Chapter 37
Chapter 37
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 37
Chapter Title: 18. The Golden Age of Bad Guys (2)
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Lee Jaewoon and I had already saturated Seoul's markets, which were showing signs of decline, so we set our sights on Songpa Ferry instead.
I'd mentioned Hanjung, but Songpa Ferry wasn't some undeveloped blank slate like the Han Valley in the days of Emperor Gaozu of Han.
Even there, countless merchants were locked in fierce competition with the thugs who preyed on them, boatmen handling river transport, porters, peddlers, innkeepers, and brothel owners. Step in carelessly, and you'd end up as fish food in the Han River.
That meant it was time to cash in on the goodwill I'd built up over time.
"During the last royal procession, I came from the Training Corps. The locals left their homes empty, but if we went too far and caused real harm, it would reflect badly, so I exchanged 'greetings' with a few officers and commanders. Now it's time to collect on the investments I made back then."
Indeed, when you spread favors far and wide, they always come back around. Now I was reaping the rewards of that night when I'd rushed around without even time to change out of my dirt-caked clothes.
Lee Jaewoon of the Toothless Gang got the picture and grinned, baring his teeth.
"Leave it to me."
Lee Jaewoon took several "regards letters" and advance payments from me, then headed to Songpa Ferry with his men.
In Joseon's marketplaces, one force you couldn't ignore was the military.
And when river transport was involved, no one came close to the Training Corps, aside from the Royal Guard.
Founded by King Seonjo Yi Yeon, the Time Troops were unmatched in speed and strength across Joseon, but they had one fatal flaw: as elite soldiers, they guzzled money.
They even invented the three-hand rice tax, tilled military farms, slashed officials' salaries, and cut back the king's side dishes in a grand performance, but the problem remained unsolved.
It wasn't that Joseon's kings were fools; in pre-modern times, growing the pie to fund anything was never easy. Kim Unhaeng's success owed much to operating on a small scale.
So the Joseon government wielded its privatization skill once again.
When times got tough, privatization meant turning a blind eye and letting them eat.
In 1704, King Sukjong—ever the bold reformer—officially abolished the state-run grain transport bureau, handing Joseon's grain shipping over to a motley crew of private subcontractors.
As a follow-up, they divvied up transport rights for the richest region's grain—Honam—to the Training Corps.
In other words: hustle your own side gigs and secure budgets to feed 5,000 men.
As a token of full support, they even handed over the Dimension Relic Ships, the fastest fleet's ultimate artifact for warp-jumping to Ganghwa Island in emergencies.
However, King Injo's ritual during the Manchu invasions failed for unknown reasons. Practical Joseon folk quickly found other uses for the ships.
With roles as market prosperity enforcers across the nation piled on, the Training Corps soon grew mighty.
Some might question this.
How could Training Corps soldiers—legally required to train only two or three times a month—find time to set up market stalls, load grain on boats, and extort protection money?
But if they were an ordinary unit stuck in one place at a time, King Seonjo never would have created them.
The Training Corps was everywhere and nowhere.
They could phase-shift between rifles and abacuses at will, existing simultaneously in training grounds and markets.
In markets, they became fearless elite warriors, beating merchants and seizing assets. On battlefields, they morphed into peaceful civilian traders, evacuating with lightning speed.
No unit suited the Fastest King's and Science King's personal guard better.
Other Five Armies or later Guard Command tried imitating them, but couldn't keep up.
That was Joseon's elite chrono-legion: the Training Corps.
A few days later, Kim, the brothel owner at Songpa Ferry—nicknamed Dog Eater for always drawing blades before words—received a bizarre contract offer.
It offered zero nyang to hand over the brothel and leave town, with a special clause guaranteeing his life.
Kim scoffed, naturally.
In classic thug fashion, he looked away dramatically, gesturing utter disbelief.
"Have these bastards lost their minds? I don't know what gutter these dog bones crawled out of, but you think eight or nine punks can cause trouble here...?"
Lee Jaewoon clapped once, cutting him off.
Then Eoji's fist smashed into Kim's face mid-boast.
Eoji's fist was roughly the size of Kim's head, give or take. No tricks needed—Kim's jaw shattered, cheekbone crumbled, and eyeball bulged out.
Kim, who bragged about killing seventeen men, didn't even draw his dagger before collapsing, twitching on the ground.
This showed just how skilled a martial artist Yi Gwiseo was, standing right after taking a hit from Eoji back then. Passing the military exam really mattered.
His men panicked, gripping staffs, daggers, hand axes.
But when Eoji hurled a much bigger metal object—the nearby pot lid—the front guy turned into a frog hit by a rock.
Lee Jaewoon's men pounced, swinging blades and clubs.
It was the ruthless, unstoppable momentum like Grand Prince Suyang beating Kim Jongseo's head with his slaves in tow.
After three or four went down the irreversible path, the rest surrendered and were bound.
But their spirits weren't broken. They railed against these scummy thugs.
"Do you even know who we are, pulling this crap?!"
"The troops will be here soon. We'll rip you apart before you even see the camp!"
They meant the Training Corps backing them.
No armed group in Joseon could rival the Training Corps. Outside Joseon, plenty could—but that's why Joseon locked its borders, making them practically invincible.
And sure enough, the invincible Training Corps arrived swiftly.
Dog Eater's men groveled exaggeratedly, begging the troops to punish these villains harshly. Even the Inspectorate thugs didn't slaughter like flies.
Training Corps sub-commander Kim Dojeong ignored them and addressed Lee Jaewoon.
"These the ones killing folks indiscriminately, raping women, and robbing property?"
Lee Jaewoon bowed politely.
"Yes, sir. They're known as Dog Eaters here at Songpa Ferry, vicious scum. They crippled a kid like my little brother, so I couldn't hold back and beat them down."
Dog Eater Kim couldn't even protest in his state. His men were speechless too—from sheer absurdity.
"What the hell did we do?! Who's this 'little brother' of yours?!"
But they couldn't lie about not beating anyone. As Sub-commander Kim said, they were irredeemable thugs.
And sworn brotherhood? If hearts align, it forms anywhere, anytime.
Lee Jaewoon had just adopted one of Dog Eater's many victims as his brother.
Joseon law even condoned private vengeance to a degree.
Kill your parents' enemy? Innocent. That's filial piety.
Kim Dojeong stretched that law further.
Sworn brothers? Can't be helped. Think of Liu Bei's grief at Guan Yu's death.
As the Dog Eater gang believed, the Training Corps was Joseon's strongest.
They dragged away the Dog Eaters—who hadn't even resisted after losing their key brothel income spot—after a thorough beating.
Dog Eater had friends—like Horse Meat or Beef gangs.
But seeing the Training Corps backing them, everyone suddenly turned upright citizens, minding their business.
Phase-shifting wasn't just for the military. Armies came from civilians, after all.
No revenge to fear. Joseon didn't protect criminals like in the 21st century.
As Judge Jang Bungik had set precedent: half die, half get Achilles tendons slashed, limping forever.
With things wrapped up, Sub-commander Kim Dojeong eyed Lee Jaewoon disapprovingly.
"We have a slight connection from the procession with the Mokcheon county magistrate, but don't overstep."
Meaning: a mere magistrate or deputy was the limit for such favors.
Lee Jaewoon hadn't planned big from the start. He replied humbly.
"Even small ties can grow into great ones with care. I won't trouble you again, sir. You've come far from the capital—have some hearty meat before you go."
As he slipped etiquette into Kim Dojeong's sleeve, the sub-commander—a yangban warrior too—had to reciprocate the commoner's courtesy.
"You know when to advance and retreat. Come find me if trouble arises again."
"Thank you."
Lee Jaewoon handled it brilliantly.
There was a reason I'd taken this risky gamble.
Studying history and civil service Korean history (very different things), I hadn't memorized the annals, so I didn't know the future precisely.
But I had the "broad strokes."
And if right, a big score was coming soon.
Not knowing exactly when forced me to expand into Songpa Ferry urgently.
But as a syndicate boss? No, official—so I minimized risks with heavy concealment.
Lee Jaewoon was unrelated to me, officially or not.
The Training Corps figured him—a Training Corps buddy of Kim Unhaeng—as freelancing his turf war using connections. They did it too.
No one would believe I'd ordered a Dog-Beating faction at Songpa.
I was a righteous Censorate official.
Thus, I finished the groundwork for my private errands.
Then, as Se-hwa said, time to focus on state affairs.
In Joseon, officials procured their own uniforms.
Donning the horsehair hat and official robes Se-hwa masterfully made felt different from magistrate days in military garb.
I half-expected some disastrous clumsiness to make it cute—nope. No exploding pots, no tripping with loads.
Se-hwa adjusted my sleeves and sash, then looked up.
"Why aren't you wearing the hat? Something wrong?"
"No, just amazed at the precision. You've never made one before."
Se-hwa smiled faintly, leaning her head on my chest.
"As a girl, I made them for Father or brothers' exams."
But they kept failing, so unused. No worries. I had the remedy.
But that needed time. For now, I strode out energetically.
The family man's commute.
Hongmungwan's junior clerk role was labor-intensive but didn't demand quick thinking or politics.
I'd see soon enough: probably human typewriter as clerk, or bumped up to human cassette as经筵侍读官 or human word processor as recorder.
This era had tons of "jobs" filled by people because no machines.
Not just slaves as AI. I'd do voice and fingerprint recognition for seniors (including beatings).
Word was, the Censorate's elite pride meant even career guys like me got the initiation rite.
Other offices weren't "real" offices. Seen this type anywhere, not just Joseon.
But I couldn't repeat regression Day 1's nightmare.
Couldn't feel that chill dread after two years. Back to "Dog-Beater" Kim Unhaeng? Game over.
Solutions abounded.
My direct senior—like squad leader—was active Hongmungwan instructor (5th rank) Kim Seonhaeng.
Obvious from the name: my cousin-brother.
He'd overcome non-elite limits like me to enter the Censorate—a solid talent. Difference? He hadn't cracked senior skulls.
Hongmungwan was in Changdeok Palace. I knelt before Kim Seonhaeng in the rear alley.
"Brother! Hope you've been well."
Bottom's-the-bottom mindset: activated "Bloodline Affinity" skill. Trusting you, King Seongjong.
But the damn skill gave zilch. Like this Yeonsangun's dad.
Kim Seonhaeng looked blatantly confused.
His face perfectly expressed: "Who the hell is this pop-up punk?"
Sorry. No need to agonize. Strangers, yeah.
Kinship? Embarrassingly distant—split at great-grandpa level minimum.
But same surname, same generation: close brothers. Just decided.
So what? Liu Bei and Emperor Xian were farther yet became uncle-nephew on the spot.
Ditching the useless skill, I chose surer means.
When alone, I pulled a silver hairpin from my sleeve and offered it.
Lee Jaewoon's trophy from crushing Dog Eaters.
"Newbies should greet all seniors properly, but brotherly bonds trump outsiders, so I came first."
Seonhaeng—top exam passer but (no local post) still modest means—was deeply moved by my brotherhood.
"I've heard you're the family pride!"
"Too kind."
I smoothly shifted to initiation rites.
Kim Seonhaeng kindly shared pro tips.
The Censorate's rite was notoriously brutal.
Basic military hazing like my Sugmunwon days, plus another ancient tradition.
"Normally, bring a full table of food, new clothes, sash, hat, fan. Seniors swap your stuff for their rags. Order by rank; fake shabby, get the stick."
Hongmungwan or Beggar Hall?
Why host a selfish swap-meet? Manners boiling over—tempted to dunk them in frozen Cheonggyecheon.
Not just Se-hwa's all-nighter—not tolerating such robbery.
"Miss the ten-day window, clerks boss you with half-respect. Yell? Useless—they follow higher-ups' hints. Tantrums just tire you. Many quit."
Out of ranks.
21st-century hanbok Koreans? Or modern Koreans in 18th-century suits?
Thanking Kim Seonhaeng's kindness, I moved on.
Work later. No duties till initiation anyway.
Off to Great Censorate. Not punished Song Jinggye—successor Han Ikmo.
3rd rank Great Censor your buddy?
Nope.
But friend of a friend.
Han Ikmo was in ex-Mokcheon magistrate Song Jinhum's Sheep Zodiac crew.
Song and I were photo-close bros. Top Sheep too.
Last month, during double Song merit stele review, unknown Inspectors polled reps; Han as Great Censor vouched big help.
Magistrate Song. Won't forget. One more favor?
Hearing my report, Han Ikmo fumed.
"Can't dismiss initiation customs entirely—they humble cocky noble exam newbies. But for a veteran instructor or judge who's endured outer hardships longer? Outrageous!"
I was deeply moved by his justice.
As thanks, I gifted a gold keepsake reminiscing our link, Song Jinhum.
No bribe. Song was Mokcheon magistrate; local specialty placer gold. What else?
We pondered Song's deep character and scholarship (not dead) in timeless chat.
Days later, Hongmungwan staff deemed initiation for careerists improper.
Clothes and wealth intact, I whistled happily to work.
Duties manageable.
No instant king-face duties sans training. Started scheduling clerk shifts, admin tasks.
One day, squad leader Kim Seonhaeng said:
"Like the Great Censor said, you're impressive all around. Already summoned."
"Pardon? Summoned where?"
Yeongjo calling? No need—I'd soon clerk, eternal nose-pick records.
"Crown Prince orders you to Spring Quarters. Missed it?"
Crown Prince? Ha. Laughable.
Not jobless anymore—full Censorate official. How dare private ties summon me?
I prepared polite refusal, weighing office dignity.
But words stuck.
Wait, something off.
What gall for the Crown Prince to poach an active Hongmungwan clerk?
What'd they call him again?
I dawdled; Kim Seonhaeng urged.
"Deputy Regent's command—hurry. Hongmungwan instructors often double as Spring Quarters staff; fits precedent. No king report needed—it's set."
Right.
The kid was co-ruler now.
1. Strictly speaking, Sukjong abolished the "Joseok" postal relay system—a form of grain transport corvée. The state stopped direct oversight, delegating to capital merchants, military units, local officials, etc.
2. Training Corps didn't just extort. Main income: grain shipping and trade. They held sales rights for firewood, certain goods.
And Dimension Ships weren't repurposed post-Injo failure. Half-year grain use from creation. Post-invasions, lessened Qing threat ramped commercial focus.
3. Clerk is the familiar "chronicler"; recorder reviews/compiles chronicler drafts. Recorder superior, naturally.
经筵侍读官 reads texts at royal lectures—scholars selecting/explaining, not pure cassettes like chroniclers.
4. Kim Unhaeng is Kim Suhang (literary Kim)'s great-grandson; Kim Seonhaeng is Kim Suil's. Not brothers—split great-grandpa or earlier. Seonhaeng's Hongmungwan role per Diary of the Royal Secretariat.
5. Censorate and palace warriors infamous for harshest initiations—not just Hongmungwan. Out-of-ranks real.
Clothes swap called "hwan-yeok," recorded in Um Gyeong-su's diary—prior-gen Hongmungwan official.
6. Censorate's superiority complex and treatment factual, but no clear record of forcing rites on careerists.