Chapter 79
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 079
Chapter Title: Great Upheaval (4)
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I'm back.
In Hanyang.
Hanyang had changed.
"My word, what is this?"
"This is a railway. A steam locomotive runs along these tracks..."
"A monster cart!"
"...Yeah. A monster cart."
Instead of taking a carriage from Incheon Port, we could now ride the Gyeongin Line Railway.
It wasn't yet open to the general public—you still had to pay for tickets—but this was just the trial run period. And with the great Arthur Leigh returning home, there was no way they wouldn't let him on board. Once the trial run ended, anyone regardless of age, gender, or status would be able to travel easily between Incheon and Hanyang.
The changes weren't limited to just Hanyang and Incheon.
Now I had a chatty errand boy trailing after me.
In that distant Beijing, a rival worthy of the name had appeared, sitting right beside the Dragon Throne.
A lot of things were changing.
And the most important one.
A baby angel wrapped snugly in a thick swaddling cloth like a silkworm.
"Thank you for being born healthy."
I had a child.
My first child.
A little princess.
Look at those big, clear eyes and those long lashes. She was a beauty that could topple nations. The most beautiful in the world. Even if Queen Victoria came sniffing around for a marriage alliance, I'd have to give her the finger. I'd be the one taking the massive loss.
"Paa."
"Heavens. Did you hear that? She said 'dada.' She said 'dada'!"
"That was just babbling. A guy who wasn't even there for the birth—"
"Paa."
"She said 'dada'! She said 'dada'! God Almighty! Of course! She takes after me, so our kid's definitely a genius."
"I could've sworn I saw the exact same scene when I was little..."
"Beat it."
Why was he raining on this touching father-daughter reunion?
I shoved Daniel aside—he was suddenly pretending to have amnesia, memories hazy one second and gone the next—and scooped up the baby in her swaddling.
"Of course our daughter goes to Eton, then Oxford. Obviously. No way I'd send her to some Harrow knockoff. So, tutor. Tutor. Wonder if there's a tutor willing to come to this land of Joseon—"
"What nonsense to a baby not even a year old? And she's a girl—how's she going to Eton anyway?"
"To find a wet nurse fluent in Latin, Greek, Chinese, and Korean, we'll need to start a girls' school here in Joseon first— Ow! Ouch! Don't pinch! Aaaah!"
"Waaah!!!"
I yelped from the hard pinch, startling the princess into a full wail. I pulled out every trick to soothe her, but she wouldn't stop crying.
In the end, she was snatched away.
In less than three minutes.
"You're banned from holding the baby for the time being."
"...That name's a bit off."
"Got a problem with my mother's name?"
Abigail Robinson Leigh. Abby Leigh for short.
No matter how I thought about it, it sounded utterly unfilial to Korean ears. Abby or abi—either way.
"To Koreans, her name might as well be 'Ahee.'"
No matter how much I insisted on 'Arthur,' they stubbornly called me 'Aseul.' Calling her 'Abby' would cause an uproar, plain as day.
I wanted to play with Ahee more, but Daniel's puppy-dog eyes, damp like a rain-soaked mutt, forced me to get up.
Fine.
Let's hear exactly how badly things were fucked.
"We're fucked."
"Right?"
Daniel let out a deep sigh and pulled a cigar from his inner pocket. It screamed Havana quality—way above his salary grade. Might need to frisk him later. If he's taking shady bribes, I'll strip him down and tan his hide with a laundry paddle. Gotta beat the greed out.
But a true scholar doesn't just stand there watching his poor brother smoke alone.
As the Analects say—wait.
Did Confucius even have tobacco back then?
I stuffed some royal-grade pipe tobacco into my kingly pipe and lit up.
A sigh escaped me too.
"Haa."
"Haaa..."
The order to deploy Joseon Sepoys to Kamchatka.
"So, what do you need from me?"
"First off, hand over all the ships."
"The East India Company has ships, doesn't it?"
"What are you talking about? We don't."
"Come on, how can you not have ships?"
"You think we'd have ships to carry Sepoys? It's wartime."
Fuck. No comeback to that.
Public enterprises exist to handle national infrastructure that private firms can't easily replace.
But in this end times, the 19th century, no such modern concept exists. The East India Company is ambiguously public and private.
This symbol of inefficiency and bureaucracy doesn't use standard merchant ships—only special ones.
Merchant ships designed for instant military conversion in wartime, meaning they're inefficient for peacetime trade.
And they don't even build or own them outright.
They outsource construction, then charter—lease—them back. The owners? Current and former Company execs, pocketing charter fees. Utterly moronic.
"Fine... I'll convert as many ships as possible from Leigh & Gladstone Company and the Far East Company for Sepoy transport."
"Good."
Of course, we'll charge charter fees. Not just flat rate—we'll tack on opportunity costs for lost trade. No mercy.
"What else?"
"Military rations, uniforms, bullets, powder."
"Fuck. Might as well give everything. We'll charge double, no, triple premium."
Can't send an army to Kamchatka half-assed. To avoid them turning into salted dried pollack, full winter gear setup is a must.
"Anything more?"
"Veterans with war experience—"
"Not a chance. In Joseon?"
I pumped some nicotine into my heated head and spoke again.
"They say Joseon's hunters are skilled because of all the beasts here."
"Ah."
"If you can hire more, use them as scouts and skirmishers. Better combat prowess than ex-Joseon soldiers."
That was help enough from me.
"Do the Joseon troops need to move too?"
"No. That'd escalate things for sure."
Daniel's vacant gaze at the sky started to sharpen.
"And this is just my guess... but the government seems reluctant to owe Joseon any debts."
"Yeah, figures."
The Hong Kong governor, Consul Ollcock, and others—we all thought otherwise, but the current British cabinet showed zero interest in war or colonial expansion. Wallets bleeding dry—who wants expansion now?
And Russia.
If Russia flips and sends Kazakh cavalry hordes down to Joseon, Britain gets a massive headache.
So their strategy is eyes-wide-shut denial...
Apparently.
Time to think about heading back to Britain soon.
Once I'm confident Joseon runs smoothly without me, set it to auto-farm and build political footing in Britain.
Britain's foreign policy could shift on a dime with a new regime.
And the British Empire's decisions aren't for this little country to overturn.
First, the Crimean War needs to end.
And end well.
To protect my rice bowl.
Unlike what people in Joseon imagined—recalling Siberian huts—Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky was no ramshackle village.
Kamchatka's capital.
Core hub for Russian Far East operations.
As the sole link between the homeland and Russian Alaska, the Russians had fortified it decently, and the terrain was a natural harbor masterpiece.
Petropavlovsk port nestled in a deep concave bay, with batteries perched above to rain hellfire on intruders. Surrounding hills bristled with more artillery. In a way, the Anglo-French allies charging headlong there looked dumber than the Russians.
But that's precisely why the allies targeted it.
Direct assault on Alaska? Not even considered.
Why? It might draw out the land-hungry mad dogs of the United States.
So Plan B: Secure Kamchatka to isolate Alaska, then retake recently seized Primorsky from Qing—return it or neuter Russian influence. That was the grand strategy.
To do that, they had to take that place.
"Soldiers who swore loyalty to Her Majesty the Queen! To wash away our previous dishonor and uphold our colors, we must seize that fortress now!"
The Anglo-French allies were in rough shape, even charitably.
Not many dead or wounded, but resuming the assault so soon after battle bred discontent.
"At least give us time to recover—"
"The sea will freeze soon, stranding us! No time like now!"
Russian reinforcements over winter would be disastrous.
Hence dragging in those native vagrants—soldiers or beggars?
Meanwhile, the Joseon Sepoys—swollen to nearly 4,000 by dumping massive silver on northern hunters—were in chaos.
"Ugh, seasick."
"Is sea wind always this biting?"
"Quit whining! You chose to be Sepoys! Grit it out!"
"Russia bullies weak nations and conquers by force, so the British Empire has resolved to subdue these barbarians!"
"Remember! Fail to take it, and Russian cavalry—100,000 strong—might invade Joseon!"
Daniel, bundled head to toe in fur coat, gloves, and scarf, took a swig of brandy and bellowed again.
"We lose the war? We sail home. But your homes, your families face those Russian savages!
Never forget! They're Mongols! Descendants of the horde that burned old Goryeo—Russians are their heirs!"
Thanks to Daniel's very British-style ancestor-falsifying agitation, the Joseon men slowly stoked their battle spirit.
Advance pay secured anyway.
Not mere mercenaries—this was defending the homeland.
Better fight with mighty Britain backing you, right?
"Disembark! Disembark!"
"Everyone off!"
"Move fast! Who told you to dawdle?!"
The Sepoys' role: meat shields.
Learning from last defeat, command opted against landing at the port mouth. Instead, beach far off in primeval forests, march overland to suppress outer batteries.
Joseon Sepoys handle that battery suppression.
Success? Storm the port again.
Failure? Pull back, done.
Daniel and Sepoy officers blanched at this mad plan—they could be abandoned too—but no choice.
Why this shitshow?
"Those jealous... spiteful bastards... I'll... get them..."
Because novels hyped him as an unparalleled genius commander mowing 17:1 odds. Bluntly: 'You think you're hot shit? Handle this.'
Lose? Game over.
Hard-earned rep evaporates, no homecoming. His waiting wife and unborn child—
"Let's hunt barbarians! Follow me!!"
"Waaah!"
Leading the hunter militia—not skirmishers—Daniel shouted in broken Korean, met with roars.
Time for karmic payback.
Daniel's vision went black!