Seo Baek-seol's War Business
War wasn't fought with swords alone. It was fought with rice.
"Spare us! Please, just one bite!"
"My kid's starving to death! Give us some food!"
The area in front of the Damyang inn was a scene from hell. With news of the victory at Ichi Pass spreading, along with rumors that anywhere Kim Deok-ryeong was stationed was safe, refugees poured in not just from nearby villages but from Gyeongsang and Chungcheong Provinces as well.
Their numbers easily reached the thousands. Damyang town was bursting at the seams with people.
I stood in the courtyard, Mi-suk-i slung over my shoulder. But even my strength was useless against hunger. I couldn't conjure rice out of thin air with the power that felled tigers.
"Boss! The rice storage is empty!"
Choi Ga came running up, his face twisted in worry.
"We finished off the bandits' food from yesterday too. At this rate, we'll have a riot on our hands!"
"Damn it. Too many mouths to feed."
I clutched my head. Gathering people was one thing. Feeding them was another. With 1592's supply system, sustaining thousands of refugees was damn near impossible.
The hungry crowds' eyes were changing. The pleading gazes were shifting to greed and rage. Soon, they'd turn into a zombie horde and overrun the inn.
That was when it happened.
"Make way! Everyone get in line or what?"
A sharp voice cut through the clamor. It was Seo Baek-seol. She had climbed atop a stack of rice sacks, megaphone in hand—a funnel Na Dae-yong had crafted from brass.
"This place is now under the jurisdiction of Ikho Corporation! No rice leaves here without my say-so!"
Her commanding presence made the crowd hesitate.
"Who the hell are you? What gives you the right to hand out food?"
A burly refugee stepped forward, challenging her.
"Me? I'm the innkeeper here. If you don't like it, go beg somewhere else."
Seo Baek-seol didn't bat an eye.
"Listen up. There's no such thing as a free lunch. Want rice? Pay for it."
"Money? We got no money! Everything was looted—we barely escaped with our lives!"
"Who said anything about money? No cash? Pay with labor!"
Seo Baek-seol swung her makeshift baton.
"Mi-ryeong! Open the registration desk!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
Mi-ryeong appeared amid the Ikho troops' guards, ledger in hand. She set up a table by the front gate and sat down.
"Labor sorting starts now. Line up!"
Under Seo Baek-seol's direction, the chaotic mob began to fall into an eerie order. She sorted the refugees with cold efficiency.
"You look strong. First class—head to the earthworks site."
"Grandma, you sew? Second class—mending tent."
"Can't move due to injury? Third class—go to the relief station for treatment, then handle childcare later."
The able-bodied got rice and work. The sick and elderly received minimal rations and light tasks.
It was astonishing. I watched in a daze. This wasn't just a merchant's hustle. It was HR management that would make a 2025 corporate exec weep.
"What are you staring at? Go maintain order, boss."
Seo Baek-seol shot me a scolding glance.
"Right. That's my job."
I slung Mi-suk-i over my shoulder and strolled through the lines. Anyone cutting or grumbling got a silent tap on the shoulder.
"Wait your turn."
One look at my build and the weapon at my waist, and they'd yelp "Eek!" and fall quiet. Armed peacekeeping—that was my role.
By midday, the inn had transformed into a massive refugee camp and production factory.
Men built fortifications and gathered gunpowder raw materials—clay. Women cooked rice and sewed clothes. Kids collected stones or ran errands.
Everyone worked, everyone ate. As the terror of starvation faded, life returned to their faces.
But the problem remained. Our stockpiles were running dry.
"Ma'am, we've only got three days' rice left."
Mi-ryeong reported with a grave expression.
"Three days..."
Seo Baek-seol bit her lip. No matter how much work you assigned, no rice meant game over. Wartime shortages meant money couldn't buy what wasn't there.
Then, a commotion erupted at the village entrance.
"Come here! Is no one around?!"
A man bellowed. Dressed in fine silk, with servants in tow, he arrived in a palanquin. For a refugee, he was loaded with baggage—a ridiculous sight.
"Who are you?"
Choi Ga blocked the way, and a servant barked.
"You ignorant fool! This is the young master from Minister Kim's household in Hanyang! Clear the path!"
Minister Kim? Some bigwig's son, clearly.
The palanquin curtain parted, and a greasy-faced man stepped out, fanning himself.
"Ugh, what a stench. So this is where that tiger-slayer lives?"
He pinched his nose, scowling.
"I heard it's safe here, so I came to rest. Clear out a private room now, set up drinks. Oh, and call a kisaeng if you've got one."
The mad bastard. Talking kisaengs in wartime.
Choi Ga and the Ikho troops' faces darkened. The fool hadn't read the room—how raw everyone's nerves were from hunger and fear.
I stepped forward, but Seo Baek-seol blocked me.
"I'll handle it."
Her eyes sparkled—like rice sacks.
Seo Baek-seol approached the man.
"Welcome, sir. You must be exhausted from the long journey."
She bowed obsequiously. Spotting her beauty, he leered.
"Oh ho, a flower in this backwater. You the owner?"
"Yes, Seo Baek-seol, manager of Ikho Corporation. Looking for a room?"
"Right. Clean and quiet. I've got lots of baggage—guard it well."
He pointed to the carts behind: stacked with rice sacks and silk bolts.
Seo Baek-seol's eyes narrowed. There it is. The food and funds to save us.
"Of course. We have VIP suites ready. However..."
"However?"
"Wartime prices are high. Lodging's expensive."
"Pfft, I've got money to burn. How much? One nyang? Two?"
Seo Baek-seol smiled sweetly, holding up five fingers.
"Fifty nyang? Pricey, but fine."
"No. Fifty seok of rice. Per day."
"......What?"
The man's eyes bulged. Fifty seok could buy a tiled house. For one night?
"Y-you crazy bitch! Insulting a yangban? You wanna die?!"
He snapped his fan to slap her cheek.
Thwack.
My hand caught his wrist.
"Where do you think you're going."
I twisted, and he screamed, collapsing.
"Aaaagh! My wrist! Let go!"
Servants lunged, but Choi Ga and thirty Ikho troops with clubs surrounded them—they froze.
"You don't get it, do you?"
I loomed over him.
"This ain't Hanyang. Rank? Doesn't mean shit here. I make the rules."
I drew Mi-suk-i and tapped his shoulder.
"Rich in cash? Rich in rice? That's your life insurance. Don't like it? Get out and die to the Japanese or get robbed by bandits."
His face paled. He glanced around: thousands of refugees glaring like wolves. Booted out, he'd be bones.
"Uh, c-can't you discount the rice...?"
"No. Fixed price."
Seo Baek-seol cut him off firmly.
"Choose. Pay fifty seok and get protection, or end up a corpse."
"I-I'll pay! Let go!"
He sobbed, forking over the rice. Seo Baek-seol seized it on the spot, ordering the warehouse keeper.
"Distribute this now—make rice and rice cakes. Special dinner tonight!"
"Woooah!"
The refugees cheered. The man wept bloody tears as his rice filled bellies, but I shoved him into a corner room—VIP suite, aka storage shed.
"This is juicy."
Seo Baek-seol chuckled, closing the ledger.
"We should sell 'Premium Escort Packages' to rich evacuees. Lodging, protection, baggage storage."
"Price?"
"Half their fortune. Cheap for their lives, right?"
Devilish. But angelic too—feeding the poor with it.
A modern-day robber baron. Or capitalist righteous thief.
Word spread fast. Damyang inn was safe. Pay up for kingly treatment (aka sucker treatment).
Wealthy folk and refugees from across the land came willingly, offering fortunes. Real yangbans, traitors—didn't matter. I stripped their cash for weapons and fed soldiers.
"Look, boss. We're in the black."
Days later, Seo Baek-seol bragged, showing the books.
"Good. Buy more iron for Hyunmu No. 4 then."
"Ugh, seriously! I bring in money and you spend it all!"
She grumbled, but beamed.
Thus, Damyang became a fortress city. Money flowed, supplies piled, people gathered.
A sole liberation zone amid war's hell.
I climbed the walls, gazing down. Thousands of lights twinkled. Cooking smoke rose, children's laughter echoed.
I have to protect this. This view, these people.
In my pocket: Seo Baek-seol's talisman (promissory note) and Mi-ryeong's (rag charm). In my hand: Black Mi-suk-i.
"Preparations complete."
I eyed the southern sky. Storm clouds gathered—signal of the main Japanese force advancing north.
Time to greet real guests. Not rich suckers, but unwelcome foes offering their lives.
"Choi Ga."
"Yes, boss."
"Tighten security. And..."
I grinned.
"Let's take a stroll tomorrow. Getting itchy."
"Where to?"
"Watch the royal troops. Gotta see 'em run."
Late April 1592. Amid Joseon's power vacuum post-Tangeumdae defeat, one place held its flag high.
Ikho Corporation's business was just getting started.