Efficiency Gamer's Straw Mat Emperor Meta
"Ah... fuck, we're really screwed."
Jinhyuk's instinctive curse rumbled low from his mouth.
The moment they broke through the hellscape outside the gates, the fortress interior hit them like a miniature hell-train.
The stronghold, meant for just over a thousand garrison troops, was now crammed with endless refugees—corridors, courtyards, even the base of the walls packed so tight there was no room to breathe.
Jinhyuk had vaguely figured it.
'Around 10,000, maybe.'
But the density of the crowd unfolding before him dwarfed even that imagination.
No Hwi's two-month death sentence pressed down, mixing with sweat to trickle down his spine.
Jinhyuk forced his staggering body upright and gripped Beom Dal's shoulder hard.
"Beom Dal, at this rate, forget meetings—we'll all get crushed to death. Issue orders now."
Jinhyuk's cracked, rasping voice bounced off the corridor's stone walls.
"All of Manma-gwang, half of Cheonrangdae—detach them immediately to prep and stand by for return to the Outpost. Round up the sorted refugees scattered in the fortress yard, starting with those done, and escort them straight to the Outpost. Pursuit squads or other tribe scum might sniff them out and charge. But remember: these are our people now. No rough handling. Treat them like family. Get them there safe."
The moment Jinhyuk's orders dropped, Beom Dal roared.
Beom Dal bellowed Jinhyuk's words as if to shake the fortress to its foundations.
"By the Brigade Commander's decree! All Manma-gwang and half of Cheonrangdae—inspect your weapons and sharpen your blades at once! Escort the sorted refugees to the Outpost! Any who break formation or cause chaos endanger our allies—cut them down without mercy. But touch a hair on the escorted folk? The Brigade Commander's military law demands you treat them as family!"
At Beom Dal's thunderous shout, the Cheonrangdae soldiers' eyes flickered subtly.
They were originally from the Central Plains' wars—lost their homes, sold or dragged as slave soldiers.
The screams of parents torn away, the scent of a homeland lost so long ago even siblings' faces blurred.
Days rolling as slaves had stripped their humanity—but Jinhyuk's "treat like family" stabbed like a blade to the heart's core.
"Hey, you. No crying. You'll lose strength and can't walk."
One Cheonrangdae soldier roughly wiped dirt from a terrified kid's cheek with a callused hand.
The kid shrank in fear; he grunted on, gruff.
"Not gonna eat you. I was dragged south to here your age too. Cried like you back then... so quit it. Stick right behind me and walk."
Another soldier nearby snatched a woman's load like it was his.
"How you gonna haul this to the Outpost? Gimme. This is why the Brigade Commander feeds us. Auntie, grab that kid's hand tight. Lose him, we'll scour to hell's end. No worries."
Even amid sword edges vigilant outward, their killing intent sharp—the soldiers' words were short, rough, but warm.
They projected lost sisters from the Central Plains, unknown mothers' backs, onto these refugees.
That odd, clumsy tenderness in rough men's hands was the Cheonrangdae's hottest response to Jinhyuk's command.
Only after confirming the scene did Jinhyuk head to the fortress commander's inner chamber.
What he needed now wasn't sentiment—it was 'space' and 'authority' to control this massive chaos.
He kicked open the door to the innermost room, the fortress's central, most building-like spot; external noise faded, cool silence settled.
Jinhyuk slumped crookedly into the worn wooden chair, propping his chin. Still clutched the roughly carved wooden stick used outside the gates to log refugees and exchange letters with No Hwi.
Thunk!
Tossing his helmet on the nearby table unleashed Daeseol-ung's resonant bone creak, shattering the quiet.
He swept back sweat-matted hair, pulling bamboo slips and charcoal from his bosom.
Moments later, Beom Dal herded people in.
Cheonrangdae's officers, Wiji Gang—once Yan Empire general candidate—his adjutant Jo Pil, the twelve tribes' elders pale-faced.
Actual Numbers
Jinhyuk propped his chin, scrawling Hanja on the dirt floor with the stick, staring at No Hwi.
"Report. Recite every number straight."
Beom Dal swiftly translated without missing a beat.
"The Brigade Commander's word! Report the actual numbers, every head, without error—now!"
No Hwi shuddered under Jinhyuk's impassive gaze and Beom Dal's roar, unfurling his bamboo slips.
"Yes, Brigade Commander... Total assembled inside and out: 13,232 including our forces. Of them, new nomadic refugees at the north gate: 8,831. Xianbei Talhae tribe 2,200, Khitan Yalu branch 1,850..."
Jinhyuk propped his chin again, tapping the dirt with the stick.
"But... Brigade Commander, the figures are odd. Among nomadic refugees, able-bodied men: only 2,250. Women and children: 3,200 women, 2,931 kids... elders: just 450."
Pause—
The rhythmic tapping stopped; No Hwi's heart clenched.
Abandon the Elderly
"No Hwi, numbers look fishy? Near 3,000 kids but elders at 450? Inverted population pyramid... right? Didn't ditch the old folks somewhere to save food?"
At Jinhyuk's point, Beom Dal jabbed the floor, bellowing.
"Near 3,000 kids but elders at 450! Ditched the old ones on the plains alone? Abandon the Elderly—the Brigade Commander demands the reason for this heartless count!"
The elders flattened to the floor screaming; Elder Batu, who'd begged Jinhyuk's mercy before, stepped forward again.
"General... the plains' law is merciless. We elders dismounted first—those too frail to move or fight long. So the young and kids could flee one step farther, we chose to stay behind, buy time against pursuers!"
The chamber filled with officers' silence and elders' sobs.
Jinhyuk closed his eyes briefly.
Even the stick's scratching Hanja ceased.
The sacrifices hidden behind these refugees' arrival.
Those ~3,000 kids stood atop elders' and parents' corpses.
Wiji Gang, arms crossed in the corner watching, spoke coldly.
"Brigade Commander, no time for sentiment! Whatever their tale, this path leads to ruin in a month! Feeding 13,000 all? Impossible!"
Wiji Gang's sharp Central Plains tongue pierced Jinhyuk's ears as fierce Korean.
His eyes held contemptuous vengeance toward them—but also desperate loyalty, fearing his acknowledged lord's reckless choice would doom him.
"Do this instead! Cast out useless elders, women, kids beyond the gates! Keep only the ~2,000 able men, absorb into our ranks. That's our survival! Discard the Weak, Keep the Strong! In war's chaos, abandon weak, retain strong—that's the only way!"
Discard the Weak, Keep the Strong
Wiji Gang's shout froze the room like poured ice water.
Jinhyuk stared at the floor, chin propped.
'If this were a monitor screen, a few mouse clicks...'
Jinhyuk's lips trembled faintly.
In a game, no dilemma.
'Food shortage' warning? Delete low-tier units dragging efficiency, drag 'em outside the walls and dump.
Just data shaved off by efficiency.
But now, refugees' sweat stung his nose, ragged breaths of women clutching kids.
13,232 wasn't an error code—it was the 'weight' of lives, each different.
A chill realization flashed.
'Taking them is insane. My goal's one: survive, find who tossed me in this hell, sever their neck.'
Shouldering 13,000 lives? His steps slow to a crawl.
Revenge path lengthens, survival odds plummet.
In this merciless world, altruism was poison straight to death.
Culling as Wiji Gang said fit the 'original goal' better.
Jinhyuk's mind whirred like a cold calculator.
'No—opposite. Reach them with a few thousand soldiers? No chance. Thousands of dantian-shattered, martial arts-sealed slave troops? Laughable. Use these 13,232 as stepping stones, climb as high as possible... only then grab that bastard's—man, woman, or horde's—throat.'
Ditching them saves food now—but maybe tosses the 'cause' and 'force' to upend the world.
Jinhyuk smirked bitterly, regripping the stick.
'So-called Liu Bei meta. No Cao Cao setup yet, so grind the straw-mat warlord neighborhood thug to emperor.'
He Who Wins the People's Heart Wins the World
Jinhyuk lifted his head, staring at Wiji Gang, murmuring low.
"Wiji Gang, what can you do with just 2,000 extra men? That's bandit shit."
Beom Dal, startled by the Hanja but dutiful, translated.
"The Brigade Commander's word! Wiji Gang, is your vision mere bandit chief level? He Who Wins the People's Heart Wins the World. Saving these 13,000 lives eyes the throne—the sole path to rise in the Central Plains' chaos!"
Wiji Gang's pupils shook wide.
Not mere sentiment—Jinhyuk's eyes swirled with vaster, colder, sharper ambition.
Jinhyuk etched another line in the dirt.
People Are the Foundation of Great Enterprise
As Wiji Gang fell silent, overwhelmed, Jinhyuk swung the stick—erasing letters, slashing rough lines.
Scraaape, scrape.
In seconds, fortress-centered rough map: Outpost, Great Wall, surrounding terrain sketched in dirt.
Jinhyuk stared at Wiji Gang.
"Wiji Gang, Yan Empire general candidate, right? You remember maps?"
Beom Dal relayed.
Wiji Gang stared blankly at the floor, grasped intent, knelt.
"Reading terrain, maps for strategy—general's basics. But this Great Wall north's details? Even I find them foreign."
Jinhyuk jabbed the stick at the twelve tribes' elders.
"Beom Dal, ask the elders. Ones who know local geography like their palms, who've ridden these plains lifelong— all out."
Beom Dal's roar; elders clamored.
"Our tribe's hunters know pebble counts beyond the mist pits!"
"I've lived these plains 40 years!"
Jinhyuk gathered them round the dirt map.
Know Enemy, Know Self—Victory in a Hundred Battles
"Now, Wiji Gang—you lead. Jo Pil, other empire vets, elders—complete the map. Record every word from these geezers. Rivers, ponds, ley lines, ambush spots for pursuers. Central Plains or beyond—no gaps. World map, all marked. Fail? Starve chained together or die fighting."
Wiji Gang, Jo Pil, foreign-origin Cheonrangdae, elders huddled, sketching mountains, rivers in dirt.
Real-time: fortress surroundings to 'world map' formed.
Jinhyuk watched, eyes sharpening keen.
'Good. Terrain grasp isn't enough. Gauge this world's shape too... Earth-like? Or wholly alien isekai?'