So What Exactly Are You Offering?
Trembling hands. Biting nails. Every single member of the European delegation seated around the long table was rattling with fear.
They clearly hadn't slept a wink the night before — their bloodshot eyes made them look almost pitiable.
Click.
"Hello there?"
"Oh! Lord Haneul! Is that you?"
"What an honor!"
The moment Haneul opened the door and stepped inside, everyone scrambled to greet him.
They were startled by his appearance, too, but that was hardly the point.
"Please, put an end to the war!"
"We beg you!"
"Please, we implore you!"
As soon as Haneul took his seat, the delegates blurted out their business, their faces full of desperation.
Even accounting for the time it took the messenger to relay the news, Europe was already in utter chaos.
For the Europeans, who depended on shipping goods and conducting trade, losing another port could mean a collapse from which they might never recover.
Or perhaps it was already a little too late for that.
"Now, now. Everyone calm down. Let's have some tea and talk this through slowly."
"Gasp…."
"S-slowly?"
"Uh…."
Had this been any other occasion, their mouths would have been flapping with indignation — who could have guessed they'd hang open, as if honey had been smeared across their lips?
Slurp.
"Mmm. Lovely~ I do like this flower tea."
"Ha, haha…."
"Thank you…."
Neither the fragrance of the tea they usually drank nor the sweetness of chocolate registered in their minds at all.
One wrong move, and all of Europe could go bankrupt — and they might never taste such things again.
"Nom nom. Ahh~ this chocolate is delicious. What are you doing? Eat up. There's plenty, so make yourselves comfortable."
"Um… our business here is…."
"Hmm? Your business? What is it? Is it that urgent?"
Watching Haneul ask so innocently with the face of an angel, they saw both angel and devil in one and the same being.
How could anyone speak as though they knew absolutely nothing, the way he just did?
"Please… stop the destruction."
"Countless Europeans are about to starve to death!"
"Save us."
At their words, Haneul gave a chilling smile.
"What are you talking about? This is just getting started."
"Hiiik…."
"Sob."
So far, Daehan had used all of eight ships and a modest handful of shells.
"Our actual army hasn't even arrived yet."
"Gasp…."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"You can't be serious…."
Only then did something they had overlooked come back to them. The force attacking Russia was the Qajar army.
And what they had witnessed at the Battle of Pyeonganhae had been a single ship.
"How is this even a war, right?"
"…."
"…."
If he had truly deemed them worthless humans to be disposed of, he could have conquered them all long ago — with plenty of time to spare.
"You're mistaken about one thing. What you've been fighting are merchants. Traders."
"Gasp…."
To be fair, the Blue Shark vessels did belong to the navy, but the ones holding the forts and riding around on the Whale Shark freighters really were merchants.
If you wanted to split hairs, they were simply office workers in the commerce trade.
Office workers, technically — it's just that these particular ones could crush ten European knights without breaking a sweat, being special forces and all.
They were merely salarymen stronger than soldiers, that was all.
"I'm genuinely curious here — why do you keep picking fights with us?"
From Daehan's perspective, everything these people had thrown at them amounted to little more than a casual provocation.
"I sell you food cheap because times are hard for you, and I supply you with all sorts of convenient goods. What exactly is your complaint?"
"Well, that's…."
Not a single word of it was wrong. No matter how hard Europe toiled, they could never produce anything cheaper or better than what Daehan brought them.
"You're monopolizing Europe's gold, are you not?!" someone finally found the courage to shout, eyes blazing.
"Gold? You can't eat the stuff. If it all vanished tomorrow, who would die? I hand over mountains of food for a few scraps of gold — so why does it matter so much?"
"Huh?"
Something about that logic was strangely convincing.
Even by their own reckoning, it was true. Gold mattered only to nobles and kings.
For the common folk, a single slice of bread to put in their mouths today mattered far more. Gold was nothing but a means for the powerful to flaunt their wealth and status.
THUD!
"We are truly sorry!"
While everyone else was busy hemming and hawing, the Russian delegate slammed his forehead against the table in apology.
"We are deeply sorry! Please forgive us!"
"Hmm? You look it — Russia, then?"
"Yes! We've come from Russia!"
"Good. We'll start with Russia, then."
What the European delegates ought to have done was not argue their case like this, but grovel and beg exactly as Russia was doing.
Slurp.
The only sound echoing through the quiet room was Haneul calmly sipping his tea.
Seated by the window, bathed in sunlight, wearing a faint smile — he truly looked every inch the angel.
"So. What will Russia give me?"
The words that slipped so sweetly from his lips were merciless, of course — a clear declaration that anything less than satisfactory would be rejected.
"Anything! We will give you anything!"
"You do have something to give?"
"Yes! If it's gold, we'll find a way to procure it, whatever it takes!"
Fortunately, the Russian delegate had an answer ready.
"Good. Then you'll write me a letter, deliver it to Qajar, and sort out the border properly."
"I'm sorry — what about the land?"
"You lost it because you lost the war. That's that. Nobody's handing it back."
"Gasp…."
Russia had already been pushed back by Qajar and stripped of roughly half its territory.
"And you lot — rather than negotiating with us directly, you should be talking things over with Qajar, no?"
"Ah…."
"All I'll do is write you a letter of introduction asking them to look kindly on you."
"Sniff… thank you."
Qajar wouldn't dare ignore Haneul's word, but the real negotiations would have to happen over there.
And naturally, without that letter of introduction, the conversation would never even begin.
With that, the Russian delegate received his letter and rose to leave first.
Clunk.
"We will take our leave now."
The despondent-faced Russian delegate would no doubt weep copiously in the carriage ride home.
Slurp.
"Mmm. Tasty."
For some reason, the bitter tea tasted especially good today, and Haneul popped a piece of chocolate into his mouth.
"…."
"…."
"Um…."
Amid the suffocating silence, someone finally spoke.
"We surrender."
"Hmm? I told you — this isn't a war."
"Ah… forgive us! We were wrong!"
"That's right. What you need to do is atone."
HHOOOOONK.
As the sound of another ship departing the harbor rang out, Haneul smiled coldly.
"Yes. So — how will you pay for your sins?"
"We'll gather gold as well!"
"Yes! As much as you desire!"
Go home like this, and they'd inevitably squeeze their commoners dry to scrape together the gold. That much was obvious.
"Good."
"Hurrah!"
"Thank you!"
Having never seen Haneul's frosty expression, the delegates simply buzzed with excitement over how much gold they ought to offer.
"Bring me all the gold the nobles possess."
"I beg your pardon — the nobles'?"
"The nobles we can handle oursel—"
These so-called nobles were the very people who drove their subjects into the mines and couldn't care less whether they lived or died.
The commoners would naturally find it harder and harder to survive — and wouldn't they just go around blaming Daehan for it all?
"Also, send me everyone who wants to go to our ports."
"I'm sorry?"
"Just how many people do you think live in Europe?"
Wasn't that tantamount to saying he'd take every last soul on the continent?
"Don't worry — we have the means to feed them all. But if you try to block anyone who wants to leave, I'll take that as a declaration of real war."
"Understood…."
The European delegates thought little of it.
The people they imagined — the commoners — were no different from livestock to them.
Give them feed and they'd multiply endlessly, filling the nobles' coffers.
No one yet imagined just how unlivable Europe was about to become.
"Then extend the ports deep enough for our ships to dock."
"Yes…."
"And how much gold?"
"All of it. Everything the nobles own — gather it up and hand it over."
Haneul intended to strip them of the greatest wealth they possessed.
"Thank you!"
"Truly! You are an angel, my lord!"
Watching the relieved European delegates, Haneul was cursing them inwardly as a pack of idiots.
"Enough! Skip the flattery and hurry back to deliver my terms."
"Yes, my lord!"
Before meeting them, she had pondered long and hard over what exactly to take.
Gold? Silver? Once technology advanced, mining output would explode anyway — she could gather it all later.
Then, land? It was already so vast that managing it was a struggle. What good would claiming this hellish pit of Europe do her?
So she decided to take people instead.
Peace descended swiftly between Europe and Daehan.
And another rumor spread just as fast: Daehan was recruiting migrants.
"What? The devils are gathering people?"
"What devils?"
"Their ships belch black smoke and sail without a single sail, do they not? They say it's because the devils bless them!"
The Holy See and the nobles of Europe told their people that Daehan was the land of devils — that anyone who went there could never attain salvation.
"And yet no one starves in Daehan, does he?"
"You mean the news from the ports?"
"Yes. They say life is good there."
"They trade with devils — that's why people are deceived! They're bound for hell, I tell you!"
"Tch…."
People agonized over the choice. Life was already a struggle — but what if, by some misstep, they dragged their whole family into ruin?
"Haa…."
"Honey, what's wrong?"
"What do you think about Daehan?"
"Whew… I've heard plenty myself."
A farmer sat worrying in their drafty hovel of a house.
The damned lord, insisting gold must be gathered, had taken even the seed grain meant for the spring planting.
"I keep thinking — this place is already hell. Could anywhere really be worse…?"
"Sob… every time I think of Amy, who we lost last year…."
With food scarce and their bodies worn down by malnutrition, people fell ill constantly.
Watching his wife weep at the memory of the daughter they had buried the year before, the farmer's heart grew heavy.
"Shall we go?"
"Yes. I can't bear it here anymore — every time I think of Amy."
So the couple packed a few simple belongings and set out.
One by one, those who truly could not survive — and those whose hearts carried wounds — began gathering at the ports.
Bustle, bustle.
The harbors where Daehan's ships docked were always packed with people.
Daehan had set up soup kitchens there, serving meals to anyone who came — migrant or not — and enormous crowds had flocked in.
"Whoa? Why are there so many people?"
"They've all come to eat. I walked three hours myself."
"Gasp…."
An old man answered the farmer's murmured words as he stood there clutching his meager bundle, his wife at his side.
Come here, he said, and you could beg a meal — and with a bit of luck, even carry food home with you.
"The people's faces look better than I expected, don't they? I thought this was supposed to be the gateway to the devils' land?"
"Devils, my foot. First time here, son?"
"Yes…."
First-time visitors to the harbor, like this couple, were always bewildered — and astonished.
They had assumed the place would be gloomy, filled with people who had nothing left to live for, on their way to the city of devils.
"Ha! If these are devils, then I'll follow the devils gladly."
The old man wanted to go too, but alas, he was simply too old. He had asked around the harbor, and they told him he could board — but he wouldn't last long, so he'd chosen to stay in his homeland.
All of the old man's children had already departed from this very harbor.
And now he passed his days here at the harbor's edge, sharing meals and conversation with people like this.
"You go, and I reckon good things will come of it."
"Do you really think so?"
"I do. They say anyone who wants to come back is free to return — and not a single soul ever has."
But the young man's face, already half-convinced this was a den of devils, remained clouded.
"You don't suppose they're… dead, do you?"
"Not a chance. My son is serving on one of those ships."
"I'm sorry — what?"
The reason the old man came to the harbor so often was that he could check on how his son was doing.
His son, who had boarded the so-called devil's ship, was serving aboard as an interpreter.