Chapter 33
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 033
Chapter Title: Invasion of Joseon (4)
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Kim Ja-geun's in bed with the Englishmen!
Word is, Kim Ja-geun doesn't give a damn about expelling the foreigners—he's only after the throne!
Kim Ja-geun's locked up the king and swept away the officials! It's all to swap out the royal house for the Andong Kim Clan!
Kim Ja-geun sees the Englishmen as barbarians from some backwater land. He offered to do anything if they'd just make him a duke, but they turned him down since they know what's right. Now they're marching on Hanyang to rescue the Joseon king!
"Uwaaaaaah!!"
Crash! Bang! Smash!!
His eyes rolling back in rage, Kim Ja-geun smashed everything in the room with all his might.
From the finest porcelain imported from the Qing to Joseon's most precious brushes, inks, paper, inkstones, paintings, and furniture—everything was reduced to trash.
Why were these dogshit rumors spreading endlessly in this Hanyang capital that he had gripped so tightly?
No doubt about it.
It was the king.
The king and those Jo Clan bastards were tying him up like a pig for the slaughterhouse to offer to the Englishmen and beg for peace. That had to be it.
How could a king stoop so low as to already scheme about selling out his loyal subjects and martyrs?
In the end, the true guardian of proper learning was...
"...only me!"
That was right.
Kim Ja-geun's rage-boiled brain finally arrived at the answer (wrong one).
"I... was meant to be king!"
This was all the fault of the king, who had fallen for the blandishments of the treacherous ministers. Why should he devote himself so to this country? Why should his loyalty to the ancestral shrine and the altars of the land be met with such treatment?
If a modern person saw this, they'd diagnose it as "a guy who wasn't particularly competent to begin with is now escaping reality into happy delusions under extreme stress and threat to his life." Unfortunately, no one around Kim Ja-geun was capable of such a proper diagnosis. If the Dragon King had wanted to help Joseon, maybe he should have sent a doctor instead of a salesman.
"There's no way the Englishmen, who crossed thousands of miles over the sea, can survive the winter. And with just 5,000 men, they can't conquer all eight provinces of Joseon."
He pictured it vaguely: obliterating the Englishmen and that traitorous wretch Yi A-seul with one blast of Yi Sun-sin's Lightning Breath, then standing against the incompetent king and ministers as Chungmugong Kim Ja-geun, savior of the ancestral shrine and altars, graciously refusing the tearful pleas of the masses begging him to become king. Ah! His heart was pounding already!
Now, Kim Ja-geun was high as a kite on the dopamine auto-secreted by his brain—no need to smoke opium anymore. Just a snap of imagination, and opioid-level endorphins flooded in. Truly a monumental victory for 500 years of Joseon chemical research.
High as hell, Kim Ja-geun strode proudly into court and issued a command sharp as frost.
"The English barbarians are coming to ravage Hanyang, but if they advance by land, they'll have to pass through rice fields or thin riverside sandbars. Cut their supplies, sound the war drum once, and we can repel them handily!"
"Grand Commander, the enemy seems to be following the river, making it hard to sever their supplies."
"How the hell can they use the Han River waterway? You telling me those massive ships can navigate the Han freely?"
"It's not just their capital ships—some ignorant fools are aiding the barbarians."
So many bastards deserving death.
The masses were no different from dogs or pigs, after all.
This country's scholars had preached Confucius and Mencius for centuries, but the fools believed in sparks or shamans, and now even sheep were siding with the barbarian sheep?
In that moment.
Kim Ja-geun, who had devoured Romance of the Three Kingdoms, unleashed his overwhelming intellect to devise a strategy for the ages.
"If we stay like this, Hanyang might become a battlefield... We must prepare to transfer the royal carriage."
"Well thought, sir!"
The military officers lit up more than anyone. From the first day of hostilities, they'd insisted on moving the royal carriage to Bukhansan Fortress, but Kim Ja-geun had stubbornly refused.
"Split some units to escort the carriage, and have the rest buy time facing off against the Englishmen until the safe evacuation is complete."
"Wise words indeed, sir."
"Defending all of Hanyang Castle would take 100,000 men and still fall short. Better to dig in using Bukhansan Fortress and buy time."
The military officers were the ones who at least faced reality.
He'd never fought them himself, but rumors swirled that they'd crushed the Qing with a handful of troops, and even from afar, their elite prowess was plain to see. The British forces outnumbered the Joseon army to boot.
No one dared utter "surrender," but all agreed that repelling them would require not a short decisive battle but a long, grueling struggle.
Kim Ja-geun's change of heart was what everyone had hoped for, even if they couldn't say it aloud.
But.
Not even they could imagine that Kim Ja-geun, ordering them out of the capital to grab the British by the ankles, had other schemes in mind.
"Gather all the tight-lipped servants."
"What for, sir?"
"Scrounge up as much dry straw and oil as you can."
A weak army facing a strong one had two main options.
Ambush and fire attack.
Ambush had failed, so only one remained.
"If they breach Hanyang's gates, I'll burn the whole city down with them in it."
"Sir! What do you mean?!"
"No one can stop me. Not the king! Not the Pungyang Jo Clan! Not the barbarians! If I can't have Joseon, I'll turn it to ashes!"
Different from Dong Zhuo, he was. Even Dong Zhuo had burned Luoyang to halt the eighteen warlords. Burning Hanyang to defend proper learning? More than justifiable.
Kim Ja-geun was certain.
The rabble lacked the iron will to protect proper learning, so they'd surely try to interfere. That's why he'd sent them all away.
But.
"The Grand Commander's finally lost it!"
Even the longtime retainers of the Andong Kim house read the madness in his eyes.
They needed a counterplan.
Before he destroyed the illustrious Andong Kim name.
The British commanders, wary of Joseon night raids or ambushes, scattered scouts in every direction.
I didn't butt in on military matters particularly, but personally, it felt pointless.
Joseon was the land of elves, after all.
Fighting hunkered in mountain forts made their strength surge like a kiddie car sniffing flowers, but trying open battle on the plains turned them to mush like a sixth-year reservist in summer training.
Setting all else aside.
For Joseon, already a total mess, unless they crammed soldiers into the castles, deserters would pour out nonstop.
They'd fought like demons in the Sinmiyangyo, sure—but that was against blue-eyed, horned demon hordes, right?
Now facing friendly Redcoats promising to save Joseon from treacherous ministers under the banner of loyalty to the king? Risk your life against that, and after the war, your head might roll as a traitor. Even I could see deserting was the rational play, fighting the crazy one.
Not that I knew much about the military.
But looking at the map, the Joseon army had only one way to move.
"The Joseon army burst out of Hanyang?"
"Yes, sir. Looks like they're aiming to block us at this mountain fortress."
A crude map, but dredging up memories of 21st-century map apps, I knew the name of that fortress.
"Hangju Mountain Fortress."
"Yes. Seems the locals called it that."
Anyone who's been there once knows: Hangju is a natural stronghold. Even the Joseon army might think they could give it a shot holding it.
But I wasn't worried.
"Navy's sortieing too, right?"
"Yes, sir! Lifting anchor soon!"
Hangju itself was a bastion on a modest hill barely qualifying as a "mountain."
What made it vicious were the rivers, wetlands, and the Han River's brutal terrain features.
But the ones controlling the Han now weren't the Joseon army—it was the British.
If the Royal Navy sailed upriver and pounded it with cannons, Hangju wouldn't be the final bulwark against the British anymore. It'd be a mere dartboard.
I went to Wang Pal's gang and asked them to guide the British, then headed straight to my next stop.
"Pleased to meet you. How was the meal?"
"...Good."
"Quite delicious."
The two farmers I'd tracked down through inquiries.
After securing them, we did our best: fine clothes, a thorough wash, gourmet feast. But a lifetime as farmers left its marks—their sun-baked skin and hands etched with hardship were beyond fixing.
Still, they were worth treating royally.
These two were Yi Won-beom and Yi Uk.
Brothers to the Lord of Ganghwa, King Cheoljong.
After occupying Ganghwa and establishing a tenuous but cooperative rapport with the local gentry...
I casually asked, "By any chance, is there royalty living around here?"
And all hell broke loose.
"You dogs! Already scheming something vile?!"
"No good! If you're truly not barbarians, how could you even think of harming the royal kin?!"
"They've suffered enough already. Just let them farm in this backwater in peace!"
Even these rural yangban had some experience—they figured we meant to seize the royals as hostages or puppets.
Be honest. You have plans, right?
Of course. Why wouldn't I?
Heonjong died young out of nowhere, after all. With a guy like that who could drop dead anytime, you grease the wheels for the next viable king candidate.
First, I hit the clueless gentry with some fact bombs.
"Sorry to say it, but more hardship is already fated. You know that, right?"
"......"
"Traitor Kim Ja-geun or whoever—don't you think someone in the court will scream that everyone on Ganghwa is a collaborator with the barbarian army and demand punishment?"
"We're only—"
"Yes, I know. You raised the banner of righteousness to save His Majesty from traitor Kim Ja-geun. But... will that excuse fly with the royal kin?"
Joseon's royal clansmen died the moment their name hit a treason charge. No matter how flimsy or fabricated—it didn't matter. They just died.
When disgruntled illegitimate sons muttering among themselves got branded rebels and executed, getting caught by foreign troops? Dead for sure.
Only after that persuasion could I meet these rural royal brothers.
They'd holed up in the hills, never emerging even as friendly British "friends of Joseon" showered rice and silver on the locals. Without the tip-off, I might've missed them till the last second.
But I found them anyway.
Then came negotiation time.
"Don't you know the tale of Jin Wen Gong? His stepmother persecuted her husband's sons from his previous wife. The newborn who stayed home died, but the middle son fled abroad, survived, and ascended the throne."
"......"
"......You've studied the classics well, I see."
"Ahem."
A nosy foreigner quoting Spring and Autumn era anecdotes, but the Joseon royals didn't get it. Cringe city.
A weakling might've crumbled under the awkwardness, but pro Englishman that I was, I pushed through the ordeal.
"Stay here, and you die. Whether Kim Ja-geun lives or not doesn't matter. Rotten scholars who treat lives like dirt will yap, 'If they're royal, they should've offed themselves. Surviving means they have ulterior motives.'"
"Hoo..."
"So? You want us to go... to England now?"
"Yes."
I nodded without hesitation.
"The world you see—China and its fringes—is just part of a far vaster one, centered on the capital of the British Empire, London. Study Western learning there, return home, and you'll never fear for your lives."
"Listen. Just one question."
Yi Won-beom, with his honest-looking face, blinked his clear, ox-like eyes.
"What is it?"
"Living years in that London... doesn't that mean becoming your puppets? What's the difference from dying?"
"Misunderstanding. Not at all."
Joseon's opening was inevitable. We'd force it.
Once they entered the international stage, they'd need Western-educated men. If Won-beom and his brother were first, the state couldn't ignore them.
If Heonjong reclaimed power, he'd need a loyal faction—but the Pungyang Jo Clan? No way. Guys who'd lopped off missionaries' heads couldn't grab power now. Time to lay low.
"So if you want to live, back yourselves with the British Empire."
"We don't want the stigma of collaborating with foreign powers."
"No need to collaborate overtly. Better to keep a fitting distance."
Straight-up pro-Brit coin hodlers were already lined up. Heungseon-gun, for one.
Educate these brothers, send them back, and Heonjong would raise them as a counter to the noble houses instead of purge lists. Portfolios shouldn't all-in one stock—befriend alternatives to Yi Ha-eung early.
But I guaranteed it.
"Learn the world in London, and you'll see it without us recruiting you. That Joseon can't survive without aligning with Britain. To save a frog-in-the-well Joseon, imitating Britain is the only way."
"......"
"We'll treat you as POWs captured by the British army, who attempted suicide but failed—that'll be the record. After the war, we'll take you to London as 'hostages.' But really, it's a pretext for Joseon. With your consent, I'd invite you to learn new knowledge."
As they wavered...
"Pardon the interruption."
A messenger strode in and saluted me.
"What is it?"
"Can I speak here?"
"They don't know English anyway. Go ahead."
"The fortress fell. Once the fleet opened fire, the Joseon troops scattered in all directions—no trace left."
As expected of the world-class Joseon army at retreating. Hell, even I'd bolt in that spot.
"Joseon troops fled at the first cannon boom. Hangju's taken—Hanyang's right around the corner."
I kindly relayed the messenger's words in Korean. The Ganghwa brothers' faces turned ashen.
"We'll go."
"Brother!"
"No real choice anyway. They won't harm us or brand us collaborators—that all true?"
"Of course."
From what I'd observed, Joseon needed a total redesign of its modern education system. Village tutor heaven-and-earth memorization wouldn't cut it in this brutal imperialist world.
These brothers would be the first Western-tainted Joseon nobles.
If Joseon didn't self-destruct and aimed for the future, it'd have to use them heavily.
Didn't know you still had a heart for people! Right—return to your roots. Only with love for your homeland are you human. So, what'll you teach them?
Whatever—they'll figure it out. Who's picking majors for them?
But for these naive brothers, worn down by too much hardship, timid and cowed, first build sturdy bodies and spirits.
What then?
Instill the proper mindset, naturally.
Hey, you bastard.
Eton was the world's top school, cradle of intellectuals. No claims from barbaric Harrow accepted.
Roll them around those splendid grounds a year or two, and they'd emerge as stout beams to prop up Joseon!