The Irritating Ones are the Culprits - 5
After sending Yeon Ji-un and Ju Gang on their way, only the three officials remained in the room. On the surface, this incident was nothing more than a heated argument between scions of the Yeon and Ju families. But there's a saying: if one event catches your eye, ten lurk beneath the surface, and a hundred more hover in the shadows. If debates were breaking out in broad daylight, it was safe to assume the murim forces of Wuchang and Huguang had split into two camps. One side argued they couldn't afford the stigma from the founding war days and had to act; the other insisted on following the government's order.
"What a headache." With the two martial artists gone, Pojeongsa let out a quiet sigh and lifted his teacup. "Both sides have their reasons, and the pros and cons are clear as day. We can't back one over the other or crush either."
"Your Excellency is right. If we suppress those who seek to protect the people, who will speak of greater good? If we ignore those who uphold order, who will respect the law? Truly a dilemma."
I nodded instinctively at Pojeongsa's words. It was indeed a headache. If good and evil were starkly divided, or even if right was leaning one way, there'd be no need to agonize. Even if it meant short-term losses, supporting the moral high ground would benefit the nation in the long run. But here, both sides had morality and justification. The world would nod in approval at whichever you chose and tsk at the one you sidelined.
"How nice it would be if they were officials."
It was a murmur so faint a commoner might miss it, but as a martial artist myself, it rang louder than any shout.
Officials, huh. I gave a wry smile at the mutter. This mess arose precisely because murim had no ties to the government. Back in the days of murim-government separation, officials wouldn't have needed to fret. Before word even reached them, murim would have smashed the self-proclaimed unorthodox heads. That was murim's role, and the government granted them leeway for it.
But now? Murim lacked authority to unilaterally crush self-proclaimed villains like water bandits or mountain raiders. Even if the people suffered, the government wouldn't sanction independent action—no matter if its troops were absent or shorthanded.
In the end, it's the stigma against murim at the root.
On the surface, a noble debate over people versus order. But scratch a little, and it was clear this was an extension of the decades-old question since Daesong's founding: How should the government treat murim?
To solve it, just eliminate murim altogether. Enlist every martial artist as a soldier, downgrade sects to military households, and the realm would stabilize massively. But was that feasible? Even Daesong, gripping the Central Plains' wealth, couldn't afford to pay all those salaries. There were limits to big-government centralization.
"Where ten gather, one is bound to be hot-blooded." As I fiddled with my teacup in thought, Pojeongsa spoke again. "The Yeon and Ju scions stopped at raised voices, but soon enough, someone will act without a word from the government—unable to contain their youthful zeal."
"Indeed. It's inevitable."
Pojeongsa was spot on again. Not everyone in the world was rational, calm, or cautious. Sometimes, freaks emerged who acted before thinking—or even spoke through deeds. And if they popped up now, the government would have migraines. Those types moved with breathtaking speed.
"Controlling such folk is the government's duty. Yet no sooner do we lose manpower than troubles sprout everywhere." Pojeongsa sighed deeply and downed his still-hot tea in one gulp. He must have been truly frustrated. Earlier, listening to Yeon Ji-un and Ju Gang, he'd beamed like an elder proud of spirited youths. Now, he looked like an administrator staring at a broken system.
"Right Deputy Censor-in-chief."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
"Having swords but unable to slay bandits, hands but unable to wield blades—it's a pity."
I stayed silent at his lament. It didn't seem like he wanted a reply.
This is maddening. I cooled my own burning frustration with a sip of tea. From my memory, Huguang's Pojeongsa had started his career right after Daesong's founding, mostly in the provinces rather than the capital. That meant he'd felt murim's necessity more acutely than their threat, experiencing the frontline desperation firsthand. Hence the lament.
He deplored the inefficiency of the government trying to control everything—including murim—while crumbling the moment manpower leaked away, like a castle on a shaky card tower.
For him to say that. And right in front of me, a censor and crown prince.
Has it reached critical already?
If a lowly county clerk said this, I'd chalk it up to inexperience or burnout, and let his seniors handle it. But this was Pojeongsa. You couldn't rise that high without mastering your emotions, nor endure without thriving on heavy workloads. Yet here he was, acting like a green or broken underling.
A desperate show-off. A cry for help.
This was his urgent plea: the provinces would collapse like this. They were holding on with founding-era vigor, but generational turnover could doom them.
"...I came to Wuchang because I'd heard strange stirrings in Huguang and Hunan murim."
After a moment's thought, I spoke evenly. Responding directly to his grievance was impossible. The best I could do was acknowledge it calmly, without nitpicking or outrage.
"To drag a busy Right Deputy Censor-in-chief all the way to Huguang—embarrassing as this province's head."
Thankfully, he caught my intent and joined the awkward topic shift willingly.
"How is this Your Excellency's fault? Even if the realm united against northern invaders, it'd fall short—it's the vicious bandits chasing selfish greed."
I subtly pinned the unrest on the bandits. Circumstantially, the Dochalwon's intel on murim disturbances wasn't from water bandits—Pojeongsa hadn't known of them, so how could they provoke us? Likely, the Dochalwon had detected similar Yeon Ji-un/Ju Gang-style flare-ups across Huguang and Hunan.
The inspectors must've been busy.
Over a hundred were dispatched across the Central Plains. How many covered Huguang and Hunan? Even one report per person would've flooded us.
The silver lining: Pojeongsa was unaware of the inspectors' findings. That meant local reports hadn't reached him—either recent incidents or not big enough yet.
Time to smooth this over.
Thus, frame the culprits as water bandits. Treat Huguang-Hunan murim unrest as mere bandit fallout. That sinks the people-vs-order debate—and murim treatment—back under the surface. Keeps focus on the Mongol war.
Conveniently, the murim factions' overt gripe was bandits too, so government cleanup could pause the arguments. Temporary fix, sure—like barely suppressing a bomb. But hey.
What, you want me to let it blow?
Raising issues is easy; no solution means tantrum-throwing. Is this why they sent me?
Suddenly, Jwa Do-eosa irked me. Did she know this dilemma and pick me? Others might bungle it or flee.
Damn. It wasn't wrong judgment—I bit my lip. Only I could shift blame to bandits and paper over it: official report for show, unofficial nudge to Jwa Do-eosa.
Others might not think of or dare such sleight-of-hand.
The weight of bloodline. Giwangga crown prince lets me do much—but shoulders more. Pathetic, really.
Decision made, action swift. The water bandits near Wuchang that Yeon Ji-un and Ju Gang mentioned—supposedly lying low. I hit them louder than anyone.
"Y-Your Excellency! We did nothing—we were quiet!"
Caught off-guard, a bandit who looked like mid-level brass flailed desperately, as if wronged.
Wronged, my ass. As if they suffered more than me handling this mid-honeymoon. Plus, existing as water bandits was crime enough—breathing was guilt.
But spilling my rage would just be venting, so I draped a justification.
"Doing nothing is your crime!"
"Eyes to spot enemies! Ears for generals' orders! Hands for weapons! Feet to march! Even martial arts learned! Possessing such bodies and idling—broadly speaking, desertion!"
"Wh-what?"
"From today, you reborn as Daesong soldiers!"
Even I didn't get the logic. But logic didn't matter now. Flashy, noisy capture—that's what counted.