The Great Dung Porter Uproar
"None! Not a chance in hell!"
Na Dae-yong's booming shout echoed through the inn's backyard.
He kicked at the pile of dirt with his foot, his face twisted in dismay. His worn hat had flipped back, and the hem of his robe was caked in mud long ago. He looked less like a genius engineer and more like a furious farmer fresh from the fields.
"Come on, man. We've got dirt piled up like a mountain here—what do you mean 'none'?"
When I asked, Na Dae-yong thumped his chest in frustration.
"This is just plain dirt! I told you, I need soil loaded with saltpeter— the kind that tingles and tastes salty on your tongue!"
"You tasted it yourself to know if it's salty?"
"You can tell just by looking! This is ordinary yard dirt. Boil this crap and all you'll get is fertilizer. For gunpowder, you need soil aged at least ten years, soaked in piss and ash until it's white and blooming!"
Na Dae-yong was picky. Not just picky—insanely picky. This was the haul the Yiho Army boys had scraped together from every corner of Damyang over the past three days, but to him, it was all "defective goods."
"Ha... this guy's driving me nuts."
I scratched my head.
Na Dae-yong scooped up a handful of dirt and clucked his tongue.
"You gotta harvest the right soil to make the brine, then boil it down for saltpeter. But this stuff's too weak. No matter how long you simmer it, it'll be bland as water. You need to extract the vital essence hidden in the soil—but if there's no essence to begin with, what can you do?"
In short, shitty raw materials meant shitty yields. If Joseon's top gunpowder smith said no dice, then no dice it was.
Seo Baek-seol approached with her ledger in hand.
"What's with the fighting? Running low on dirt already?"
"It's not low—it's all useless," Na Dae-yong said, smacking his lips.
"To get prime saltpeter soil, you gotta go deep into people's homes. The best is under the ondol floors or around the outhouses. But you can't just waltz into someone's bedroom or shithouse and dig— they'd call you a thief."
Fair point. Even if we were heroes who slew a tiger, show up demanding to excavate their toilet floor and we'd get clubbed senseless.
"Choi Ga."
I called, and Choi Ga came running, covered head to toe in dust.
"You rang, boss!"
"Where'd you guys dig up this dirt?"
"Well... we didn't wanna trespass, so mostly roadsides and abandoned houses."
"That's why it's garbage. Hey, we're prepping for war— you think face-saving feeds us?"
I scolded him, and Choi Ga pouted like a wronged kid.
"But boss, get caught digging outhouses and we're pervs! Last time at Kim's barn, I nearly got mauled by their rabid dog."
Tricky situation. We needed gunpowder, the ingredients were buried in folks' most private spots.
Then came murmuring from beyond the gate. Squad Two, back from dirt-hauling with empty frames on their backs. Every face looked like they'd eaten shit.
"Why empty-handed? Slacking off?"
I asked, and Squad Two's leader, Chun-sik, slammed his frame down in fury.
"Boss! Don't even ask! The yamen blocked the roads!"
"The yamen?"
"Yeah! They plastered notices everywhere—no digging even a handful of soil without permission, or it's 'soil erosion treason'!"
"What? Soil erosion treason?"
First I'd heard of such a charge. Creative bullshit not even in 21st-century Korea's real estate laws.
"Something about digging away the nation's land... Runners are patrolling alleys, watching for diggers."
Aha. I got it.
Damyang's magistrate. The fatass I'd humiliated by smashing his stone pagoda and basically strong-arming his permit a few days back.
Couldn't touch us directly, so petty revenge: approve gunpowder production but choke the supply. Cute plan, you sour prick.
God, I miss that magistrate. Wanna tenderize that doughy flesh...
Seo Baek-seol let out a disbelieving chuckle.
"Wow... petty as hell. Sucking flea livers? Charging tax for a bit of dirt?"
"No tax talk?"
"A guk of rice per frame-load. 'Excavation tax' or whatever."
Crazy bastards. Dirt costing rice prices? That's a straight-up ban.
Na Dae-yong stroked his beard gravely.
"This is bad. No dirt, no gunpowder. Magistrate's dead set on sabotage—no easy fix."
The Yiho Army muttered nervously, cowed by yamen eyes.
I crossed my arms, pacing the yard.
Magistrate's play was obvious: bind our hands with "legitimacy." Grand excuse of national soil preservation—folks wouldn't dare complain. Plus runners enforcing it physically. Brute force breakout? Risky.
So counter with legitimacy. Something the yamen couldn't touch, villagers would cheer, and we'd haul dirt naturally.
Outhouse soil's the best, right?
Outhouses. Joseon toilets were pit-style. Shit and piss pile up till emptied. Stinky, filthy, hassle—everyone hates it.
Sudden spark: a flyer from my past life. "We unclog and clean septic tanks—specialists."
I stopped. Grinned ear to ear.
"Got a way."
"Huh? What way? Storm the yamen again?"
Seo Baek-seol eyed me warily.
"Nah. This time, pure peace, humanitarian public service."
I called Choi Ga.
"Yo, Choi Ga."
"Yes, boss!"
"You ever hauled dung frames?"
"......Pardon?"
Choi Ga's face crumpled. Bad vibes.
"Spread the word in the village. From today, Yiho Army cleans every outhouse in town—for free."
"Fr... free?"
"Yeah. Emptying shit's a pain. Stinks. Our strapping lads do it instead—who'd say no?"
"B-but boss! We're Yiho Army, tiger slayers—not dung haulers!"
Choi Ga protested, face fallen. Expected cool martial arts, not shit-shoveling. Pride stung fair.
I got serious.
"What's our mission? Protect country, people—right? Folks suffer shit piles—ignore that? Real men?"
"Well, yeah, but..."
"And to empty, you scrape the floor clean. Old caked soil too. Basic cleaning, no?"
Na Dae-yong's eyes lit up.
"Oh! Yes! Outhouse floor crust—that's prime saltpeter bed!"
"Hear that? Not hauling shit—we're securing strategic materials. Cover: 'village beautification.'"
Yamen cries soil treason? We're cleaning. Who gripes about free shit removal? Do that, and overflowing-toilet housewives'd lynch the magistrate.
"Grab frames. And dung tubs."
I clapped.
"Op name change, effective now. 'Operation: Endless Clean Sweep.' Execute!"
Hell march began.
Thirty Yiho troops entered village, frames loaded with tubs. Grim faces, but bodies already reeking—or so it seemed.
"Anyone home? Free outhouse cleaning! No charge!"
Choi Ga bellowed at gates, voice cracking tearfully.
Skeptical villagers, hearing "free" and seeing buff youths with tubs, flung doors wide.
"Aigoo, what's this? Deok-ryeong's lads hauling our shit?"
"Whoa, thanks! Old man's back hurts—tub was overflowing."
Housewives brought water, welcoming.
Yiho boys entered outhouses weeping mustard-style.
"Ugh... the stench..."
"Hold breath! Breathe through mouth!"
Pit-toilet reek defied imagination. But "no dinner" threat loomed—they grabbed shovels.
Scoop, scoop. After shit-piss, black crusty floor soil emerged.
"Here! Dig this dirt!"
Like treasure hunters, they scraped it up. Nitrate-packed, Na Dae-yong's dream Grade-A saltpeter soil.
Then patrol runners rushed in.
"You lot! What the hell?"
Constable pinched nose, yelling.
"No digging! Stop now!"
Choi Ga emerged mid-job, shit-smeared shovel in hand.
"Sir, not digging—we're emptying shit."
"Shit?"
"Yes. Granny lives alone, tub overflowing—so we're volunteering. Crime?"
"W-well, no, but... what's in the frame?"
"Shit-soiled dirt. Stinks, so scraping clean. Sir wanna check?"
Choi Ga shoved tub at constable's nose.
"Urk! G-get that away! Stinks!"
Constable recoiled in horror.
"So we good to keep going? Or sir empties it?"
"C-crazy fucks... get shit poisoning!"
Runners spat and fled. No guts to sift shit for dirt.
Op success.
Word spread like fire. Kim Deok-ryeong and Yiho Army handling village dirty work—burnished into feel-good tale(?).
"Deok-ryeong's the man. Not just strong—heart too."
"Yamen just squeezes taxes; Deok-ryeong's crew hauls shit."
Hearts swung our way. Magistrate's dig-ban? Useless against "cleaning."
Sunset. Inn yard piled with dirt again. Riper stench, but Na Dae-yong beamed.
"Hahaha! This! Perfect!"
He sniffed a handful (tough stomach, that guy), licked tip. (Urp.)
"Salty zing—saltpeter bursting! This'll make top-grade powder!"
"Then let's roll."
I pinched nose.
"Can't eat with this stink. Boil quick, air it out."
Fires roared anew. Proper process: dissolve dirt in water, mix ash, filter impurities. Days of boil-cool cycles left white crystals at pot bottom.
Saltpeter. Gunpowder's heart.
"Success!"
Na Dae-yong clutched white powder, voice trembling.
"Just mix with sulfur and charcoal."
Man... your mouth... reeks of shit. For real... urp.
We moved to secluded rear-mountain clearing. First test.
Na Dae-yong carefully mixed black powder, packed bamboo tube, lit fuse.
Sssst—
Fuse burned in. We hid behind rock, holding breath.
"It'll blow?"
Seo Baek-seol plugged ears.
"Has to. Look at that."
I swallowed hard.
Fuse vanished inside. One second, two, three.
BOOM!!
Ear-shattering roar shook the mountain. Flash blinded; rock under tube shattered to dust. Thick white smoke billowed.
"......!!"
Insane power. Unbelievable for Joseon powder. Na Dae-yong's craft, my future YouTube know-how (powder granulation), dung-hauled saltpeter crystals.
"Woooah!"
Yiho Army cheered wild. Na Dae-yong collapsed sobbing. Lifetime grudge lifted.
Seo Baek-seol stared at rubble, muttering.
"That's... all money."
"Money, yeah. Expensive, powerful money."
"Ha... ha... money blown away? Haha..." Staggering her.
I clenched fist at rising smoke.
This wasn't mere blast. In coming war, it'd be wako screams, Joseon's guardian roar.
"Dear magistrate."
I grinned toward yamen.
"Sorry for the shit-stink waft, but thanks—we got a weapon to save the nation."
The Great Dung Porter Uproar. Yiho Army's first step to true firepower.