand.
Something hard touched my child fingers.
- Heading to surface! Grip tighter!
My body shot upward through the waves.
Chalpak!!!
"Guhk, kehk, kek, kehk!!"
- Damn it!! Damn it!! Pass out now and you're dead. I'll get us somewhere—just stay conscious!
I clung to a sea turtle.
Precisely, jar ghost—no, Dragon King-possessed sea turtle.
- You lived 'cause you're a shrimp. Bigger, and it couldn't handle your weight! Heading to shore—hang on!
"Dragon King, can't control storms...?"
- Not my original world. I'm just a parasite guest. Saving your puny life is miracle enough. Forget I said that.
I clamped my mouth shut, gripping the turtle harder.
The parent-and-crew-eating sea raged harder, displeased at my escape.
Still.
I survived.