Interrogation and Resolve
With a sharp hiss, cold water splashed over him, and the man gasped roughly, his eyes snapping open.
This was the rice storehouse in the back yard of the Damyang inn. They'd cleared out all the rice sacks to turn it into a makeshift interrogation room. In the center sat a lone chair with the man bound tightly to it—the same ninja bastard who'd been flitting around the woods earlier.
"Feeling better?"
I dragged a chair over and sat right in front of his nose. In my hand was the deer-antler club 'Misook'.
The moment his eyes opened, he frantically scanned his surroundings, trying to grasp the situation. But it was useless. His hands and feet were bound tight with rope, and a gag stuffed his mouth.
"Mmph! Mmmph!"
He thrashed wildly, but the chair was nailed to the floor and didn't budge an inch.
"Quiet down. The walls here aren't soundproof."
I removed the gag from his mouth.
"Ptoo! Cowardly bastard! Treating a warrior like this!"
The second it came out, venom spewed from him. His Joseon speech was clumsy, but his curses were spot-on.
"Warrior? You sneaky backstabbers aren't warriors. You're just spies."
I tapped his shoulder lightly with Misook.
"Anyway, no time to waste. Let's get to it. What's your name?"
"......Kill me."
He turned his head away. Classic routine. Trained spies don't crack easy. Even under torture, they bite their tongues and die.
But I had no intention of torturing him. What scared people more than pain was giving them hope... then yanking it away.
"You want death? Fine, I'll kill you. But not cleanly."
I leaned in close to his ear and whispered.
"I'll chop your corpse into bits and mix it into the pig slop. You'll turn into pig shit and get spread as fertilizer across Joseon soil. Isn't that the most despised end for you samurai? No honor, nothing."
His eyes flickered. For samurai—or ninjas—uncertain death was worse than dying. The horror of their soul being trapped, mingled with filthy earth, unable to return home.
"But."
I changed my tone.
"Cooperate, and I might let you live. When the war ends, I'll put you on a ship back home."
"Lies! Spies are never spared!"
"I'm no government soldier. I'm a merchant. Merchants deal even with enemies if there's profit. Give me info, get your life. Fair trade, right?"
He wavered. Teetering between death and life.
"When's Toyotomi crossing over?"
"......When the cherry blossoms fall."
"April, then. Where?"
"Busanpo. Closest, weakest defenses."
Matched history. April 13, 1592. Fall of Busanjin.
"Troop numbers?"
"Vanguard, 15,000. With the main force, over 150,000."
150,000. Hearing the number straight made my breath catch. Even scraping every soldier in Joseon, it'd be impossible to stop. And these weren't green troops—they were killers forged in Japan's Warring States era.
"Others besides you? In Honam."
He clammed up. Betraying comrades hurt his pride, apparently.
I raised Misook.
"One."
"......"
"Two."
"......"
"Three."
Crunch!
I smashed the end of the club onto his pinky finger. Bone pulverized with a sickening crack.
"Gaaah!"
"Talk. My patience isn't endless."
Sweat poured off him as he panted.
"Two... two more... Naju and Jeonju... disguised as peddlers..."
"Descriptions?"
"One's pockmarked, one's one-eyed."
"Good. Excellent."
I patted his shoulder.
"Choi Ga."
Choi Ga, waiting outside, came in.
"Yeah, boss."
"Gag him again and lock him up. Feed him, but if he tries to run, slice his leg tendons."
"Got it!"
Choi Ga dragged him out. Silence returned to the storehouse.
I sank deep into the chair.
April. It was January now—three months left.
Three months, and Busan falls. Then they'll steamroll to Hanyang. The king flees, the land ravaged.
Could I stop it? Against 150,000 with just dozens of private troops?
Impossible. Head-on was suicide.
But there was a way. Cut their supply lines, hit 'em with guerrillas from unexpected angles, buy time until Yi Sun-sin dominates the seas.
That was my job.
I stood up. No time for hesitation. Playtime was over. Time for real war prep.
In the inn's main hall, tension hung thick.
I sat at the head, Seo Baek-seol and Na Dae-yong flanking me. Choi Ga and Mi-ryeong stood behind them. Emergency board meeting of Yiho Company.
"War."
My opening words drained the color from Seo Baek-seol's face.
"R... really? The spy spilled?"
"Yeah. April. 150,000 hit Busan."
"150,000..."
Na Dae-yong groaned.
"That's enough to plow over all eight provinces. Government troops aren't ready at all..."
"That's why we do it."
I unrolled the map—Joseon map Seo Baek-seol had procured.
"Busan falls, they'll split three ways north. One prong hits Honam for sure. Breadbasket."
I pointed to Damyang, Jeonju, southern coast.
"We hold here. King runs or not, we defend our land."
"But boss."
Choi Ga spoke cautiously.
"We got 50 men. Too few for 150,000."
"I know. So we scale up now."
I looked at Seo Baek-seol.
"Seo manager. No skimping on cash. Empty the vaults."
"A... all?"
"Buy rice. Tons. War hits, rice'll be worth gold. Buy now or our kids starve later."
She bit her lip, then nodded.
"Got it. I'll sweep every nearby village's rice. Notes, debts—I'll call 'em all in, fill the storehouses till they burst."
Her eyes sharpened. Merchant instincts kicking in. In chaos, securing supplies was survival.
"Na Dae-yong."
"Speak."
"Hyeonmu 2 and 3. And gunpowder—ten times what we have."
"Ten times... Guess I'll be hauling shit for days."
He grinned bitterly, but his eyes burned with resolve.
"Don't worry. I'll hammer till my fingers wear off. Turtle ship blueprints nearly done too. If needed, send to Left Naval Command—Yi's outfit."
"Good. I'll deliver personally later."
I eyed Choi Ga and the Yiho officers last.
"You lot—conscription starts tomorrow."
"Conscription?"
"Round up thugs, drifters, bandits, refugees—anyone. Promise food and bed, they'll flock."
"Anyone?"
"No. I interview. Pick the tough ones, train elite. Target: 300."
300. Sparta? Nah, Yiho Army. Well-trained 300 could hold a pass against thousands.
"Mi-ryeong."
"Yes, uncle!"
She snapped to attention crisply.
"Train the women in first aid. Herbs, bandaging. War means wounded everywhere. You save 'em."
"Understood!"
Roles assigned. Just execution left.
"Remember: this ain't drill. We fall, my family, neighbors die. Not die fighting—kill to live."
Resolve filled the air. No one backed down.
"Dismissed. Wartime mode now."
From that day, the inn became a fortress burning 24/7.
Seo Baek-seol bought supplies like mad: rice, salt, cotton, even straw sandals. Every market good vanished into 'Damyang inn' storehouses. Merchants sneered "War coming?"—she ignored them.
Na Dae-yong's forge glowed like a furnace. Iron seized from magistrates and Heuksan bandits melted into weapons.
"Hyeonmu 2 assembly starts! Nail it!"
In the yard rose the second Hyeonmu's frame—bigger, tougher than 1, more gunports for cannons.
I threw myself into recruiting.
"Think you're strong? Come at me."
Tryouts in the yard. Thugs, bandit remnants, even defrocked monks showed.
I fought one-vs-many.
Thwack! Thud!
Dozens flew from one punch. But some snarled and held; others rose after falling.
"You—pass. Mess hall."
Picked those. Skill trains; grit's born.
We topped 100. Inn overflowed—village hall, empty houses became barracks. Whole town turned military base.
Damyang magistrate gave up—or cooperated.
"Merchant Kim! Old rice in the office storehouse—take it!"
He sent rice, posted constables for watch. Knew if I fell, he did too. Perfect attitude.
-
Time flew. Cold winds eased, plum blossoms bloomed.
March. Fate approached.
Nights, I plotted over maps. Japanese land at Busan, blitz north. Gyeongsang defenses crumble fast. Then they'll swing for Jeolla's granaries.
That chokepoint. Rugged pass from Gyeongsang to Jeolla.
Ichi and Ungchi.
Where Gwon Yul and Hwang Jin bled to hold in history. This time, me.
"Boss."
Choi Ga approached. His body tougher than any officer's now. Eyes held veteran calm, no thug lightness.
"Prep done. Rookies trained, Hyeonmu 3 complete."
"Good work."
I stood.
"Expedition tomorrow."
"Bandit hunt?"
"No. Recon."
"Gotta scout our battlefield. Know the ground, win the fight."
Outside, cherry buds swelled. When they bloomed, this land would run red.
But no fear. Solid comrades at my back, era-ahead weapons in hand.
"Let's go."
"We'll throw one hell of a welcome party."
Joseon's Xiang Yu, Kim Deok-ryeong. His war had begun.