Taming the Magistrate

"Raaah!"

The roars of the Ikho Army lads still rang in his ears. Crumbled walls and splintered firewood stacks. Rising triumphantly from the wreckage stood the black steel monster, the Hyunmu.

The test run had been a success. No, it was beyond success—it was a shockwave. The villagers, stunned that a man had pushed a chunk of metal too heavy for oxen and smashed through a wall, now treated him like a demigod.

"Boss! At this rate, we'll punch right through the Japanese castle walls!"

Choi Ga spat in excitement, flecks of saliva flying.

"Yeah. We'll smash 'em. The problem is..."

He rubbed his throbbing thigh.

"Fuel efficiency sucks."

One push had burned through him; it'd take five bowls of rice to recover. And solo, it was a one-man tank. He needed more 'engines' to rotate shifts. Time to bulk up the Ikho Army boys even more.

That's when Seo Baek-seol approached, her face grim.

"Boss. A word?"

Her title had shifted. She usually called him 'you' or 'Kim Deok-ryeong,' but when shit hit the fan, it was always 'Boss.'

"What's up? Trouble?"

"Just got word from our intel guy..."

She ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠glanced around, lowering her voice.

"The magistrate sent up a report."

"A report? What kind?"

"Addressed to the Jeolla Governor. Content... 'Kim Deok-ryeong of Damyang is mustering private troops and forging weapons to plot rebellion.'"

The air turned ice-cold in an instant.

Rebellion. The heaviest word in Joseon. Worlds apart from murder or robbery. Get caught, and it was dismemberment for you, extermination for three generations of family ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and kin.

"That rat of a magistrate..." Ah... Hyeon-gam. Wanna shoot a 'I'm coming for you now' movie?

He smirked. Seo Baek-seol smacked his arm.

"You laughing right now? Once that hits the governor's office, regular troops swarm us! We're dead meat!"

Her hand trembled. A merchant who'd weathered countless crises, but rebellion shook even her cool.

"Calm down. When'd the report leave?"

"Dawn today. On a relay horse."

"Hm... fast."

He stroked his chin.

He'd thought the stunts had cowed him into submission, but the bastard had been scheming behind the scenes. Figures—corrupt officials gonna corrupt. My growing power spooked him. Best to crush what you can't control.

"What now? Pack and bolt? Or load up bribes and beg the governor?"

Seo Baek-seol paced anxiously.

"Bolt why? We did nothing wrong."

He stood.

"And bribes are too pricey."

"Then what? We can't just sit and die!"

"Who's dying?"

He grabbed the six-sided club propped in the yard corner. Hand-carved by him from sturdy oak, it fit like a glove—heavy and sure.

Suddenly, the plain surface looked dull. He called to Mi-ryeong passing by.

"Mi-ryeong! C'mere."

"Yes, Uncle! What's up?"

She dropped her task and trotted over.

"You write well, right? Scribble a few characters here."

"On the club? What phrase..."

He grinned.

"'The unrefined can be hammered true.' Make it fancy—classical Chinese."

Mi-ryeong tilted her head, grinding ink and taking brush.

"Hm... Misuk Gadan fits."

Her tiny hand flowed across the handle in swift strokes.

Misuk Gadan. The unripe can be tempered by hammering. Perfect meaning, punchy sound.

"Nice work."

He drew his dagger, carving deep along the ink lines. Wood shavings flew crisply.

"Perfect. From now on, you're 'Misuk-i.'"

He caressed the rough new surface of Misuk-i, picturing the magistrate's face soon to come. Oily sheen, doughy flesh. That under-kneaded belly—pound it tender with Misuk-i, and it'd grill up juicy.

"Boss... your eyes are terrifying."

Choi Ga shuddered beside him.

"Why? Just heading out for a workout."

He slung Misuk-i over his shoulder.

"Wrong report went up? Gotta tell the approver to fix it. In person."

"Approver? To the Jeolla Governor?"

"Nah. The drafter."

He eyed the magistrate's office. Sun dipping low.

"Seo, hold dinner. Gonna be late."

"Where to?"

"Chat with His Excellency the Magistrate. Deep talk this time."

He strode out without looking back.

A sigh from Seo Baek-seol trailed him, but his steps didn't falter.

Night deepened. Damyang's yamen lay silent. Two runners dozed at the main gate.

He skipped the front. Last time, guest. Tonight, debt collector—no need for courtesy.

Over the wall. Over two meters, but a light leap, hand on top, vaulted silent as a cat.

To the inner quarters where the magistrate bunked. Most rooms dark, but faint light leaked from the receiving chamber.

Voices drifted close.

"Heh heh... Few more days, that bastard's done."

Magistrate's voice, slurred with booze.

"Sir, you sure? That guy's freakishly strong..."

Ibang's sleazy whine.

"Don't sweat it! Governor sends a suppression squad, he's a rat in a trap. Gunpowder, tanks—whatever. Hundreds of troops with matchlocks surrounding him? He lasts how long?"

"True, but..."

"This time, seize his wealth. That brazen bitch... Seo Baek-seol? Make her a camp whore, fuck her to death. Dares rip my permit?"

Crack.

His fist clenched. Confiscate wealth? Fine. Touch Seo Baek-seol? Hunt my life?

This prick crossed the line hard.

No more listening. He stepped to the door.

"Wh-who's there!"

Ibang spotted the shadow, yelped.

No words. Just a kick.

Crunch!

Door exploded inward.

"Agh!"

Ibang screamed under the shards. Magistrate, holding a tray, toppled back in terror.

"Y-you...!"

Magistrate's eyes bulged, booze evaporating.

He stepped over the door, tapping Misuk-i on his shoulder.

"Your Excellency. Sorry for the late hour. Typo in the approval docs."

"K-Kim Deok-ryeong! You dare invade here!"

"Dare? You said I could come and go like my own bedroom."

He advanced. Magistrate scooted back on his ass, hit the wall.

"H-hey! Guards! Anyone! Assassins!"

The magistrate bellowed.

"Useless. No one's out there."

Knocked out the sentries en route. Quick and quiet.

"Now, quiet chat."

He grabbed the collar. Silky robe hid quivering flab.

"Let go! You wanna die mad? Rebellion plus yamen raid!"

"Rebellion? I'm prepping to defend the country. You misunderstood, so I came to clear it."

He hoisted the man up.

"Words ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ain't sinking in, so tonight? Body lesson."

Yeeted him onto the wardrobe in the corner.

Crash!

"Gah!"

Magistrate slammed the top, tumbled down. Priceless porcelain shattered.

"Sp-spare me..."

"Haven't started."

Grabbed an ankle, flipped him upside down. Robe flapped, exposing pale underpants. Gross.

"Your Excellency. Wrote the report?"

"N-no! What're you saying!"

"Lie, and drop."

Swung him like a propeller.

"Waaah! Dizzy! Mercy!"

Human windmill. Magistrate's screams echoed. Ibang played dead under the door.

"I did! Mercy!"

He stopped, plopped him down. Magistrate reeled, dry-heaved, eyes spinning.

"Sent the relay horse?"

"Y-yes... dawn today..."

Seo Baek-seol's intel checked out.

"Where's the horse now?"

"By now... Jeong-eup maybe..."

"Got it. Gotta snag it."

Grabbed the collar again.

"You. Pen."

"Wh-why pen..."

"Rewrite. Correction."

Spread paper on the desk. Ground ink, ever polite.

"Write: 'To the Jeolla Governor, sire. Previous report was my error—false intel. Kim Deok-ryeong is no rebel, but loyal captain of the local defense force.'"

Magistrate's hand shook.

"Th-they won't buy this..."

"Make 'em. Your job. Or..."

Club down on desk.

Snap!

Thick wood split in two.

"Next: your spine. Clear?"

"I-I'll write! Writing!"

Magistrate scrawled madly. Wormy script, but content solid. Added yamen supplies for Ikho Army.

"Done..."

Handed the paper. He scanned, nodded.

"Seal it."

Thud.

Official stamp.

"Good. I'll deliver to the governor myself. You? When relay returns, act normal. Got it?"

"Y-yes..."

"And from now on."

Stared into his eyes.

"Open the yamen warehouse. Need iron and powder for training the boys."

"Th-that depletes the treasury..." Ah... time to tenderize.

"Know what Misuk-i is?"

Sudden question; magistrate blinked.

"M-Misuk-i? No..."

"Yeah. First time. Meet Misuk-i."

Pulled the club, letters clear.

"Misuk-i hates injustice—fiery temper."

Held it to his ear, pretending chat. Stroked gently.

"Huh? What, Misuk-i? Oh, wanna pound that jiggly flab into mince? Hold on."

Grinned at the magistrate.

"Your Excellency. Chat with Misuk-i? Your call."

Magistrate's face ashen. Psycho. Real deal. 'Talk' to that club? Meat paste.

"O-open! Opening! Take it all! Hide that thing!"

Clutched his head, screaming.

Perfect surrender. Fear outpaces reason, crushes conviction—especially for those with much to lose.

Pity, but satisfying. He patted the magistrate's shoulder.

"Shoulda started there. Get along from now on, Excellency."

Kicked Ibang's ass—'fainted' no more.

"Up. Before I roll out the mat."

Ibang sprang up.

"Aigoo! Boss! I just followed orders!"

"Know. You're quick—serve him right. Watch for funny business. Caught again? You first with Misuk-i."

"Eek! Got it!"

Situation squared.

Tucked the letter away. Relay gone, but he'd intercept, swap it. Or meet the governor direct.

No matter. Yamen now in his grip.

"Rest up. Send smith tomorrow for the door."

Whistled out.

Night air crisp. Stars poured from the sky.

Tonight, no mere warrior—politician. Bloodless takeover (magistrate bled a bit). Ikho Army: no rogue band, but official-backed militia.

"Baek-seol, rice time. Hubby—er, Boss—coming home."

Steps light. Warm meal, waiting comrades. Tomorrow, bigger plays.

Couldn't get better.

Toyotomi Hideyoshi. What're you doing? I'm prepping the thunderbolt for your skulls.

Expect it. Joseon's counterstrike? Scorching.