Chapter 9
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Saru (Monkey)
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Baek Il-yeong, following Hirate Masahide into the castle where Nobunaga resided, couldn't help but be struck anew with wonder.
'So this is what it feels like.'
For Il-yeong, who had only ever seen Joseon's castles over and over, this was a fresh sensation. Of course, being from the same East Asian sphere—and one with a history of active exchange—it wasn't an entirely alien style.
What to call it? Plain yet ornate, perhaps.
To him, who had never visited Japan in his modern life, it was quite the novel sight.
But that wonder didn't last long.
After passing through the castle gates and entering the building where Oda Nobunaga stayed, the samurai immediately bowed toward Hirate.
"Chief Advisor, we greet Lord Hirate."
"Yes. Is the Daimyo inside?"
"As always, she's alone on the top floor. However..."
At that moment, the samurai scanned Il-yeong's attire and looked at Masahide with eyes tinged with doubt. Masahide replied flatly.
"No need to worry. He's just with me because I have business with the Daimyo."
"Understood."
Of course, the samurai was tempted to ask what business someone barely qualifying as a low-rank samurai could possibly have with the Daimyo. But his counterpart was Hirate Masahide, a senior retainer of the clan and the current Daimyo's guardian. Rather than sate his curiosity, the samurai chose silence.
"Then, I'll leave you to it."
Masahide, deeming the samurai's attitude wise, gave his shoulder a light pat and led Il-yeong deeper into the hall.
Meanwhile, having observed the entire exchange, Il-yeong couldn't help but flash a wry smile as he thought to himself.
'...I really do need to get promoted soon. Damn.'
In truth, though outwardly called a low-rank samurai, his status was ambiguous at best.
Samurai ranks varied but were broadly divided into six levels, in descending order:
1. Shogun
2. Daimyo
3. Hatamoto
4. Gokenin
5. Ashigaru
6. Conscripts
His current position fell somewhere between ashigaru and gokenin.
This made sense. Thanks to the swordsmanship lingering in the body of the original 'Baek Il-yeong' from Joseon, his skills were strong enough that assigning him a spear among peasant ashigaru felt off. Yet formally employing him came with too many complications.
Thus, he lived as a sort of hired hand, paid wages rather than granted fiefs in koku.
'Naturally, my appearance is... pretty shabby.'
The katana at his waist looked worn at a glance. No one knew why a warrior from Joseon wielded one, but he must have bought it in a rush after losing his original sword. His clothes hung loose like those of a vagrant.
So it wasn't all that strange for the samurai at the entrance to harbor brief doubts about him.
As Il-yeong mulled this over, they climbed several flights of stairs, passed down corridors, and finally reached the top floor. A samurai wearing a demon-faced mask stood before the door and spoke in a dry tone.
"My lady. The Chief Advisor has arrived."
A brief silence fell.
Then, a woman's low voice echoed softly.
"I see."
"Cough."
Hearing her response, Il-yeong involuntarily let out a startled cough. It was just that those words were Oda Nobunaga's signature phrase from the histories.
'I never thought I'd actually hear it...'
Of course, it differed from the history books in that it came in a pleasant woman's voice rather than that of a hairy, half-mad man.
"Let them enter."
"Yes."
With her permission granted, the samurai stepped aside with proper bows. Maidservants soon appeared to slide open the door. Seeing this, Masahide glanced back at Il-yeong and said,
"Come in."
"Yes."
Truly befitting the Daimyo's quarters, the high-quality tatami yielded softly underfoot. Raising his head, Il-yeong's eyes fell upon her face—the one he'd last glimpsed at the temple.
Her glossy black bob swayed just touching her trapezius, and within those subtle golden eyes lurked a strange desire defying easy definition.
Her haori, draped even lower than at the funeral, nearly bared her upper body. This accentuated the swell of her ample bosom, wrapped crudely in bandages, gently bouncing with her movements.
Between the folds of her haori peeked smooth, resilient thighs, bathed in soft sunlight from the window, ripe and luscious as fresh fruit.
Her waist, of course, was still bound by rope and flint instead of a proper obi.
Yet while her beauty captivated Il-yeong, it was the room's contents that truly seized his gaze.
'Globe, clock, world map—I expected those... but a velvet Western uniform and full plate armor? She's gone all out.'
The space brimmed with advanced curiosities that made it hard to believe this was a Sengoku Daimyo's residence.
The left wall displayed her prized collection of famed swords, flanked by matchlock rifles of varying designs. All manner of Western oddities emanated an exotic aura at a glance.
'No wonder she nearly unified the land.'
After all, wasn't Oda Nobunaga the first to fully grasp the potential of matchlocks? As Il-yeong bowed and scanned the room, Nobunaga spoke.
"This must be the Joseon ronin the Advisor mentioned."
"Yes. That's right. However..."
"Enough."
Nobunaga ruthlessly cut off Masahide's attempt to elaborate and rose, walking toward him.
Her full, moist red lips parted, and her enchanting voice pierced Il-yeong's ears once more.
"You're the one who prophesied that Shiba's fool would betray me?"
At the same time, her slender white ankle entered his view. Seeing her prominent peach bone tinged pink, Il-yeong couldn't help but think,
'How are even her feet so pretty?'
But that thought was fleeting.
Realizing her question belatedly, Il-yeong replied softly.
"Not a prophecy—a deduction. Though I didn't expect it to happen so quickly."
For an instant, a glint flashed in Oda Nobunaga's eyes.
"On what basis?"
Basis.
There was none to begin with. He'd merely fitted known historical facts. Unable to say that, he offered his prepared answer.
"Joseon people who know the Three Kingdoms history lament Goguryeo's lost vast territories. How many would abandon the power and prestige from a mere twenty years ago—less than a century?"
"Hahaha!"
His words were utterly abstract, yet paradoxically captured the desires of Oda Nobutomo, head of the main Oda branch, perfectly.
Thus, Oda Nobunaga asked him,
"Then shouldn't the Shiba clan hold a grudge against me too? Why send me a letter denouncing my own kin's treason?"
Masahide, watching Il-yeong's back, shared the same curiosity at her question.
"Simple."
But Il-yeong, having anticipated it, answered without hesitation.
"The Shiba clan has lost all its former glory. Even aiding a rebellion in that state, they couldn't claim great merit—it's obvious. Even if the previous Daimyo sparked their downfall, to regain power, they need something more solid, don't they?"
"So you're saying..."
"Yes. If I may give an example..."
Il-yeong slowly raised his bowed head, meeting her deep golden gaze as she looked down at him. With a lifted corner of his mouth, he replied,
"Something like informing the current power holder of the rebellion in advance."
"Kuk... kuku."
Suddenly, Nobunaga halted the conversation and reached for Il-yeong's chin.
"Wha...?"
Grasping his chin, she locked eyes with his startled black ones and spoke to Hirate Masahide behind him.
"Uncle. Where did you find such a cute little saru?"
"...Uh, well."
Suddenly drawn close enough to feel her breath, Il-yeong poured all his effort into calming the junior stirring to life amid her sweet scent wafting right before his nose.