Uninvited Guest
"Get out of the way! Official government supplies coming through!"
The inn was already bustling early in the morning. I yawned my way out into the courtyard, but the sight before me snapped me wide awake.
Five oxcarts. Piled high with rice sacks, iron ingots, and crates of sulfur.
The constables who'd brought the carts looked like they'd just bitten into shit, but to me, they might as well have been Santa's gift bags.
"What the hell is all this?"
Seo Baek-seol rubbed her eyes as she came out, her mouth falling open.
"What else? Sponsorship from the county magistrate."
I approached the lead constable at the front cart—the same guy who'd been shaking like a leaf in front of me last night.
"Thanks for your hard work. How's the magistrate doing?"
"...Fine. Thanks to you."
He avoided my eyes, his voice a mumble.
"These are special gifts from the magistrate for local defense. Use them... well."
"Aigoo, thank you so much. We'll definitely use them to protect the country. Long live the magistrate!"
I shouted it loud for effect, and the villagers watching started murmuring.
"Hear that? The magistrate sent supplies to Deok-ryeong."
"Even the government recognizes him? Deok-ryeong's no ordinary guy."
"Damn right. Just look at that thing—ain't no normal cart."
Public opinion secured. No more bullshit about rebellion or treason. If the magistrate himself sent supplies and I was a traitor, he'd be an accomplice.
"Hey, boys! Unload the carts!"
"Wooo!"
The Yiho Army guys charged in, thrilled. Their shoulders bulged as they hauled rice sacks, energized by the promise of full bellies for training.
Choi Ga hoisted two sacks effortlessly and yelled,
"Boss! Meat for dinner again tonight?"
"Meat? With this much rice? Nah, let's make rice cakes and brew some booze too!"
"Long live the boss!"
The inn courtyard turned into a festival. In one corner, the forge roared; in another, women washed rice; elsewhere, the sound of mixing gunpowder echoed.
Vitality. That was national power—and combat strength.
Na Dae-yong cracked open a crate of iron and whistled.
"Well, damn... top-quality wrought iron. The county's been hoarding the good stuff in their warehouses."
"Melt it all down and plate the Hyunmu. Could use thicker armor."
"You got it. I've been thinking the plating was a bit thin. And..."
Na Dae-yong lowered his voice.
"About the cannons. To cast the sage cannons on the Hyunmu's head, we need copper, but it's all iron here."
"Copper?"
Shit. Cannons explode if made from iron—gotta be bronze (copper plus tin). Iron's cheap and plentiful; copper's rare.
"Don't worry. I'll round up some brassware."
"Haha, stealing the people's rice bowls?"
"Steal? Nah, donations. Double payback after the war."
I mapped out the next plan in my head. Resources gathered—time to explode our tech level.
By afternoon, work ramped up.
I switched to 'human hydraulic press' mode and hammered away.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Each swing purged impurities and densified the metal. Na Dae-yong took my flattened plates, riveted them onto the Hyunmu's shell, and nailed them down.
The Hyunmu grew fiercer by the day. Started as a basic iron-plated cart; now it had real tank vibes. Spikes bristled like a porcupine, and the front ram was shaped like a goblin baring its fangs.
"Uncle, have some water."
Mi-ryeong brought a ladleful.
"Thanks."
I chugged it down, and she dabbed sweat from my forehead with a towel—her touch light as a fern frond.
"Rest if you're tired. Want me to fan you?"
"Nah, I'm good. Gotta work."
"Still... your forearms are so hard."
She poked my forearm curiously—or was it worry?
"Hey! You fall off or what?"
Seo Baek-seol appeared out of nowhere, grabbing Mi-ryeong by the scruff.
"You finish the ledgers? Told you no dinner if the rice sacks don't tally!"
"I did! It's break time!"
"Break time and you're cozying up to someone else's man—er, the boss? Go shell some beans!"
"Tch, Manager's such a greedy hag."
Mi-ryeong pouted and scampered off. Seo Baek-seol huffed and glared at me.
"You too. Cut her off clean if she gets like that—don't grin like an idiot."
"When did I grin? She brought water, I drank it."
"Whatever. Here."
She shoved something into my hand: two boiled eggs.
"For nutrition. Best for hard labor."
She grumbled and spun away, ears red.
I peeled and ate the eggs, chuckling. Peaceful. Wish these little everyday moments could last.
But I knew better. This peace was on borrowed time. Across the sea, they were sharpening blades already.
Still...
Something's off.
Chewing an egg, I scanned the yard. A weird unease hit me.
Beyond the inn fence, spectators gathered. Normal for villagers gawking at the Hyunmu. But one guy mixed in...
Worn hemp clothes, peddler's pack. Ordinary. Too ordinary—stood out.
His gaze. Not the wide-eyed "wow, cool" of the crowd.
Scan. He eyed the Hyunmu's wheel axles. Cover seams, spike layout, even Na Dae-yong's gunpowder vat—methodical sweep.
Not idle curiosity. Expert eyes probing structure, hunting weak points.
Who the hell are you?
I played dumb, kept hammering.
Bam!
Side-eyeing him. He watched a bit longer, then slipped into the crowd. His steps... not stomping earth, gliding like a shadow step.
No Joseon peddler walks like that.
"Choi Ga."
I called low; he hustled over.
"Yeah, boss?"
"See that peddler heading out? Brown headscarf."
"Yep."
"Tail him. Don't get spotted. Just find where he holes up, who he meets."
"Got it. Quiet as a ghost."
Choi Ga grabbed his sickle and shadowed him.
But my gut said: Choi Ga might lose him—or worse. The guy's aura wasn't ordinary.
Killing intent. Refined, razor-sharp—not like the Black Mountain Bandit chief's crude vibe. Faint, but lethal.
"Na Dae-yong, hyung. Pause work."
"Why? I'm in the zone."
"Feels like we have a guest. Uninvited."
I set down the hammer, grabbed my six-foot club 'Misoogi'.
"Be back soon. Lock it down tight."
I slipped out the back—not Choi Ga's path, but a shortcut to where the guy might head.
Out of Damyang town, up the trail to Chuwolsan. Remote, low traffic. A spy would pick a mountain hideout over a crowded tavern.
I climbed a tree, held my breath. Ten minutes later...
Crunch, crunch.
Leaf steps. The peddler, scouting warily, climbing fast. No sign of Choi Ga tailing.
Shit.
I dropped down.
Thud!
Blocked his path.
"Where you off to, sir? Gotta inspect the goods first."
He halted. No surprise—just cool appraisal.
"Step aside. I'm busy."
Clumsy speech. Rough Joseon tongue, faking Jeolla dialect—but off, unnatural.
"Busy? You toured the inn plenty. Pay the admission first."
I slapped Misoogi into my palm.
"And where's my man?"
His eyes narrowed.
"Your man? Oh, that rat?"
He pulled something from his pack and tossed it: bloodied rag. Choi Ga's headscarf.
"Don't worry. Not dead. Just napping."
My eyebrow twitched. Touched Choi Ga?
"You're no Joseon man."
I said it firm.
"Your speech reeks—smells like you crossed the sea."
His lip curled slyly.
"Sharp for a country hick peddler."
He shed the pack, drew a weapon. Not a Joseon sword. Short, curved blade gleaming blue.
Japanese wakizashi.
"On orders to prune Joseon's hidden buds before the great undertaking. Heard about some lunatic barehanding tigers in the sticks, so I checked... rumors true."
He assumed stance: low center, blade by face. Classic pirate sword form.
"What's your name?"
"No need. You're dead anyway."
Whoosh!
Vanished mid-sentence. Vision blurred—not smoke, pure speed blurring sight. Shadow step.
Fast.
Leagues beyond Black Mountain chief. Stealthy approach, killing intent masked.
Shing!
Wind sliced behind. I twisted reflexively.
Slice.
Collar nicked. Millisecond slower, neck gone.
"Hoh, dodged that?"
Voice from left.
I swung the club.
Whoosh!
Cleaved air. He'd dropped low, diving between my legs.
Ninja.
No regular samurai. Intel and assassination specialist.
His blade targeted my Achilles.
I didn't dodge. Dodging plays his game. Can't match speed. My edge: durability.
Clang!
Blade hit ankle. No crack—clear ring of metal.
"...?"
He froze. Blade rebounded; his wrist stung.
"What the hell's your body?"
"Solid bone."
I reached for his hair. He backflipped away in panic.
"Armored like iron. That tank yours too?"
"Chatty. Where'd you learn Joseon? Language school?"
I rolled shoulders.
"But you know—skill's useless against a weight-class bully."
"Arrogant bastard!"
He flung star-shaped iron from his sleeve. Shuriken.
Shoo! Shoo! Shoo!
Three aimed at eyes and throat.
I raised arm to shield face.
Cling! Cling! Thunk!
Two ricocheted; one stuck in sleeve. Stung, but no pierce.
"Save the toys for home."
I stomped ground.
Boom!
Closed gap instantly. He panicked, slashed wild—I ignored trajectory, rammed with body.
Iron Mountain Charge.
"Guhk!"
Shoulder to chest. Bones crunched. He flew like paper, slammed tree.
Crack!
Tree snapped; he tumbled.
"Cough...!"
Blood from mouth, he tried rising. Tough. Grabbed dirt to crawl despite breaks.
"Where?"
I stomped ankle.
Crunch.
"Aaaagh!"
Scream echoed woods.
"Question."
I loomed over.
"You alone?"
"..."
Silent glare. Trained spy eyes.
"Not talking? Break the other leg?"
I pressed; he groaned.
"Nngh... Toyotomi's army... coming soon... you're all dead..."
"Soon? When?"
"Cherry blossoms... wilt..."
Cherry wilt: lunar April.
Matched history. 1592 April. Imjin War erupts.
Chills. Book history now real blade at my throat.
"Thanks for the info."
I raised Misoogi.
"Safe trip. Say hi to King Yama in hell."
Thwack!
Club to occiput. Not dead—KO'd. Can't hand to magistrate. Interrogate myself, extract more. Use as example like bandit chief.
Hoisted him like rice sack.
"Gotta find Choi Ga."
Luckily, groans deeper in woods. Found him tied to tree, KO'd—lump on head from blow. Alive.
"Wake up, punk. Time to earn your keep."
I roused and supported him downhill.
Moon hid behind clouds.
Heart heavy. This catch was just the start. Scout means main force prepping landing.
No time. Prepare faster, stronger.
Inn lights appeared. To guard that peaceful glow, I'd become the monster.
"Seo Baek-seol, Na Dae-yong hyung. Prep for overtime."
I gritted teeth.