The First Guest
KABOOM!
The world filled with white smoke, red flames, and tearing screams.
From the maws of three Hyunmu tanks roared bird-egg rounds. Hundreds of egg-sized iron balls and razor-sharp shrapnel spread out in a fan shape, blanketing the narrow mountain path. It was literally a "steel rain." A death shower with nowhere to hide or flee.
"Gyaack!" "Me, mega...! (My eyes...!)"
The matchlock gunners at the front were pulverized beyond recognition. The spearmen following behind had limbs severed or bodies turned into hives as they rolled on the ground.
Thick gunsmoke blanketed the pass. The acrid stench of sulfur mixed with the fishy reek of blood, stinging the nose.
I sat atop the rickety platform, watching the inferno. Dust had settled like frost on the liquor cup in my hand.
"Damn, that's some serious firepower."
Na Dae-yong, that guy knew how to build 'em. Mixing Joseon's cannon tech with modern shotgun concepts had birthed this monster.
As the smoke slowly cleared, the survivors came into view. Of the vanguard's hundred-odd men, fewer than half still stood. And even those were barely intact.
"Ba, bakana... (Impossible...)"
The Japanese officer gripped his sword with trembling hands. His helmet was gone, and iron balls were embedded in his armor here and there. He'd gotten lucky, dodging a direct hit.
His eyes shook like there was an earthquake. He'd expected a ragtag Joseon rabble, but instead faced monster tanks, a giant shrugging off bullets, and hellfire. No wonder his mind was breaking.
I stood from my seat. The platform's creak echoed unnaturally loud.
"So, how do you like Joseon's welcome?"
I asked in Japanese, and the officer flinched back.
"You...! Demon? Or man?"
"Who knows. To you lot, probably scarier than any demon."
I patted the six-sided club Misuki on my shoulder.
"First course is done. Time for the second?"
I snapped my fingers.
Snap!
At the signal, something flew in from the woods on either side of the road. Bamboo tubes, fuses lit, spinning wildly as they arced over the Japanese heads.
"Bombs!"
The officer screamed. They panicked, diving to the ground to avoid the blasts.
But these weren't for killing.
Flash!
A blinding light turned the forest stark white.
BOOM! BOOM!
Ear-shattering roars followed in succession. Na Dae-yong's custom flashbangs. Tuned for light and sound over lethality.
"Aaaagh! My eyes! My eyes!" "I can't hear!"
The Japanese clutched their faces in agony. Sight and hearing gone. On a battlefield, that meant death.
"Now! Charge!"
My roar was the signal.
"Waaaaah!"
Beast-like shouts erupted from the woods. Three hundred Yiho Army men—muscle-bound brutes forged in a month of hellish PT and tiger meat—leaped out swinging clubs, iron pitchforks, and axes.
"Kill 'em! Japanese bastards!" "Don't let a single one escape!"
Choi Ga led the charge, sickle flashing.
It was less a battle than a hunt. Predators pouncing on blinded, deafened prey.
Thwack! Crunch!
Dull impacts mingled with bones snapping.
The Japanese resisted desperately. Some wild ones swung blindly with deadly skill.
"Tenno heika banzai! (Long live the Emperor!)"
One lunatic charged Choi Ga, blade whirling. Choi Ga hesitated, startled. Even rotten, a Sengoku samurai's swordsmanship was fierce.
But weight class is a bitch.
"Outta the way!"
Chun-sik barreled in from the side, axe crashing down on the sword.
Clang!
The blade shattered. Then came Chun-sik's massive body slam.
Crash!
The Japanese flew like a paper doll, smashing into a tree.
"See that? Fancy swordplay don't mean shit against brute force!"
Chun-sik grinned, spitting.
The fight was one-sided. The Yiho Army had feared the sword-wielders at first, but up close? Nothing special. Their clubs outranged and outweighed the blades, and their strength crushed the enemy.
"Hey! These fuckers ain't shit!" "All that grub's paying off!"
Confidence surged, and the Yiho Army went feral. They weren't neighborhood thugs anymore. They were killers without hesitation.
I watched, strolling casually into the melee's heart.
The small fry could go to my men. I had a specific target.
That guy over there, rallying his troops while holding out. The vanguard captain.
Wounded but carving through a couple Yiho men with expert swordplay.
"Come on! Joseon's demon!"
He spotted me, pointing his blade. Eyes bloodshot with rage.
"I'll kill you! My name is—"
"Don't care."
I cut him off. No need to memorize a dead man's name.
I walked forward steadily. He roared and lunged.
"Iyaaap!"
Iaidō—draw and slash in one motion. Too fast for the eye. Aimed at my throat.
But I saw it.
I didn't dodge. I raised my left arm instead.
Ching!
A clear metallic ring. His sword didn't bite into my forearm—it bounced off. Cloth tore, sparks flew, but my skin was unscratched.
"Wh-what...?"
His face went blank. Hitting flesh felt like striking an iron pillar.
"Nice sword. Shame the owner's weak."
I grabbed his collar.
"Let go, monster!"
He thrashed, stabbing my side. Poke, poke. Like toothpick-pricking an elephant.
"Doesn't hurt, but you're ruining my clothes. My wife... er, business partner made these."
Seo Baek-seol's all-nighter red padded armor. Riddled with holes now—I was in for an earful.
I got pissed.
"Pay for it with your life."
I raised Misuki in my right hand.
"See ya. First and last time in Joseon, right?"
"Guh... Lord Toyotomi will avenge..."
Splat!
His head burst like a watermelon. No more last words.
I tossed the corpse down and scanned around.
The fight was wrapping up. No survivors. Fleeing ones hit traps—impaled on bamboo spikes or nabbed by ambushers.
"Boss! All clear!"
Choi Ga ran up, wiping blood from his sickle. Face-splattered, he looked the devil incarnate.
"Casualties?"
"Zero KIA! Three with arm wounds, five sprained ankles."
A miraculous win. Ambush and gunpowder helped, but ragtag farmers and thugs had wiped a regular Sengoku unit.
"Good work. Damn good."
I clapped Choi Ga's shoulder.
"Loot the bodies. Take everything useful."
"Huh?"
"Swords, armor, coin pouches. And those."
I pointed to a fallen matchlock on the ground.
"Those are priority. Every matchlock, powder horn, bullet—sweep 'em all up."
"Got it! Boys! Grab the spoils!"
Choi Ga bellowed some word he'd picked up somewhere. The Yiho Army cheered, swarming the corpses.
I picked up a dropped matchlock. Heavy. Outdated flintlock-style, but it had reshaped this era.
Arm our boys with these...
Just thinking about it felt solid. Melee with Yiho physiques, ranged with looted guns. Perfect army.
Then Na Dae-yong crawled out of Hyunmu No. 2, sooty face beaming a thumbs-up.
"Boss! See my babies' power?"
"Saw it. Saved our asses. Thanks to you."
"Hah, what? You drew their fire... er, aggro."
We laughed together. First victory. Its sweet taste drowned the blood reek.
But I knew. This was just the start. We'd bagged a measly hundred vanguard. Fifteen myriad main force behind them.
"No time to gloat. They'll see this slaughter and come raging."
"Yeah. Time to prep."
I gazed down the mountain at the sunset.
A flock of crows winged in from afar. Smelling blood.
"Pile the bodies by the road."
I ordered.
"Kyōkan-tower?"
Choi Ga asked. Enemy corpse pyramid to flaunt victory.
"Nah. Warning sign."
I hoisted the officer's severed head.
"They need to feel it in their bones—this pass costs lives."
I impaled the head on a pole in the road's center. Below it, Mi-ryeong's placard:
[NO TRESPASSING. VIOLATORS WILL BE EXECUTED.]
Japanese too, of course. Daughter-figure's language lessons paying off.
"Let's go. Regroup and prep for the next guests."
I wiped Misuki and turned.
One day in April 1592. Joseon's first victory cry echoed from Ichi Pass. Not from royal troops or court—not nameless thugs and one monster's miracle.
And that rumor would ride the wind straight to the Japanese camp.
In Joseon lived a demon swords couldn't touch.