Guaranteed Employment - 4: Third-Rate Warriors
Third-rate. The realm for those just starting to learn martial arts. Anyway, since all you need is some martial arts knowledge, even picking up a generic technique off the street qualifies you as third-rate. Stronger than an ordinary person, sure, but honestly, they're more like ambiguous apprentices who barely pass as true martial artists.
Second-rate. The level where you can handle the role of one full-fledged martial artist. They make up the largest proportion of martial artists in the Central Plains, and even at second-rate, you're seen as an overwhelming powerhouse among civilians—someone who can enforce your will with fists closer to the law than actual statutes.
First-rate. Beyond handling one person's role, this is the realm of seasoned veterans. They're like skilled soldiers or senior members, the backbone of any sect or clan. In battle, victory or defeat often hinges on how many first-rates you can deploy. That's how crucial they are. So, martial factions manage their first-rates and above with ironclad control.
And regrettably, third- and second-rates don't fall under that strict oversight. 'Too many variables to manage effectively.'
I rubbed my dry face for a long while before turning back to the scroll. I didn't know who submitted the report, but it was damn well-written.
Third-rate is a realm you can reach just by dabbling in martial arts. Training is tough, so plenty drop out midway, but even those who learn a few sword swings out of a desire for power become third-rates. There are probably no small number of people living as ordinary folk without even realizing they're classified as third-rate.
Second-rate is a step up from third, but with that "largest proportion" label in the Central Plains, their numbers are beyond counting. Plus, at second-rate, you're right in that stormy phase where your ego swells and your nose is in the air. You've learned enough, so you throw a tantrum and demand to leave the mountain—martial factions have no real way to stop it.
'Stormy second-rates.' Or annoying second-rates. A bit harsh, but no better phrase fits.
'Can't exactly tell them to stop it, either.'
I let out a deep sigh and pinched my forehead.
We can't control third- and second-rates, but we can track first-rates and above thoroughly. That means the inspectors scattered across the provinces and the martial factions are doing their utmost. At least they're faithful to their roles.
If martial factions were tightly controlling even third- and second-rates, that would be the real problem. It'd mean they were oppressively suppressing the people of Daesong.
'Something only possible in the era of martial inviolability.'
Back when martial prowess held sway, once you stepped into the martial world, escaping was no easy feat. Like crime syndicates in my previous world—you had to be prepared to chop off your own hand to wash your hands of it.
That's why, in the past, even third- and second-rates bound to a faction couldn't casually return to civilian life, switch allegiances, or strike out independently. Martial authority loomed that large.
But not anymore.
If you've reached first-rate or higher, you have ambition for martial arts, and sects or clans treat you well. So those elites stay with their factions out of aligned interests. Third- and second-rates, though? No such alignment. If they want out, they walk, and factions can't stop Daesong subjects from leaving of their own accord. Try it, and you're branded a rebel oppressing the people—cue the government's spicy punches.
"This is driving me insane."
I muttered aloud without realizing it. Ultimately, this was a chronic issue born from Daesong's founding: the government's habitual hamstringing by bureaucracy, a lingering aftereffect of dismantling martial inviolability.
To fix it, just grant martial factions authority over their martial artists. They'd track third- and second-rates with spine-chilling precision—no need for government intervention. Like ruthless tax collectors scouring souls.
But handing that insane power to the martial world? No way, no reason.
Give them an inch, and they'll raise their heads again. Instead of the government officially pardoning and showing mercy, you'd get the horrifying sight of the martial world reviving on its own.
'Can't have that.'
Suppressing and checking the martial world consumed insane amounts of administrative power and resources, but outright reviving it was an even bigger disaster. Hand a sword to factions long oppressed, and who'd know how wildly they'd rampage?
I didn't even want to imagine it.
"Inspector—"
I almost habitually called for Jo Wi-cheo, then clamped my mouth shut. He was swamped with wedding prep. My ever-reliable right-hand man was temporarily off the grid.
No choice. When manpower's short, those left behind just work harder.
I stepped back into the Right Censor-in-Chief's office.
"Right Deputy Censor-in-Chief? What brings you back?"
"I have urgent matters to discuss."
The bizarre sight of a subordinate returning right after leaving made the Right Censor-in-Chief blink, then nod with a grin tugging at her lips.
"I think I know. Come to learn Taoism too, Right Deputy? Handy for work!"
As if responding, the scrolls drifting around the room whirled faster.
Definitely tempting. If I could master that, it'd be useful in so many ways. If I'd learned Taoism instead of martial arts, wouldn't my life be richer?
"How could I, no genius like you at Taoism, covet your arts, my lord? I just seek your esteemed wisdom."
But right now, Taoism took a backseat to martial world issues. Handle the urgent first, then worry about spells.
"My wisdom, eh."
Reading my seriousness, she nodded and beckoned.
"Come closer. My back's still aching."
"Ah, yes."
I hurried over at her words.
"This is the report on martial artists nationwide. First-rates and above are tracked cleanly, but anything below is impossible to pinpoint accurately."
"Hmm."
Showing her the problematic scroll, she frowned faintly and let out a thoughtful hum.
"Tricky business. If the martial world were hiding info on purpose, we could make an example of one, but this is beyond their capabilities."
"Yes. That's why I have a proposal for you, my lord."
"Speak."
"Why not treat second-rates and below as Daesong martial artists—not affiliated with any sect or clan—and investigate them directly?"
At my words, the scrolls she was handling clattered to the floor in a dramatic shower. I flinched a bit. It looked like she'd been struck dumb by utter nonsense—
"Ah, sorry. Hard to maintain when distracted."
Thankfully, she didn't dismiss it as nonsense.
"Treat them as Daesong martial artists. Meaning, instead of demanding info from the martial world, the government investigates directly?"
"Yes, my lord. Exactly."
She closed her eyes, deep in thought. Instead of compiling from martial factions, have officials survey second-rates and below personally. If those low-ranks wandered unaffiliated, it might be the best approach. A second-rate moving from Huashan to Zhongnan just shifts numbers between sects—doesn't change the national total.
But surefire effects meant surefire side effects.
"The inspectors will scream."
Manpower, time, resources—massive drain. Even gathering faction reports took effort. Now, no outsourcing—just legwork for every last one? Across the nation, for third- and second-rates lurking who-knows-where?
Impossible normally. It'd halt the entire bureaucracy, not just the Dochalwon.
"That's why I'd modify the approach."
No door-to-door hunts. Government tracks all Daesong martial artists, but through their voluntary cooperation, not top-down enforcement.
"Post notices offering badges to prove martial artist status. Making badges takes effort, but better than officials chasing them down."
Like travel permits or citizen IDs. Make it something they have to claim from public offices.
Whether they cooperate willingly? Irrelevant. Pressure them until they can't resist. Spot someone martial-like? Random inspection, demand badge. No badge? Detain. When issuing, submit usable techniques—caught using unlisted ones? Detain. Fines, labor, service—pile on penalties.
They'll think, Better grab the badge, even if it takes time.
Issuing to third- and second-rates only—minimal backlash.
"Right Deputy."
"Yes, my lord."
"If so, why not exclude third-rates? They're barely martial artists anyway."
Her spot-on suggestion made my nose tingle. Two heads truly better than one.
"You're right, my lord. His Majesty's order to survey the martial world targets those who could stir trouble—not every citizen who's toughened their body."
Skip third-rates, focus on second—drops difficulty. Fewer badges, even better.
"Emphasize it's national certification as a martial artist. Third-rates aspire to it; tell second-rates the state grants proof, and their hearts will race. They'll strive to earn it, and at second-rate, rush to claim it before we even call."
Spot on. If badges become rewards or status symbols for third-rates, perfect. Future second-rates will flock for them.
"For second-rates... promise upgraded badges in better materials or designs at first-rate."
"Issue to first-rates too?"
"Forces hidden elites to crawl out. No badge? Doesn't matter if they brag first-rate or peak—create a culture that doesn't recognize them."
I nearly teared up, moved by the emotion. As head of the agency, she piled perfect add-ons onto my idea. This was the joy of central work... that solid backing from a reliable superior...