Chapter 80
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 080
Chapter Title: Great Upheaval (5)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
After the Anglo-French allied forces set off for Kamchatka with their new sepoys in tow...
I threw myself into planning the cleanup after our inevitable defeat.
- Why do you think we've already lost?
Of course we're fucked, you idiot. Is it because you're livestock that you can't grasp this simple truth?
I might have zero military knowledge, but come on—I'm a fully discharged sergeant from the Republic of Korea Army. I'm not a total pushover.
If Kamchatka were some easy mark, the Anglo-French forces would've taken it ages ago.
But they lost in the first clash.
That means it's not just some podunk village run by a vegetable farmer—it's a proper semi-fortress with real defenses.
That's why they dragged the Joseon sepoys along.
But what the hell good are those guys gonna do?
- At least the troop numbers more than doubled, right? Don't you know that war's all about numbers?
Sigh. What an ignorant fool.
Soldiers aren't something you make by grabbing civilians off the street, handing them guns, and slapping uniforms on them.
In the 21st century, educated citizens just need basic training to pull the trigger on an assault rifle and churn out bullets like crazy, making them halfway decent troops.
But this is the romantic 19th century. Still a far cry.
- Is the difference really that big...?
Absolutely.
Even kindergarteners or first-graders learn to line up straight and snap to attention or at ease. That's basic drill.
But to 19th-century folks—even Koreans—those simple moves are insanely advanced.
People here don't even grasp the concept of moving in sync on command.
Training them to march in step right up to the enemy's bayonets is so damn hard that you just beat it into them until it sticks.
I lobbied to create these Joseon sepoys, sure—but that was with a few years in mind, not throwing them into the meat grinder right away!
This country doesn't even have compulsory education yet!!
The paperwork blurred before my eyes, so I wandered out of the study and went to stroke my daughter.
"Waaah! Waaaaaah!!"
"What? I barely touched her—"
"You're rubbing that stubbly beard-face all over her! Of course she's bawling!"
The wet nurse Ridge had hired chased me off. Damn it. It's my kid—can't I even hold her?
I slumped onto the living room sofa, and Jjingchung—the live-in servant—emerged from his room, brewed me a cup of tea, and slipped back inside. Were you eavesdropping the whole time?
The warm tea soothed my throat, calming my mi—fat chance. It just made my head spin worse. Felt like my Anglo-Saxon berserker instincts were auto-triggering.
No matter how I sliced it, this was a deliberate sabotage play.
Everyone and their dog knows the Joseon sepoys won't amount to shit, yet they dragged them along anyway.
Obviously to pin the blame for defeat on them.
How bad would it get?
Daniel's inflated rep would tank first, no doubt. Tell him to quit the soldier gig and stick to writing. He could head back to England.
If he stays in Joseon? Perfect—they've got these cozy little doghouses for writers who slack off on their pens. He's been dodging writing lately for army busywork anyway. Lock him in one, and he'll crank out masterpieces. Guaranteed.
If Daniel gets booted, my sway over the East India Company garrison in Joseon crumbles fast.
And Joseon itself would stir up trouble.
Mercs or not, sending thousands into that frozen hell and pulling back without even recovering the bodies? Folks'd start muttering, "See? Arthur Leigh ain't no Joseon man—he's a sheep," or "The bastard who made our boys bleed for someone else's war."
We're screwed.
"Aren't you being a bit too pessimistic?"
Ridge had snuck up and plopped down beside me. And wouldn't you know—Jjingchung materialized again, pouring her a cup and refilling mine. Are you a ninja or something? Should've guessed from how you spotted that top Qing scholar with the Japanese name—
"Those generals didn't go because they wanted to lose. They must've seen a real chance at victory."
"Their opponents don't wanna lose either. Better to prep for the worst, right? If everything goes perfectly, we wouldn't need to do jack."
"Why not think Uncle'll pull off the win?"
"That guy? Daniel? With what army?"
The bonehead? All he's got is bluster and cheap tricks. He's a sucker for women and cash, and real combat experience... well, he fought in India, I heard, but as a lowly grunt, so no real command.
Thinking about the fool choked me up, and I pounded my chest. Jjingchung popped up again—this time with liquor instead of tea. Smart kid—I brought him along for a reason.
"Quit lurking and sit with us."
"How could I intrude on you two—"
"Just sit. If it's awkward, don't hover—take a proper break."
He glanced between Ridge and me, then cautiously settled on another sofa. Ridge just handed him the empty teacup, filled it, and passed it over without a word.
"That fool does his job if he comes back alive without freezing his ass off. Bringing back a victory report? Major war hero? Then I'll crawl on all fours all day meowing like a cat for you."
"You're underselling your own brother..."
"Call it facing reality. What, is he Napoleon? Yi Sun-sin?"
When else would I get to trash Daniel like this?
Arthur Leigh—god of sales, seizing opportunity—launched into a barrage of tales, starting from the time Daniel pissed the bed.
Clunk!
"Master! Word from the north!"
"What'd they say?"
"Victory! A great triumph!"
"What?!"
I snatched the paper scrap from the servant's hand.
"What does it say?"
"......They've taken Petropavlovsk."
I quietly pocketed the telegram, feeling Ridge and Jjingchung's stares boring into me.
No mention of what Daniel did, though.
"Isn't that great? All your worries solved."
"Yeah?"
Ridge said nothing, just watched me.
Watched.
Kept watching.
Thud!
"Meooow."
"Good boy."
What a useless sack of shit.
Hanyang was in an uproar.
"Waaaaah!!"
"Long live! Long live!!!"
"Long live His Majesty the King!!"
"Long live Joseon!! Hurray!!"
How many times in Joseon history had an army marched to some far-flung foreign land and won?
There was that Yojin campaign back in King Hyojong's day, but that was barely a hundred men.
But now?
"Two centuries after the last Yojin subjugation, we've crushed the Russian barbarians once more! The great northern conquest feels within reach!"
"Even back then, the Qing forces kept getting routed by the barbarians, but our Joseon troops annihilated them. Truly, history repeats itself!"
Not just Hanyang—the entire court was buzzing.
Nobody cared that it wasn't the Joseon army proper, just sepoys hired out to the East India Company.
Nor that most officers were British.
All that mattered: a unit full of Joseon men had beaten back the Westerners.
Pure euphoria.
The hype hadn't died down when the victorious heroes landed in Incheon and returned to Hanyang—igniting the eight provinces all over again.
"Wahahahahaha!!"
And now...
This maniac cackling like a madman sat before me.
"Who'd have thought! Daniel Napoleon Leigh—a genius of war!"
"Sure, sure. Field Marshal, Black-Haired Briton, sir."
"Ahh, with the Joseon troops admiring me so, begging me not to go—what can I do? A true man doesn't abandon his men. Even if the British Army weeps and begs for Daniel Leigh back—"
Give him an inch, and he takes a mile. I hated myself for briefly upgrading my opinion of the guy.
"Quit flexing and spill what happened."
"Heh heh. Even our dear Arthur, who treated his noble brother like dogshit, is just a mortal squirming under my radiant shadow— Ow! Oww!!"
"Who funded that little jaunt? Huh?"
Guy's a pro at earning a beating. Are all little brothers like this?
Finally, the fake grin vanished from Daniel's face, replaced by the haunted look of a man scarred by war's horrors.
How the hell was I—a deskbound wimp—supposed to get that?
Daniel, exuding a mix of gravity and pathos, worked his mouth for a long moment before speaking.
"No clue."
"Fair enough. Just tell me what you do know."
"For real. I don't get why everything's gone nuts."
"Why? You led those ragtag Joseon scarecrows to smash the Anglo-French forces and take their fortress—"
"Not exactly...?"
What the hell?
Daniel's "war story" was a rambling mess, but the gist was this:
====
1. Joseon sepoys land first, try suppressing the outer batteries.
2. Can't even form ranks—total clusterfuck, cursing up a storm, charge anyway. Somehow end up in a dispersed formation-ish.
3. Thousands swarm in; batteries surrender without a fight.
4. With batteries taken, Anglo-French forces re-enter the harbor and land.
5. Russians counterattack to block the landing, but when thousands more join via land and sea routes, they surrender.
====
"So... no real battle?"
"Nope."
Just overwhelming numbers?
They swarmed, so the enemy folded on their own?
Am I buying this?
"The Russians said..."
"Yeah."
"After the first attack failed, they figured they couldn't hold it anyway. Were prepping to bail over winter."
"......"
My head throbbed.
Speechless, I lit a pipe. No idea what to say.
"My dear little brother."
"What now?"
Daniel grabbed my hand tight. What fresh nonsense?
"I swear, I did jack shit. Just chased after those half-trained Joseon gunners—pure agony. Nothing to show for it."
"And?"
"But Hanyang's lost its mind! Fake glory's one thing—this is too much! Step in and cool the hype. Everyone's side-eyeing already—if I keep playing along here, we're really fucked!"
"Wha... fine, I'll have a word."
"That's my bro! Knew I could count on you!"
Seeing him pump his fist, I figured I owed him some backup. Kid's swearing off bullshit for honesty—what can I do?
I headed straight for Yi Ha-eung, the powerhouse gripping Joseon's press and post office.
"Worried about getting hailed as a war hero without the deeds?"
"Spot on. Brits and French are all uncomfortable, right?"
"Hmm. Well..."
Yi Ha-eung looked genuinely flustered—rare for him.
"Too late."
"Pardon...?"
"Every paper's printed it: 'Yi Da-ni-al, brother of Yi A-seo, leads 3,000 elite Joseon troops to crush the Russians.'"
He clapped my shoulder and flashed a villainous grin.
"Think about it. Say the war was all Brits, and Joseon just tagged along? How'd Hanyang's mood turn?"
"Yeah, fair."
"Give your brother the Heavenly Strategy Supreme General title—no issue. He did lead Joseon troops into the thick of it, bullets flying. What's the harm?"
What? Not just victory general—now Heavenly Strategy Supreme General? In this short time?
"Just file the report right for Europe. Say the savages are glory-hungry, so we spun tales to soothe local sentiments. Papers ran wild. I'll push the court to reward the British and French troops handsomely."
"But still."
Couldn't stay quiet anymore—I spoke up.
"Have the court grant my brother a title and proper honors."
"That'll shut up the Brits? Good. Heh heh heh!"
Sorry, Daniel.
If you can't dodge it, might as well enjoy it!