Chapter 42
Chapter 42
"It was a flawless plan."
The leader of Hwae was standing right in front of me. I froze in disbelief for a moment, but then a voice drifted out from behind the brightly smiling yangban mask.
"A scheme that sows division among the Sedao Clans without ever exposing your own hand. Thanks to it, they won't even suspect Hwae's involvement in this mess."
The voice was utterly different from the old man's I'd heard moments ago. And it wasn't just the voice that had changed. The white overcoat draped over a black suit underneath. Even his height and build. Every single element that made up the old man had flipped completely from what I'd first seen.
"General Yu Sang-hyun's case was the same."
As I stared in shock, the yangban mask continued, reciting the strategy we'd just pulled off.
"Not only did you rescue the biggest threat to their power—you made them think he was dead and hid him away completely."
"……."
"You're the one who's accomplished two feats that could reshape Joseon's future."
It was impossible to tell if he was praising me or interrogating me.
"How did you pull all this off?"
The yangban mask finally turned to me, his voice dropping a notch. It felt like a demand for an answer.
I didn't hesitate.
"Because I'm one of them—one of the Sedao Clans."
Thinking back, it really was that simple. Me, a member of the Andong Kim Clan, plotting a revolution to topple Joseon's entire system from the shadows. Stirring up conflicts among the Sedao Clans, engineering disasters for their families. Even the great Kim Jung-heon of the realm couldn't dream of such a thing.
"That's secondary. The real reason is something else."
"The real reason?"
Click. The convenience store customers all transformed. People in various outfits, each wearing a mask like the yangban one, staring at me. It was straight out of a horror flick—grotesque.
"Kim Chang-un. You were born into Joseon's uppermost elite."
The yangban mask began.
"Even if your clan doesn't acknowledge you, you're yangban from birth. You have no idea how the lower classes live—and no need to."
He was right. Sure, the clan looked down on me, but I never went hungry. My family despised me, but I still held the status of a noble house member. And that was just the start. I'd grown up in luxury, receiving top-tier education. Wielding sums of money ordinary folk couldn't even imagine.
The people's hardships? The commoners' suffering? That was some other world, completely unrelated to mine.
"You have no reason to change Joseon."
"Why not?"
All that buildup, and it turns out this was an ideological screening. I fired back with my prepared response.
"You think being a bastard son is easy? To survive among highborn yangban, I had no choice but to—"
"Lies."
It didn't land. The yangban mask shot it down flat.
"If your goal was just surviving the clan's power games, pledging loyalty and climbing the ranks would be far smarter. A sharp guy like you knows that."
He spread his hands as if to say, "Right?"
He's got a point, a hundred times over.
I smirked inwardly.
That's exactly why, in my past life, I'd started as Jo Seong-hwan's hunting dog. Why I'd earned their recognition and ended up doing every dirty job as their cleanup crew for the Sedao Clans. There'd been no better option.
"But why throw yourself into revolution like this? You're unrelated to it. Why risk everything on a hopeless cause?"
"Then let me ask you the same."
This might drag on a bit. I met the yangban mask's gaze.
"For centuries, the Sedao Clans' positions haven't budged. Their era drags on."
"……."
"The Royal Inspectorate's net is tightening. Hwae's operations, once nationwide, are now crammed into central Hanseong."
We'd succeeded in two ops, opening the floodgates—but Hwae was still withering. No wonder an executive came to a bastard like me. Desperation.
"So I'll ask."
The yangban mask shook his head, like I'd hit the mark.
"With things this dire, why bet your lives on a hopeless revolution?"
He could give a dozen answers. The will to fix a rotten world. The grudge of commoners crushed by the Sedao Clans. Or dredging up some ancient oath.
But as I mulled over possibilities in my head—
"Because it's all we have left."
The yangban mask's unexpected reply spilled out.
"We despaired at an unchanging world, raged at those mocking us from the court. We endured centuries like that. But now, even recalling our original resolve feels shameful. Our troupe is exhausted."
"……."
"But we can't live any other way."
A hint of regret laced his words.
"How many years have led to this? How many comrades' corpses litter that path? The blood of those who went before makes us who we are. How could we turn our backs on it for some other life?"
"……."
"That's why we keep trying to change Joseon."
Did he still see the dead in his vision? The wrinkled old hands trembled faintly.
"We've come too far to stop now."
In my past life, Hwae never joined the Iron Tiger Army's revolution directly. They couldn't. The Reception Ceremony not long ago—Hwae had charged in to save Yu A-rin and gotten wiped out in the process.
So that's why they took that suicide mission. This is the backstory.
Centuries of fighting. An unchanging world. Comrades falling one by one. They'd endured every storm, only to burn out.
That's why they sacrificed themselves for Yu A-rin. Better to break than bend—for the future revolution, they shattered themselves. To honor the names of those who'd gone before.
What about me? I'm different.
I didn't change the world; I changed myself. Didn't fight evil—just compromised, then became their vanguard.
That was my choice, and my mindset hasn't shifted. Stick with the strong to survive—common sense.
And now, I'm orchestrating revolution in Joseon. Saved the king's bloodline, Yu A-rin. Killed Jo Seong-hwan, fracturing the Sedao Clans.
Why? Simple.
If you know the race outcome, you bet on the winner.
I know the revolution succeeds. I've seen the future where it does—seen them burn the world, felt the flames myself.
To avoid that same end, I'm joining them.
That's it. A bat clinging to the winning side, better than the middle.
So I can't understand their resolve. A rotting world past stability. Risking life like chaff to change what hasn't budged in centuries.
"I'm not blaming you—don't make that complicated face."
Sensing my deepening thoughts, the yangban mask shifted tone abruptly.
"It's just... a like-minded yangban after so long. This old man's gotten cold feet, uncharacteristically. My apologies."
From menacing interrogator to kindly elder. Tilting the mask to shift shadows conjured endless expressions—eerie.
"And while I'm at it—I'm truly grateful to you."
"……Grateful?"
I shot back a questioning look, and he chuckled easily.
"Thanks to you, our troupe landed a solid hit on the Sedao bastards. It's breathed new life into us. So many rejoicing that we've finally punched a hole in their fortress."
"Ah."
That explained why some Hwae execs had been oddly friendly.
"That's why I'm even more curious."
He continued slowly.
"Why would someone your age, with such talent and potential, start something as hopeless as revolution?"
A natural question. No one dreams of revolution without reason.
Tell 'em I regressed from a future where it succeeds? They'd call me insane.
"This revolution will succeed."
I finished thinking and met his gaze.
"That's why I'm all in."
The yangban mask just stared, silent.
Throwing yourself into a doomed revolution because it succeeds? What kind of nonsense koan was that?
But I could say it with more confidence than anyone in Joseon. I knew how their revolution unfolded. What they knew and gained. What they missed and lost. And how they ultimately torched this country.
Only I knew it all.
"Sedao politics will crumble."
So I just answered. No lies.
"It will happen, without fail."
Beep.
"That's 1,200 won."
"The price just halved out of nowhere?"
"Don't look at me like that. Boss's orders."
Chang-un finished chatting with the smiling clerk, hands full of snacks, and headed out of the store. From the sound of it, he was taking them to share with the church kids.
"What do you think?"
As I watched his back, a tall man's silhouette emerged behind the yangban mask.
Hwae's top fighter, Imae-tal. He'd been cloaked in optical camouflage behind him from the start.
"We'll need a new mask for our collaborator."
New mask. Pondering the meaning, the yangban mask went on.
"Grant access to info two levels higher. Provide extra gear. If needed, arrange meetings with our 'patrons' in each region."
"Right away."
Imae-tal bowed deeply and left.
Soon, agents disguised around the hideout swarmed to the yangban mask.
Halmi. Jung. Tteokdari. Eachsi. Bune. Seonbi. Baekjeong.
Masks of every kind gathered around him.
"I won't tell you to drop your suspicions. Judge the boy for yourselves."
The agents bowed slowly at his words.
Surveying them, the yangban mask recalled his talk with Chang-un.
'Sedao politics will crumble.'
'It will happen, without fail.'
No hesitation, no doubt.
Even past yangban masks who'd fought the Sedao Clans for centuries hadn't dared such certainty. And here was a fifteen-year-old boy spouting it.
Pride in his abilities? Or youthful bravado?
Impossible to say yet.
But...
"Even in my youth, I never dared utter such words—and this child says them with utter conviction."
Finishing, the yangban mask slowly drew something from his bosom.
A notebook bound in Han-style. Paper-made in an ancient method, fit for a museum.
"Guangmu 327. -Month -Day, Gihai."
A small drone with a brush hovered, inscribing his voice into the archaic book.
"The bloodline of my sworn enemy opens its mouth, shaming the embers—and it feels like fire reignites in this dying heart."
The agents around him stayed silent as he continued.
"As some Buddha said, even in the filthiest mire, lotuses bloom. Fitting words. The dagger piercing the heart of ancient usurpers lies dormant in the seed they sowed…."
His voice, heavy with old grudges, etched character by character.
Weaving sight into words, words into script. Passing it to posterity.
For Hwae, it was paramount—their task, intertwined with this nation's history.
"The chronicler reflects."
The old voice inscribed itself. Amid its calm, long-absent fervor lingered.