Where the Heroes Fell - 2
After capturing the wild parakho we'd run into at the inn and shipping them off to Guyongguan, I headed for Fujian to soothe the wrath of Jwa Do-eosa and Dong-gu Wang. No matter how I thought about it, this was bullshit. The lunatics who'd messed with Dong-gu Wang's fortune were just some river pirate punks—why the hell did I, stationed in Shanxi, have to trek all the way down to Fujian to clean it up? Do I look like a pushover?
Yeah, I probably do.
What pissed me off even more was realizing I'd have sent myself too if I were in Jwa Do-eosa's shoes. The Dochalwon I belonged to handled critical duties like inspections and performance evaluations of officials. Thanks to that, over a hundred inspectors were scattered across Daesong's territories, each managing their own patch. For most incidents, it was standard procedure to resolve them at the local inspector's level.
But inspectors might wield inspection authority, they were still just regular 7th rank. Sending a measly 7th rank to deal with a king whose eyes had rolled back in fury—not to mention the prefect, the local censor, and the garrison commander who'd lost their minds right alongside him—was basically shoving them toward death. If that inspector ended up killing themselves, it'd be a workplace accident case.
That's why Jwa Do-eosa sent me. Excluding the top brass like the director and deputy directors, I was the highest-ranking vice inspector. And since that top guy was off touring the provinces instead of sitting in the capital, it made me even more expendable.
7th rank or 4th rank, what's the difference?
I ground my teeth imagining Jwa Do-eosa throwing tantrums at her subordinates even now. Honestly, for a king-level meltdown, shouldn't a 2nd rank go themselves? Of course, me getting pawned off to Dong-gu Wang wasn't just about rank—
"Uahaha! Boys, fresh meat's here!"
What the—
A booming voice suddenly erupted outside the carriage, and I poked my head out.
"Whoa."
And I was awestruck. Despite the midsummer heat, a bum draped in beast hides from head to toe—with an eyepatch on one eye whose vintage I couldn't even guess—was leading a pack of similarly ragged bums to block our carriage. Incredible. Daring to block a government procession on official business? Was this a show of having no regrets left in this world?
"We've come to personally donate for the sake of us righteous bandits of the green forest, so as a special treat, take just nine-tenths instead of the full ten..."
"Wi-cheo, strip 'em."
"Yes, sir."
The instant the bum started yapping about "green forest," my interest evaporated. In a world with no proper murim left, these mountain bandit wannabes were still LARPing as outlaws.
No wonder they can't even recognize an official carriage with that brainpower.
Maybe they were the type who'd hit officials too. Either way, they weren't needed for a peaceful, orderly society.
"If they're blocking officials, imagine what they do to the common folk."
"S-sorry, sir!"
The soldier guarding the carriage paled at my mutter and bowed his head.
"Forget it. Ever since High Ancestor set the realm to rights, we've finally had peace—yet these parakho can't shake their old Mongol habits and keep up their banditry. That's the real problem."
It wasn't aimed at the soldier or local officials, so I just shook my head casually. Unfortunately, running into bandits on the road or river pirates while crossing water was par for the course in this era. Even if local forces busted their asses on security, determined thieves could hide indefinitely. Reality.
They just never expected to target a carriage guarded by soldiers, that's all.
Everyone loves Guyongguan, but why play coy about it?
I genuinely wondered. In this vast Central Plains, showing up in my path to stir shit was as good as begging to be sent to Guyongguan or Shanhaiguan.
So why didn't these patriots just enlist voluntarily? Come to think of it, when folks applied on their own for northern fortress duty, the draft officers would applaud in admiration. Were they hesitating out of humility?
Such modest bastards.
I smiled watching Jo Wi-cheo enthusiastically frisk the bums—no, the patriots.
These patriots harbored the flame of loyalty in their hearts, ready to devote themselves to Daesong at the northern borders. But seeking praise for fulfilling basic duty was embarrassing. So they showed up before me, pleading to be arrested.
No big deal either way. I'd log it that way and ship them to the Guyongguan commandant.
"We need more guys like these."
"Y-yes?"
"Nah, just talking to myself. Ignore it."
I pulled my head back inside the carriage. Your Majesty. Sending another batch your way today for border peace.
It must've been that my mutter reached the Primordial Heavenly Venerable or something.
"Wi-cheo."
"Yes."
"How many is this now?"
"Ninth time."
Otherwise, there was no way we'd run into nine sets of patriots begging to be hauled off.
How the hell did public security get this bad?
One more and my hands would be full; even a chuckle felt hollow.
I wasn't patrolling a wild Pokémon hotspot or anything. What was this?
"Sir..."
"Speak."
Staring stone-faced at the subdued patriots Jo Wi-cheo had pinned, the Fujian soldier—who'd replaced the Zhejiang escort on the way over—spoke up cautiously. I wasn't in the mood to hear anyone right now, but I listened since he had the guts to speak up anyway.
"It might sound like an excuse, but rooting out bandits has been the top priority since founding—Fujian soldiers have never slacked on it, not for a moment."
"And it's still like this?"
"Soldiers can't comb the mountains every day..."
The soldier bowed deeply, his face a mix of fear and resignation. It grated that he dared say "We tried, but it didn't work" before a Dochalwon vice inspector. But flipping it around, it was heartbreaking how desperate things must be to utter that.
Troop numbers have limits.
As the soldier said, they couldn't scour mountains 365 days a year. Some had to man cities and fortresses; others trained periodically. And when VIPs like me passed through, escorts were mandatory.
Fixed numbers, endless tasks. No wonder.
Hell, I was bouncing between provinces from overwork myself. This mess stemmed from officials shouldering what should've been a murim-official compromise entirely on their own.
"Keep what you just said between us. Back to your post."
"Y-yes, sir! Thank you!"
So I let him go without punishment for his confession-not-confession. After hearing frontline officials and soldiers get ground down, punishing him with inspection authority would make me inhuman.
Damn murim.
My complicated feelings soon turned to resentment toward murim. If those bastards had kept functioning properly, none of this would've happened. If murim retained the government's trust and the commoners' admiration, officials would've had less to manage.
But today's murim had lost both. So the court bigwigs decided: better grind more bureaucrats than rely on those worthless shits.
Infuriating.
And what drove me madder was that the bigwigs' call earned the heartfelt agreement of all under heaven. Around age three—more precisely, when I realized through Father that this world differed from what I knew—I'd checked history books to gauge the divergence from original history.
Of course, a three-year-old poring over thick tomes looked weird, but Mother just thought I was cutely mimicking my parents.
Anyway, the truth I'd uncovered was heavy.
The founding wasn't smooth sailing.
Daesong's realm existed now, but when High Ancestor first raised his banner, Mongol might couldn't be ignored. Spoiled or not, they ruled the Central Plains—a superpower that once dominated the world.
Yet murim, enduring Mongol oppression while biding time, flocked to High Ancestor en masse. That support let him expand.
And there, murim's fate split.
Merit holders vs. the silent ones.
Murim warriors did aid High Ancestor. But not all united. Plenty stayed silent, shedding no blood.
How do you think the blood-soaked fighters—who lost family, friends, masters, juniors—viewed those silent ones? While they staked everything on an uncertain future, what of the cowards who hung back to watch?
"They didn't shield the people from barbarian oppression—so not true warriors. They harbored intent yet failed to aid the commoners—so not xiah!"
"How dare the warrior-less and xiah-less claim murim? They're just strong parakho!"
"This ain't wuxia!"
Internal foes were more hated than external. Once under murim's banner, warriors split into founding merit holders who joined the court—and cowards who lost everything.
The former didn't revert to wild independents; they pledged to the government. Thus, murim effectively died.
Young warriors admired the senior who’d fought barbarians—at court, not some gutless murim (that might've existed).
Hell, those who saw murim as traitors still lingered as Daesong's elders and core pillars, gnashing teeth.
When overworked staff dared suggest, "Can't we use murim again?" it started with "Grind!" followed by curses and critiques.
Dogs.
I rubbed my forehead with a sigh. Recalling the grim reality soured my mood.
"Wi-cheo."
"Yes, sir?"
"Which comes first—me dying, or murim reviving?"
Even stoic Jo Wi-cheo turned at my heartfelt question.
"Have you been day-drinking?"
"You little—"
Once again, I was the only one hurting.