Chapter 38
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 38
Chapter Title: A Man with Many Sins (1)
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A week.
Baek Il-yeong, who had finally awakened after a full week, wanted to catch up with everyone, but sadly, he had no choice but to lie down again right after exchanging greetings.
Even setting aside the wound on his arm that had been sliced so deeply the bone was visible, there were plenty of reasons for the pain.
Wearing heavy armor and fighting for hours on the battlefield.
Not just the arm wound, but dozens of cuts all over his body.
And on top of that, lying down for a whole week without a proper meal—just barely managing sips of water and small amounts of porridge.
In a situation where staying unscathed would make him a monster, the people who had come to see Baek Il-yeong were all chased away by the stern orders of the elderly physician.
Of course, Nobunaga herself had been the decisive force in sending them all packing.
"Urgh."
Even as night fell, Baek Il-yeong's condition remained poor.
"Ugh... ugh."
Was it the aftermath of the nightmare?
Or had his body simply not healed yet?
Most likely, it was both combined, given the circumstances.
At least he wasn't having the nightmare again—that was some small comfort.
"...Fuck. I'm dying."
But he couldn't hold back the cursing.
How bad was it? Even the Japanese he consciously stuck to daily came out as Korean.
In other words, he meant it.
His head throbbed, his throat was parched.
The muscle pain tormenting his entire body was beyond imagination, and the biggest wound on his arm... best not to talk about it.
Baek Il-yeong resolved to make real something he'd half-jokingly considered on the battlefield.
'God, Buddha, just let me live. I'll believe in you both equally, fair and square. Please.'
Of course, it was nonsense, but he was in so much pain that he had to spout even that kind of nonsense.
It was one of those moments when modern medicine felt more precious than ever.
But then.
Drip.
Something slightly warm fell gently onto the head of the man who could barely groan through the pain.
"Don't move."
Realizing it was a damp cloth, he cracked his eyes open—and at that moment, a soft voice resonating calmly by his ear made Baek Il-yeong freeze.
A young voice, but stiff and restrained in a way that didn't suit her age.
And a small hand slipping carefully between the cloth and his forehead, testing if it wasn't too hot.
"It's a warmed cloth."
"...Uemon?"
He murmured her name without thinking, and after a brief silence, she slowly withdrew her hand and replied.
"Yes."
Yes. Just that one word.
That single word made Baek Il-yeong burst into involuntary laughter.
He was struck again by how mature she was.
It'd be nice if she had a bit more cuteness to her.
"Urgh."
He forced his heavy eyelids open against the throbbing head and turned his gaze slightly. As expected, there she was, sitting perfectly poised, looking down at him.
Her neat bob haircut, always impeccably tidy as if combed fresh every day.
Clothes fit for a noblewoman of Kyoto.
A perpetually expressionless face, but with the baby fat that betrayed her youth.
Taking in her appearance by the light of the moonlight alone, Baek Il-yeong couldn't help voicing a small concern, wondering if he was overstepping.
"It's the middle of the night."
Even with samurai standing guard, they were only human.
CCTV and sensors malfunctioned sometimes—what about people?
And the one at risk was pure as could be, but she was still his endearing, thoughtful little sister figure. How could he not worry?
Of course, anyone with ill intent would target him or Hirate Masahide over her, but Baek Il-yeong simply fretted over his half-sister from another mother.
In response, Uemon paused for a moment before answering.
"...I trust the samurai of the main house."
Her words would probably boost the fighting spirit of the Hirate family's samurai twofold.
Thinking that, Baek Il-yeong smiled faintly, enduring the warmth enveloping his forehead and propping up his drooping eyelids.
His body felt light and floaty—he was probably drifting off to sleep, so a long talk was out of the question.
Thus, he slowly lifted his immobile arm, placed it over Uemon's hand, and said,
"Thank you."
"......"
For a moment, Uemon's expression wavered slightly.
But the one who caused that ripple, Baek Il-yeong, missed it entirely as he closed his eyes.
"...Mm... yeah."
Breathing easier now, he slowly fell asleep.
Uemon watched him for a moment, then picked up the basket with the reheated cloth and rose quietly. She turned, grasped the door handle, slid it open with a soft rattle, and murmured softly.
"You're welcome."
And with that,
thud—the door closed.
"Hyah!"
Baek Il-yeong stretched lightly as he rose with a refreshed body.
After a good night's sleep, his body felt light as if the fever had never been.
Of course, the arm pain and muscle aches had only subsided a bit, but still—this was something.
"You've improved greatly. Stick to porridge for a while and apply the salve diligently to your wounds, and you'll recover without major aftereffects."
The physician staying at the Hirate residence, hearing he'd woken, came by and smiled in satisfaction.
The old doctor advised him to take care of his sturdy body—blessing of his ancestors, he called it—then promptly packed his things.
Having passed the crisis, he was heading home.
"Thank you for your hard work. The payment..."
"Lord Hirate gave more than enough. And the Lord herself added to it—it's almost too much."
The physician left those words and departed the house. Baek Il-yeong, confined to his room for over a week, stepped outside for some fresh air.
But the first person he encountered wasn't Yoshinari, Nobunaga, or even Shibata Katsuie or Nobuyuki—it was Itsuki.
"Y-Young master!"
Yet the guy's state was a bit off.
Itsuki had been leaning against a tree like someone who'd lost everything, head bowed, but spotting Baek Il-yeong, his eyes welled up and he came running.
"Waaah! Young masteer!"
Judging by the angle and speed of his outstretched arms, Baek Il-yeong instantly knew what he was attempting.
And an instinctive revulsion welled up inside, making him clench his fist lightly.
"Guhk!"
Itsuki, who had lunged for a tight hug, crumpled to the ground from the dull thud to his gut.
"No BL here. My life's a harem story."
Even back in middle and high school, whenever friends tried hugging or getting too touchy, he'd always delivered a justice gut punch.
With girls barely enough to go around, hugging around with other guys? No way.
"Guh... c-can't... breathe."
"Quit whining."
"Yes, sir."
At Baek Il-yeong's words, Itsuki jumped up and brushed the dirt off his clothes.
His brazen attitude drew a chuckle from Baek Il-yeong too.
"Still calling me young master, huh? And using polite speech."
"Gotta. Thanks to you, I even got promoted."
Itsuki grinned as he said it.
His decently handsome face wasn't bad to look at.
But that was it.
A bit better than a roadside pebble, thrill-wise.
"Anyway, status update?"
Baek Il-yeong folded his bandaged arm into a cross over his chest and plopped down on the veranda.
Itsuki, as if expecting the question, answered without hesitation.
"Well, the move to Kiyosu Castle is going smoothly. We won the battle, of course... nothing special. But once winter passes..."
"The real war to decide Owari's master will begin."
"...Yes. Probably."
An unavoidable war.
Thus, Baek Il-yeong's tasks for the coming months were set.
'Gather every resource possible and make sure Nobunaga wins overwhelmingly.'
Butterfly effect? Whatever.
Surviving comes first.
'Gotta upgrade the matchlocks first. The guns themselves, and tactics too. Or maybe introduce future tech...?'
But he shook his head.
No reckless ideas.
Even if, creating out-of-spec tactics or weapons could spawn a second Toyotomi Hideyoshi and really doom Joseon.
'Then history books would call me the first and greatest pro-Japanese collaborator, Baek Il-yeong.'
Hard pass.
This needed more thought, so Baek Il-yeong changed the subject.
"Damage on the Matsudaira side?"
"Not total annihilation, honestly, but pretty heavy. It'll be a burden."
Hearing Itsuki, Baek Il-yeong chewed his lip briefly, then smirked at the obvious ploy.
"Sheesh, even so, checking them that blatantly will stir backlash."
"Right?"
The side hit hardest wasn't the Oda Clan or the Imagawa Clan—it was the Matsudaira Clan.
Meaning the Imagawa were checking not just Oda, but Matsudaira too.
"Not our problem anyway."
Soon enough, that old Imagawa geezer—who couldn't even become a TS—would lose his head to his own hand.
And the young girl he oppressed would grow into a powerhouse.
"Hm."
Saying that, Baek Il-yeong rolled his stiff shoulders and turned his head.
But then.
"Huh?"
Itsuki, turning quicker, let out a dying groan, then naturally stood, dashed to the fence, and vaulted over it in one go.
"W-What?"
Baek Il-yeong was momentarily flustered by the sudden antics.
"Il-yeong!"
But spotting the busty... no, Yoshinari in his view, he understood why Itsuki bolted and turned to the fence.
"Impressive..."
That's the caliber fit to serve at my side.
Decent martial prowess, and such quick instincts to bail.
Was Itsuki actually a ninja?
Musing that, Baek Il-yeong shook his head lightly, stood, and spread his arms toward the rapidly approaching Yoshinari—
"Waaah!"
Yoshinari, eyes teary, dove straight into Baek Il-yeong's solid embrace.
"I-I thought you... hik! D-died...!"
Her neatly coiled gray ponytail looked especially forlorn today.
Baek Il-yeong gently stroked her gray hair, patted the back of Yoshinari—who was sobbing face-first into his chest—and replied.
"I didn't die, Yoshinari."
What could he say.
It felt like he'd become a man burdened with sins.