Chapter 7

◈ The Sambyeolcho in South America (5)

The Next Day

Sangmin woke up early in the morning, preparing to start his duty, but he felt a bit, no, a lot, aggrieved.

He recalled the days when he decided to enlist in the military to avoid being looked down upon by those around him, despite being from an orphanage.

Back then, he immediately regretted it the moment he heard the morning reveille on his first day at the training camp.

‘No, I’m sure I set myself up as the commander of the Sambyeolcho, so why am I only a general?’

At least make me a nominal king.

Or a high-ranking commander.

Or even a prince.

Why do I have to guard them?

Why does it feel so familiar to go on duty?

Not only the duty, but he was already getting used to the absurd military life in this game.

It might be due to his adaptability trait.

Or perhaps it’s because of the mindset of a veteran soldier ingrained in him over two years.

It felt like he was being assigned to guard an ammunition depot, so he grumbled.

At that time, the duty system rotated among different units, and he and the soldiers he led were on duty.

CCC? Intelligence Office? There’s no way. Of course, high-ranking officers also had to stand guard.

Among the two hundred soldiers he led, more than half were under the command of Yonggil and would handle things on their own.

It was his turn to go on duty.

He put on his armor, led his subordinates to the king’s tent, and saw a Ubyeolcho captain, who was temporarily on duty, sitting on a stone in a secluded spot. The captain got up awkwardly when he saw Sangmin.

Even the soldiers under the captain’s command were leaning on their spears and resting against something, but they pretended not to when they saw Sangmin.

He didn’t know why he found these people so unpleasant.

He just didn’t like them, from head to toe.

‘Is it because I’m a veteran with a strict mindset? Or is it just that they’re wrong?’

Even with strict orders from above to be vigilant.

Sangmin, being part of the Shinuijun, couldn’t just act recklessly, so he held back.

He also decided not to cause trouble and wanted to observe the situation for a while since he had just arrived.

“There’s nothing special.”

“...Good work.”

It didn’t seem like he had done much, but the captain and his soldiers retreated quickly, looking relieved to be off duty. Sangmin assigned his soldiers to their positions.

He had to designate everything himself.

The way the troops were managed showed how indifferent the Sambyeolcho was to the Goryeo royal family.

“Even if the other groups act like that, you must not do the same.”

If you’re given a task, do it properly.

As a commander, he had to set a good example.

He warned them that if they acted like the previous group, the battalion commander, or rather the general, would be very disappointed, and adjusted their positions.

It didn’t take long to patrol around the king’s tent and the surrounding area.

There was no clock, so he just had to go by his gut feeling.

Come to think of it, how do they divide the duty shifts without a clock? By gut feeling, I guess.

Standing in front of the tent, looking at the horizon without a single hill, he suddenly felt a sense of futility.

Maybe I should just hide somewhere and take it easy.

After two hours of duty, you enter a state of mental and physical numbness.

Especially since they take turns standing guard twice a day, each shift lasting three hours, totaling about six hours.

Why am I doing this?

Does the game have some grudge against me?

Is there really a god who sent me here, and if so, why?

I don’t know.

How much time had passed?

When his legs started to ache and he was seriously worried about varicose veins, a middle-aged man appeared, lifting the tent flap.

In historical dramas, the Goryeo king always wears a yellow dragon robe.

But the middle-aged man in front of him was just wearing a purple silk robe.

Still, there was something about him, so Sangmin quickly bowed.

The man didn’t react much.

Sangmin suddenly realized his position.

In this historical drama, he’s probably just an extra.

The middle-aged man, perhaps to get some fresh air, slowly walked around the perimeter of the tent and then approached Sangmin, speaking to him.

At first, Sangmin didn’t realize the question was directed at him and almost didn’t answer.

“What is your name?”

The lead actor was talking to an extra.

In a strange way.

Sir (卿)?

He thought the term "Sir" was used for officials of at least the rank of Dangshangguan in the Joseon era.

He was just a low-ranking officer, around the 6th rank.

What should he say?

“My name is Kim Sangmin.”

“Are you part of the Shinuijun?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Indeed.”

King Wang On of Goryeo nodded slowly.

Then he coughed a few times, covering his mouth.

Uncle, in about eight hundred years, you’ll get in trouble for coughing in front of people.

Sangmin hesitated before speaking.

“It’s cold, please come inside.”

He wasn’t just being polite.

The weather was bizarrely cool, even though it was late August or early September.

It was even cold at night.

The temperature was around 5 degrees Celsius.

But the sea breeze was strong, making it feel even colder.

“You are concerned for my well-being.”

Not really.

I just want you to go inside quickly.

He awkwardly replied, not wanting to sound too blunt.

What should I say in a situation like this?

A historical drama enthusiast’s mind raced.

“As a Goryeo warrior, it is my duty, is it not?”

As a person, he had no ill feelings towards this man.

The thoughts and experiences of his contemporaries and his fellow Sambyeolcho were different, so he couldn’t judge them easily. But this man in front of him didn’t seem to have any faults.

Although the kingdom wasn’t yet fallen, he couldn’t help but feel some sympathy for the puppet king.

King Wang On chuckled and lightly patted Sangmin’s shoulder, then suddenly spoke as if something had just occurred to him.

“Would you like to come inside the tent?”

Sangmin was taken aback by the sudden invitation.

“...But I am on duty.”

While on duty?

“The purpose of your duty is to protect me, so wouldn’t it be better to stay close to me?”

That’s true.

Sangmin tried to be modest.

“I dare not.”

“Would you obey a royal command?”

King Wang On chuckled.

A powerless puppet king.

His hollow royal command.

Strangely, there was no urge to resist.

This man is living a pitiful life, despite having a foundation.

It was almost sad to see him issuing a timid royal command, so Sangmin reluctantly followed him into the tent.

The tent was spacious but cluttered with furniture, and the prince and princesses were all seated.

King Wang On’s wife had died during the war.

His son, Wang Hwan, was in his late twenties, about the same age as or slightly older than Sangmin.

However, he looked more ill and kept coughing, which was concerning.

Did they all catch a cold?

His daughters, Wang Young and Wang Ye, were also there, but they looked younger than Hwan.

In the middle of the bustling military camp, they were wearing black head coverings (mongso) and holding fans, making it impossible to see their faces.

Of course, as a guard, he had no intention of looking at them.

Sangmin awkwardly stood behind King Wang On and surveyed the tent.

There were only a few people in the tent: the royal family and two servants.

Assassins?

Is there really a need to worry? This is in the middle of the Sambyeolcho camp.

King Wang On acted as if Sangmin wasn’t there.

His son Hwan and daughters Young and Ye, initially unfamiliar, soon adapted and chatted quietly.

Their conversation was mundane, but there was a hidden shadow and worry in their calm tone.

The Sambyeolcho had escaped from Mongolia and were resting, but they were essentially prisoners.

Why did he bring me into the tent?

To recruit me?

There are other people to recruit.

There were some benefits, though.

It was warmer, which was nice.

His head was also a bit cluttered, and he was trying to figure out the king’s intentions while looking at the Goryeo artifacts and luxurious items he had never seen before in his quarters.

As his shift was almost over and he needed to prepare for the handover, King Wang On suddenly said to Sangmin, who was about to leave.

“You’ve worked hard.”

It felt like a division commander, or even a president, was personally praising a worker.

“I am deeply honored by Your Majesty’s concern.”

“Do you have a favor to ask?”

“...Yes.”

His spine tingled.

This is how I get tricked.

If he asks me to do something unreasonable, I’ll report it immediately.

“Please deliver this piece of silk to your commander. Not Bae Jungsun, but Kim Tongjeong.”

This was an order he couldn’t refuse.

“...I will do as commanded.”

After answering, he thought for a moment and moved towards the tent entrance.

Just as he was about to leave, Wang Ye got up, apparently heading to her quarters.

He stepped back to let her go first, and her head covering (mongso) got caught on something.

Their eyes met.

Her pale face turned slightly red, and Sangmin bowed and freed the caught end of the mongso.

He handed it back to her, and she thanked him and hurried away.

Nothing much happened.

He patrolled the perimeter and returned to his original position, where General Park Ryang was waiting to take over.

“Any special incidents?”

“Not really.”

“Earlier, the royal family was on perimeter duty and caught a few large chickens. They were so big, you’d be surprised.”

“Really?”

“They’re going to roast them. If they don’t leave any for me, my sword might taste blood.”

“Got it.”

He gave a casual response, completed the handover, and returned.

—

“May I enter?”

“Is it Kim Sangmin, the general?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Come in.”

Kim Tongjeong, the commander of the Shinuijun and the young lord, was organizing several wooden tablets inside.

The Shinuijun, which was mostly composed of the Bokgun, was responsible for perimeter security and protection, while the cavalry units, the Jabyeolcho, were in charge of reconnaissance.

Tongjeong, who had taken off his armor and was sitting at a desk, was tall and handsome but had a scarred face and a stern expression.

However, he was known to be the most caring commander among the Sambyeolcho.

Some called him a goddess.

“Your duty seems to be over. What brings you here?”

“I have a message to deliver.”

Tongjeong looked at him with a mix of curiosity.

Sangmin glanced around and then handed him a small piece of silk from his pocket.

Not many people wrote messages on silk.

Tongjeong quietly asked.

“From His Majesty?”

Sangmin nodded.

Tongjeong didn’t even unfold it and set it aside.

He seemed to be planning to read it later.

“Understand. It might be better for you not to see it.”

“I understand.”

Tongjeong sighed.

It looked like the seal wasn’t damaged, but he asked to be sure.

“Did you read it?”

“I didn’t.”

Tongjeong looked at him with a mix of curiosity.

“You didn’t read it?”

“...No.”

“Can you read and write?”

“...What?”

What is he talking about?

A moment later, he understood the reason.

Not all military officers were illiterate, but many were not skilled in writing.

As the war with the Mongols dragged on, the quality of military officers declined, and by now, very few in the Sambyeolcho could read and write.

Many could only write their own names, and some couldn’t even do that.

Even some of the generals.

Among his close friends, only Yeonsu, who had a bit of education, could read and write; the others were illiterate.

Sangmin wasn’t an expert in Chinese characters, but he could read and write about five hundred to a thousand characters after regular education.

Studying eighteen hundred characters for job preparation was not as difficult as other tough certifications.

He had even memorized three thousand five hundred characters and passed the Chinese Character Level 1 exam.

This meant he was in the top 1% in terms of Chinese character knowledge in this era.

“...I can read and write without much difficulty.”

There was no difficulty.

However, the Chinese characters he knew were sometimes used differently and had different forms.

But he could mostly understand the context.

Tongjeong’s eyes changed strangely.

Sangmin, sensing something ominous, quickly prepared to leave.

“As you know, there are some vacancies in the command structure. We need people with both the bravery of a tiger and the cunning of a fox, and you, who possess both, are a valuable asset.”

What does knowing how to read and write have to do with being cunning like a fox?

“...I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

“Are you interested in the position of Chief of Staff?”