Chapter 185
Chapter 185
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 185
Chapter Title: The Approaching Year of Imo (2)
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January 1762. Empress Elizabeth Petrovna of All Russia boiled down the last shipment of Joseon red ginseng and drank a bowl.
She then calmly endured the Chun-sik armor treatment. Even in these modern times, everyone marveled at the empress's endurance—she didn't let out so much as a groan.
Electrotherapy itself already existed in Europe. But every renowned physician in St. Petersburg agreed that combining it with Joseon medicine would produce a remarkable synergistic effect.
Sure enough, the empress declared in a voice utterly free of any hint of illness.
"The miracle of the Elector of Brandenburg will not happen twice. Until we capture that warmongering German and bring him to his knees, do not retreat a single step from Berlin [Ni shagu nazad]."
The Russian army advanced in obedience to the empress's command. Unlike 1759, their chronically inept logistics had improved somewhat this time—enough that retreat was unnecessary. It felt like a miracle for the Russian forces.
The soldiers themselves thought sealing off Berlin was the right call.
Just as Elizabeth seemed fused with some iron-fisted secretary, Frederick harbored thoughts eerily similar to those of the Nazis.
Not like Hitler, mind you—just similar to the Nazis in general.
Instead of pulling poison from a rocket that no longer existed and drinking it, Frederick devised yet another quintessentially German diplomatic maneuver.
"Austria has essentially gained Silesia. That means they'll hand over the Southern Netherlands as promised to France. Austria and France no longer have reason to fight each other. We'll halt them and face Russia alone. I'll lead the charge myself. Assemble the Last Battalion [Letzte Bataillon]!"
By that logic, Russia should have stopped fighting after securing East Prussia. Their motive for joining had been to seize it, hand it to Poland, and claim Courland (part of modern Latvia) as their Baltic outlet in exchange.
Frederick's irrational fears were understandable, at least.
At that moment, Russia occupied a position akin to the State of Chu during the Spring and Autumn Period.
In other words, it was in a transitional phase—being incorporated as a "civilized" peer from the alien tribes beyond the forbidden forests. Just as in World War II, one could negotiate with "Europeans," but "Russians" felt like a different breed.
Yet Frederick's premise was fundamentally flawed, and that didn't change.
The three women who had already agreed to reduce the roster of Roman Emperor electors wasted no time.
House of Brandenburg? Business closed. The only concession in their negotiations was a promise to preserve Britain's Hanover in exchange for betraying Prussia.
The Austrian army now marched in lockstep with the Russians from the justly reclaimed Silesia. The French, who had bungled everything else in Europe, could do little but cheer them on from afar in their hearts.
Maneuvers, evasions, encirclements, deceptions, and scouts intertwined in short, fierce bursts. If one could momentarily forget Frederick's desperate straits, it was almost artistic.
The decisive battlefield ended up being Potsdam, just southwest of Berlin.
Frederick drew his sword with a grimly composed face.
The king asked his soldiers,
"Do you want to live forever? [Wollt ihr ewig leben?]"
Kim Unhaeng couldn't get mad about plagiarism. This was around the time Frederick had said it, back when Kim Unhaeng, speaking as "Crown Prince Sado" at Namhansanseong, had addressed "King Yeongjo."
Unlike his shout at the fleeing troops at Kolin, this wasn't a rebuke. No "you bastards" prefix this time, either.
So the soldiers didn't hang their heads in shame but firmly denied it.
"No, sire."
"Nor I."
He meant it. European monarchs might treat war like a soldier's game, with little risk of death from defeat, but kings who died in battle rather than execution weren't all that rare.
At the trumpet's blast, Prussia's Last Battalion charged toward the flank of the massed Russian forces ahead.
The Germans really did love war.
In St. Petersburg, Crown Prince Peter wailed, tears, snot, and spit flying everywhere.
"Frederick?!"
Mikhail Vasilyevich Lomonosov, advisory professor at Moscow University, couldn't fathom why the crown prince had come to him to make a fool of himself.
Sure, as a professor, his rank equated to a colonel in the army, but Lomonosov was neither soldier nor politician.
If Peter had bluntly said he wanted to commiserate over a German king's tragedy as fellow "German-educated" alumni, Lomonosov would have lost his temper for real.
Unlike Peter, who excelled at nothing, Lomonosov was a polymath with monumental achievements across science and the humanities.
To exaggerate slightly, he could single-handedly match every scientist aboard Endeavour. In fact, he was one of the scholars who observed the transit of Venus across the sun's face from various spots around the world at this very time.
The very idea that this idiot felt a kinship with him just because they'd both been in Germany was an insult in itself.
Still, Lomonosov had heard the rumors lightning-spreading across Europe. He replied politely, for the third time.
"He is dead."
Peter twisted his face into what now seemed like theatrical shock.
Then he roared again.
"Impossible! The great Frederick, skewered like game on cavalry lances? No way! Prussia's elite shredded by cannon fire from this uncivilized backwater? Ridiculous!"
Lomonosov nearly snarked that he seemed awfully well-informed.
Instead, he replied in a tone that screamed he wanted no part of this.
"I know little of military matters, Your Highness."
"I know! I know better than anyone. It's impossible. It's all rumors. Frederick lives. And he can still win if we act now."
"I see."
Anyone with a shred of empathy would have caught the icy indifference, but Peter took it as agreement.
"Yes! It's settled! What if the Russian army withdraws now? Frederick returns, crushes the Austrians. If we show goodwill by returning the seized territories, he'll surely aid Russia!"
For that, a pro-Prussian like Peter would need to become emperor.
And with Elizabeth showing no signs of tiring of the throne, that meant rebellion or death.
Lomonosov, a staunch patriot, noted the crown prince's irreverence. The rumors of Peter selling military secrets to Prussia might hold water.
In that case, even scientist Lomonosov could play politician.
Ivan Ivanovich Shuvalov, who had sponsored Lomonosov and greatly aided Moscow University's founding, was a Freemason with philanthropic sway in high society.
He was also Elizabeth's most favored lover—and naturally, her emperor's file. (Lomonosov doubted Peter even had a faction.)
Sponsors were precious. Lomonosov acted swiftly.
Shuvalov clicked his tongue.
"I know. He's been blabbing the same to others, not just you. We've overlooked his breaches of secrecy so far, but now it's gone too far. Action will be taken soon."
"I see. My ignorance of politics left me shocked."
Lomonosov looked faintly disappointed that his intel wasn't unique. Shuvalov, deemed invincible in society, caught the hint and responded smoothly.
"It's old news, but I know that irreverent German stole your chemical research credit. If you're unsatisfied with advisory professor, I propose pioneering another field as reward for your loyalty."
Shuvalov's suggestion: Oriental exploration, the specialty of that "irreverent German," scientist and historian Gerhard Müller.
Lomonosov had fiercely attacked Müller the moment he pushed his scandalous theory of Russia's origins from Scandinavian conquerors. But that hadn't quenched his rage.
Achieving greatness in Müller's domain of Siberia would be the sweetest revenge. His eyes gleamed.
"You mean Joseon. Their electrotherapy devices were primitive, but I'm deeply intrigued that they used electricity 'independently.' They might have gotten the tech from the Dutch or British, but recognizing its utility is key."
"Precisely. Politically speaking, with Europe nearly wrapped up, we must finish off China next."
All rebellions grow harder the longer they drag.
Qing generals in the west, watching their Kyushu comrades achieve extinction dreams, redoubled efforts for the massacre king throne.
Dzungaria held, but Tibet and Uyghur saw many submissions. Time for a decisive blow.
Redirecting Europe's victory momentum to Asia was an unassailable move.
More intel on Asia was always better—knowledge is power. Bonus goal: open trade routes to Joseon for more red ginseng.
"Postwar Prussia and other negotiations will take time. Start your survey with escorts meanwhile. Not rehashing Kazakhs or Kalmyks—focus on academic study and trade pioneering in Manchuria and Joseon. Kazakh units will provide protection."
"Understood."
As a civilian, Lomonosov bought it.
Shuvalov was grateful he didn't need to reveal the full picture.
Honestly, even if Russia had won the Seven Years' War instead of the poison war, invading China on that momentum was impossible.
The Russian army, clueless about logistics, would starve in the wastes before reaching the peninsula. Their Siberian expeditions against Qing forces were more exploratory guards than proper troops.
But now, things differed.
Amursana's desperately secured influence from Kazakh steppes to western China could serve as Russian supply lines—just as Russia had aided him.
And above all, another "secret agreement" forged during negotiations with Britain over Hanover.
This was the decisive trigger for Elizabeth's resolve to confront the Qianlong Emperor.
Overshadowed by France's legendary tax farmer Antoine Lavoisier—who refuted phlogiston theory and proposed the law of conservation of mass early on—Lomonosov seemed to resurrect in Russia what had vanished in Joseon: the duiju punishment.
Europe's unwritten rule spared royalty and nobles execution, but Russia had its own twist.
Original bat-king Ivan the Terrible, unlike Wilhelm, had beaten his own son to death.
Elizabeth could do the same to Peter with brute force.
But in this enlightened 18th century, that was too much. After ministers' pleas, Peter was confined to a room slightly larger than a duiju (and fed).
Crown Princess Catherine immediately cut ties with her husband. She already had son Pavel, of the same Peter (the Great) bloodline—Peter (the fool) was expendable.
Elizabeth couldn't discard Catherine too, leaving only infant Pavel—who was, truly, his father's dimwit son.
Upon Elizabeth's death, Catherine was the only sane one left in the Romanov line. She would need to serve as regent.
Whether ambition-packed Catherine would settle for regency was doubtful, but for now, she showed no signs.
Having thus tidied domestic affairs, Elizabeth advanced Prussian dissolution talks while secretly contacting Britain.
As Britain officially declared war on Spain and assembled a Philippine expedition fleet, Russia massively redeployed its army southward. Officially, to "suppress Dzungar rebels at China's request."
China's crisis, one might say. At least Britain and Russia wanted to believe so.
Shift perspectives, though: humanity's masters had turned the inherently competitive Great Game—even encompassing Joseon—into forced co-op mode.
The Year of Imo arrived, but no signs of the Imo Fire or Imo Rebellion.
Faithfully monitoring Namhansanseong as drill commander, I found King Yeongjo unnervingly silent within the nearly dismantled fortress walls.
If that's how it was, why had the status window nitpicked the Imo Year deadline when I made Yi Hwon king earlier?
I thought you'd set some trap for Imo Year. I've already figured you can't directly affect this world anyway.
Relieved, I resumed business.
The Military Training Agency's core revenue was grain tax transport. New ventures like Ganseo Bureau media production or traditional arms dealing had niche markets.
The agency held rights to ships (large ferries) for quietly—er, safely—transporting Honam grain. No handing over the rights to Joseon's richest granary, now even wealthier.
I planned major expansions and more vessels.
Not just grain. The Gyeongho Sea Police couldn't handle all shipping to Yeongho-nam yet. I'd exploit the gap.
To link the Han River-focused Chun-sik Fleet main force with Chae Is-seong's Jeju trade detachment, domestic shipping control was key.
Why my ships now? Because national army.
Problem: Overzealous shipbuilding by the Four Directions Command had stripped southern timber, already scarce.
I recalled my secret inspector days. Hamgyong's Amazon-like jungles meant the north still had plenty.
"Many ferries are rotted or broken, needing major repairs or replacements. The Six Provinces (excluding Gangwon) are barren of trees. I humbly request logging in Gangwon, rafting them down rivers for future use by the Training Agency or sea forces."
Mentioning sea forces pleased the ship-loving king, who approved gladly.
"Excellent plan from the drill commander. Continue promoting tree-planting, and later discuss importing timber from abroad."
Imports too? Fine. "Later"—say, 100 years—let's "discuss."
Having drafted the edict, I contacted Gil-saeng for smooth free timber. Even with royal orders, local vibes prevented clashes or waste.
But Gil-saeng beat me to it with urgent news.
Bewildered, I opened it—and nearly had a heart attack.
<Riverside folk say two Western teachers (priests) secretly crossed the Tumen. Likely detoured east around Dongpal-cham to evade Eight Banners eyes.>
I scrambled for brush and ink.
No mere vagrants—these were Catholic priests. Grade-A bombshell.
Had to shove them back across the Tumen for return. What did ex-high Qing officials lack to sneak into Joseon?
Then I spotted the line below.
ja (literary name). Told locals to keep secret for now. Found them late; lost track.>
My feared internationalization had spawned its worst side effect.
Expanded Qing trade—and smuggling—meant folk no longer feared foreigners.
Who loved that? Spies, naturally. Imperialists call them missionaries.
Won't Western faces stand out? Dress them Qing-style, and they're just odd-looking Jurchens. They'd even queue-hauled, no doubt.
The true Imo Year crisis might be the "Imo Persecution" after all—a chill ran down my spine.