Chapter 33
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Translator: volt
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: Side Story - A Day in the Life of Kim Isang
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April of 1592, one certain day.
The turbulent end of the 16th century! The dawn of capitalism and the bourgeoisie! The start of imperialism! A world ablaze!
The first battle of the Imjin War, the Battle of Busanpo Fortress, had just begun! And it was about five months after King Henry IV of France had laid siege to Rouen, occupied by Spanish forces—one ordinary day!
Ah, how would the day begin for Nemo, the angel of Croatoan Island, the great Korean Kim Isang!
Ding-ding-ding.
-"Your delicious multigrain rice is ready. Be sure to stir it well before eating."
...Nothing special, just starting the day with low-class anti-aging rice.
I don't even age anymore. I could shovel down white rice, meat, fried foods, booze, and smokes all day, and not a single blemish would mar this body.
And yet here I am, eating low-class anti-aging rice.
What is this, like Captain America on steroids?
I never imagined Mom's "nutrient-packed 17 grains" would end up like this. I just planted them as an experiment, and out came barley, millet, proso millet, oats, sorghum, chickpeas, and so on.
...Yeah. No rice. Like a ghost, I failed only on the rice varieties—glutinous rice, brown rice, you name it.
So my daily staple is low-class anti-aging rice. Otherwise, it's boiled potatoes or bread (not white bread, of course. Tastes like crap).
Once the rice was done, I cracked a free-range (mandatory) egg into a frying pan, made fried eggs, and plated them.
I added simmered potatoes, perilla leaves (organic), lettuce (organic), cabbage (organic), and assorted wild greens (foraged) from the Manteo tribe folks, all mixed into side dishes on the table.
Manteo swore these weeds were delicious, but I still don't know their Korean names. Probably don't have any. Sesame oil ran out two years ago anyway, so I just boil them and toss with roasted sesame seeds and salt...
"Hmm... The flavors go well together."
Surprisingly tasty.
I mean.
Low-class anti-aging rice, simmered potatoes, wild greens, fried eggs.
...Can you even call this a life? Where'd my pork ribs, Andong jjimdak, tofu kimchi, doenjang jjigae, braised hairtail, seasoned chicken, bulgogi pizza, pasta, pho, jjajangmyeon, fish katsu, and curry rice go?
Of course, when the 'Delivery Clan'—which barely worked even back home—stopped functioning entirely, they all vanished.
Ever wonder why Jeonju bibimbap or cucumber sandwiches were elite food back then? Come to the past yourself, and it all makes sense.
"Heh heh..."
The one ray of hope in this horrific pre-modern health diet?
"Heh... Heh heh heh..."
Homemade butter.
This low-class anti-aging rice was more fodder than food, but slather on my insanely delicious homemade butter, sprinkle salt, and mix it up—it finally starts smelling like actual cuisine.
I wolfed it down with greens and potatoes crammed in, finished that war of a meal, did the dishes, and finally, the day began.
Right after this morning meal that teaches me the true value of butter and salt every day, I headed straight to check the water pipes for irrigation and household use—no rest.
"Heh hey... Hose popped off again."
Obviously, the pipes run 24/7. Not to prevent freezing... It's April; freezing's got nothing to do with it. This ain't Korea with its insane April snow climate.
Clean water's being photocopied—way dumber to let it go to waste.
Water from our house splits into drinking and irrigation tanks behind the farm, then gets piped to village homes and fields.
Thanks to that, no water shortages on Croatoan Island. Droughts are actually a boon.
Last year's drought jacked up grape sugar levels like crazy. One bunch hit over 25 Brix—a miracle of perfect heavenly climate. I shed tears of joy.
Man... The Korean Peninsula is a grape farmer's hellfire... Felt like I understood why that Rabbit Princess (a.k.a. Dangun) settled there 2,500 years ago.
Anyway, water management done. Next up...
Rumble rumble rumble!
"Gasp, huff... Can't entrust this to anyone..."
I transfer all sorts of fertilizers, pesticides, and such into containers.
Fertilizer, pesticides, and antibiotics like the veterinary streptomycin sulfate (legit or not, who knows) that Mr. Jeong from the market foisted on me to mix with gibberellin—they're all consumables, regenerating at midnight.
Stuff that refills at midnight anyway. Obviously stash it elsewhere and hoard as much as possible.
Moved Mr. Hwang's sketchy experimental drugs and cold-storage antibiotics to the low-temp warehouse—done.
But our house's 'consumables' don't end there.
I thought aluminum foil was the only aluminum source here. Nope.
Paper clips.
Staple refills.
All kinds of screws.
Bread ties, wires, etc.
A bunch of these seemingly trivial metal consumables duplicate infinitely. Not a ton per day, but scraping daily adds up.
I dump them out, run a magnet to separate iron from aluminum, sort copper, stainless, plain iron, etc., and head to smith Brown’s forge.
"Mr. Brown? Mind helping with this?"
"Ah, perfect! Hasun! Wake the other smiths! Work's here!"
"Yes, Father!"
A 21st-century utility knife beats any medieval sword. Even these trivial metal bits are products of advanced modern metallurgy.
Brown and his Native foster son Hasun Brown clang the gong, and smiths swarm like zombies spotting humans, snatching precious aluminum, steel, and copper.
Aluminum's especially vital. In this era, metal-form aluminum only comes from our Croatoan Island.
And the consumables parade doesn't stop there.
"Lord Nemo! People are gathered!"
"Coming now, Eleanor!"
Our house's multivitamins count as medicine, not food... so 'consumables' too.
Meaning, hand out hundreds today, full stock tomorrow.
"One per person. Two or more does more harm than good."
"Hey! No greed—one each!"
Back in the early days, before potatoes took off, Eleanor and I handed them out fearing malnutrition. Now it's routine.
Well... No one here's starved or sick because of it, so we keep it going.
Vitamins distributed with Eleanor, back home.
Clatter clatter!
I dump every common med from the kit, vacuum-seal them with Mom's kimchi packer, and bundle up.
Brings back Dad gaping at Mom: "You opening a butcher shop?"
Man who nitpicks one appliance but blows retirement on a 4,000-pyong Shine Muscat farm—still a mystery.
Dad, Mom, I'm reaping all your wild investments' fruits. Watch from afar.
Anyway.
The vacuum sealer's for...
"Miss Lawrence! Margaret Lawrence!"
"Ah! Here! My gosh, so much today?"
"Been busy for days. Start with headache meds, box 'em up."
"Got it! No patients today, so meds first!"
The 'hospital.'
Another thing I learned coming here.
In an era where treatment means opium for pain, amputating limbs, cauterizing for disinfection—I'm a ace doc with just OTC meds and basic first aid.
Early on, taught Miss Lawrence simple first aid and med use while treating Mr. Huet's leg. Now it's better than most European hospitals.
...What? Just Tylenol and aspirin right, and you're a life-saver? Distilled water for treatment, boiling tools for sterilization—saves the dying?
How much blood and bodies piled up to build 21st-century medicine? Unimaginable.
Always grateful... to 'Why? First Aid.' Forever thankful to Korea's 00s educational comics market...
Back home, around 12:10 p.m.
Morning routine from roughly 5 a.m. wrapped. I fire up my phone for CCM hymns and gospel tunes, boot the Nintendo Switch.
Games? Animal Crossing and Zelda.
...Why?
Blasting heavy metal and playing Doom might summon actual demons.
Anyway, ditching real-island tedium for cyber islands (creditors: Nintendo Inc.), and it's suddenly 2 p.m.
2 p.m., time for...
Thud! Thud!
"Lord Nemo! We're here!"
Right on cue. Vicente González's voice.
I open the door; Vicente grins and bows.
"Here for the clear shields and iron rods."
Yep. PC panels for construction, copper pipes for heating, iron square tubes.
I'm squeezing every last bit from this farm.
Copper pipes, every aluminum clip—to the smiths. Every Tylenol—to the hospital.
Mr. Huet always short on paper? Printer refills for him. Shakespeare and Bacon need ink? Fountain pen refills split.
This madness keeps us on low-class anti-aging rice thrice daily. To maintain 21st-century life and feed folks, this is the effort.
"Let's go."
"Yes, Lord Nemo! Alright, prep! Hitch carts to the Damas!"
Croatoan Island's sole transport: the Damas. But as you know, it's light-duty—limited load.
Clank! Clank!
But we hack it. Kinda brute-force...
Like oxcarts: chain several to the Damas, locomotive-style.
Damas'd break doing this, but not mine! Self-washes at midnight—over a year, still pristine!
Vicente and I board; Spaniards load PC panels, iron tubes into rear carts from the materials shed.
I turn the key—the inline-triple roars to life!
Go! Damas! Show your power!
Put-put-put...
...Damas coughs like a dying geezer's sigh, then inches forward.
"Always amazing! Such power from this cart! Runs on burning oil—unbelievable!"
"...Is it?"
Well, vs. this era's top ride (horse cart), way better. One Damas does several oxen at once.
We roll slowly down paved roads to the coast. New vineyards and greenhouses dot the landscape.
...All built from this stuff.
Daily hauls build a full greenhouse every few months.
Damas stops at coast; Spaniards unload PC panels, steel tubes, insulation, sundries to the coastal battery/logistics warehouse.
"Phew, around 5 p.m. now. Dinner time."
"Great! Lord Nemo, thinking of drinks with the men... Care to join?"
"Ah, got work after. Can't."
"Eh? Sun's setting soon—what work?"
"Well..."
I gaze wistfully at the distant horizon.
"Contemplating how this world's kingdoms and humanity will fare the next centuries. Isn't that the duty of one with power and knowledge?"
"As expected... Lord Nemo...!"
Vicente gazes up starry-eyed. Don't look at me like that... It's embarrassing...
Anyway, wasn't lying.
-'Europa Universalis 5'
-'Crusader Queens 4'
...Dropped in history, so this ain't gaming addiction or time-kill. It's unavoidable 'study.'
Just studying world history.
Sure, Poland spawns Germany, France gets Aztecs invading... but that's butterfly effects honing my flexible thinking.
Yeah.
I'm not wrong...
Those two games gained 1,000 hours each since landing here.
I-I'm not wrong.
I...
And just like that, 1 a.m.
My day ends.