Why Are They All Walking Around Naked?
They don't have clothes? Why are they all walking around naked?
The Tsushima I'd seen from the rifle range was a mountain covered in dense forest. But sailing right up to it like this, all I could see was a lighthouse built midway up the slope.
“Ooooh...!”
The lighthouse stabbed toward the sky like something out of Hanyang's Gyeongbok Palace. It was amazing that they could build a ten-story structure in the Joseon era. Sure, there was that whole alternate history plausibility thing.
“Impressive, isn't it?”
With nothing to do on the ship but sightsee, I'd been scanning the surroundings. A naval soldier—or rather, what looked like a Gapsa officer—approached me.
“Yeah, it really is.”
I glanced at him as I answered. His face was darkly tanned and wrinkled like a seasoned fisherman's from years at sea. But the scars on his hands and the sharp glint in his eyes screamed soldier.
“Haha, you think so?”
He sidled up like he wanted to chat more, leaning on the railing just like me. Pointing at the lighthouse, he asked, “Do you know who built that?”
“Some person, I guess.”
“Kehhehe. I built it.”
Here to brag, huh. I could tell from his yellow-toothed grin. With nothing better to do, I just listened.
“Building that thing nearly killed me. It's filthy tall, the sea winds are brutal, and the heat... Man, it wasn't fit for humans.”
“Sounds rough.”
“Rough? It was dogshit hard. Dogshit. Hoo, just thinking about it...”
He shook his head like the memory still made him nauseous. Then, like it was perfect timing, he launched into Tsushima stories.
The spot with the lighthouse was Omonpo Fortress, he said. 40 to 50 Joseon troops were stationed there permanently, using Busan-jin and the lighthouse signals to communicate. It wasn't the only lighthouse outpost on Tsushima, either. There was one in the island's heart, Omon—called Izuhara by the locals. That was Omonpo too, but smaller since it was the main hub. Fewer than 40 men garrisoned it, armed only with signal cannons and matchlock rifles.
“Oh, really?”
Small for a central outpost, but they'd get backup from other Tsushima forces if needed.
“Yes, sir. Keep going straight and you'll hit Bijonseung. That's Namdaemajin.”
With 300 Joseon troops total on Tsushima, that meant just over 200 there. Nothing I didn't already know from Busan-jin briefings. I was just killing time, chiming in.
Curiosity struck, so I asked, “How long till we get there?”
“Hour or two, probably.”
An hour or two? Right, the motion sickness meds would wear off soon. I rummaged in the pouch on my chest and fished out a round, hard pill. Not some modern reincarnate brew—just ginger powder bound with honey. No idea why, but it worked great against seasickness. I'd made it here without a single dry heave.
“Urk.”
But damn, the taste. Even with honey, that ginger bite and spice lingered. Still, thanks to it, no puking till Hita-katsu. It was a natural fortress, jutting peninsulas north and south perfect for anchoring. Ships dotted the coast, proving it. Scattered houses suggested locals.
But...
“Why are they like that?”
I asked Yi Gap-dong, the sergeant I'd been bullshitting with. He glanced at the Tsushima locals on the shore I'd pointed out and chuckled.
“All Tsushima folk look like that. Scrawny, starved, pitch-black.”
Speak for yourself, old man. I bit back the retort and eyed the crowd. Just like he said: tiny builds, stick-thin limbs, dark skin, bellies protruding like aliens. Without the beards, you'd mistake the men for pregnant women. And the weirdest part?
“They don't have clothes? Why are they all walking around naked?”
Men wore just fundoshi-like loincloths and ragged vests. Women wrapped a single cloth below the chest, breasts fully exposed.
“Heh. They say it's the heat...”
He trailed off, skipping the rest.
“Ah, got it.”
Then, like he'd just remembered something crucial, Yi Gap-dong added, “Lieutenant, don't go sleeping with those things carelessly.”
“Why would I? I've got a wife at home!”
“Just sayin'. Those things...”
Treating them like objects or beasts, he spilled past incidents. An officer who banged a local girl and lost his dick to curiosity. A soldier forced to marry after her dad showed up with a sword. An old hand beaten half to death for touching a married woman.
By the time he finished, we were nearing the harbor.
“Prepare to dock! Prepare to dock!”
Shouts erupted across the deck, cutting him off. Before rushing off, he hammered it home: “Watch 'em like a hawk when they handle your gear! They steal from officers sometimes!”
“Got it! Thanks! Good luck!”
“Hohoho! First officer to say that to me!”
He grinned like he'd enjoyed the chat and hurried away. I hunkered quietly in a corner to stay out of the way. Soon, the ship tied up at the pier. Sailors secured it, the railing-gate swung open, and a gangplank dropped. The Tsushima crowd swarmed in.
“...!”
Their ragged looks were one thing, but the stench made my nose wrinkle. Not just me—the other officers and troops bound for Namdaemajin grimaced too. These are the ones they messed with? What the hell is wrong with people? A real test of human depravity limits.
Anyway, per Yi Gap-dong's advice, I kept eyes glued to the locals. Especially my bag handler. Weapons like the matchlock rifle and revolver were handled separately by Joseon troops, but my bag held daily supplies for Tsushima life. And more: Mom's personal mi nut powder, my lucky prayer beads and Eori's red hair ribbon, even our daughter's hand- and footprints. Priceless stuff, more than my life.
That's when it happened.
“You filthy cur! How dare you!”
“Kyaak! Aak! Ack!”
Shouts and screams from outside. Keeping my bag guy in sight, I edged to the railing. On the wooden pier, an officer was clubbing a Tsushima man with a stick. The spilled bag contents suggested he'd dropped it.
“You lowly scum! How dare you touch a Joseon officer's belongings!”
Or got caught rifling it. He'll stop soon enough. I turned back to my bag. The guy was just stepping off. I followed, scanning the pier.
“Ack! Kruk! Euk!”
The officer—thirtyish—was still swinging. The local knelt, begging with clasped hands, but no mercy.
“Dare touch my things?! You dog worse than a dog!”
That's a bit much... I believe in clean punishment for mistakes, but not beating till blood flows like that for petty theft.
My bag hit the pier. I approached the officer.
“Hey, maybe ease up?”
“What?”
Mid-swing, he glared, panting. Na Se-hyeong, captain. We'd crossed paths in Busan-jin. Tsushima-bound like me.
“A real lowlife, huh.”
It wasn't a stick—a wooden sword, smeared with the local's blood. He poked my chest with it.
“Birds of a feather, eh? Rushing to your own kind's aid.”
“Not quite, Captain.”
“Hey! Officers end sentences with dana, got it?!”
You didn't learn not to push your luck? Read the room? The locals had been indifferent to one of their own getting hit. But as it dragged on, glares multiplied. Now three or four had stopped work, just watching.
“Captain, lots of eyes on us.”
I nodded around suggestively. “How about we call it?”
Smiling sweetly.
“...Tch!”
Na Se-hyeong finally clocked it and clicked his tongue. He jabbed my chest one last time, then lowered the sword.
“Clean up my mess yourself, you scum.”
Snapped at me and stalked off along the pier. I watched him go, then squatted by the still-seated local.
“Hey.”
Pointing between us, I whispered just for him: “Ppumppai.”
We suffered together—why's the money all yours?
“Heh, hehehe.”
Bloodied mouth split in a pink-toothed grin. He slipped a small silk pouch into my hand. Snatched when Na Se-hyeong glanced my way.
“Hand it over, you thieving bastard. What're you grinning about?”
In scheming Tsushima, the sloppy don't survive. I tucked the pouch into Na Se-hyeong's bag while sorting his stuff. Just in case he bitched I stole it.