Yi Hon’s paranoia had dwindled to a near-complete recovery, leaving only a healthy measure of skepticism—the kind found in any person possessed of ordinary intelligence.

Yet, even a man of ordinary intelligence could hardly remain optimistic in the current climate. Yi Hon and his ministers were left to stew in a cauldron of confusion, their minds racing with a single question: What exactly is their intention?

The era of full-scale imperialism and colonialism had not yet dawned, but one didn’t need to look to the far-flung future for examples. East Asia was already rife with historical precedents of powerful entities installing puppet kings and manipulating the hollow shells of state shrines. The Continental Covenant certainly possessed the raw power to achieve such a feat; Hanyang had effectively fallen into Oitotan’s hands the moment he gunned down the rebels.

And yet… their behavior was baffling.

At first, people braced themselves, expecting Oitotan to seize the mantle of a powerful minister. When the massive “iron ship” arrived and vomited forth a mountain of treasures, they lamented that the nation would now be forced to serve a new suzerain. None of these assumptions proved correct. There seemed to be no discernible motive behind their actions.

It wasn’t as if they gained nothing—Yi Hon had bestowed silk and several estates upon them—but the math simply didn’t add up. The cost of bringing those soldiers and that colossal vessel far outweighed the value of a few rolls of fabric and some houses.

The people of Joseon whispered among themselves about this mysterious “Continental Covenant,” and the tension within the court only tightened. Why? Why have they come across the world to do this?

***

Oitotan had first arrived at the court of Elizabeth in London back in 1593, where he’d made quite a nuisance of himself. In the thirty years since, London had fallen and Elizabeth had passed, but Oitotan had spent every one of those years serving as a diplomat.

Indeed, he had thirty years of diplomatic experience under his belt. How on earth did I end up stuck with this man?

Despite my occasional lamentations, I have to admit that the results Oitotan produces are nothing short of brilliant. His recent performance in Joseon alone is proof enough. Plotting to join a restoration and become a merit subject? Sure, that’s one thing. But to betray the rebels in the middle of it, secure Gwanghaegun personally, and seize control of the political landscape in an instant?

I’ll give him that one, too.

But the most important thing—something no one else could have achieved—was that even after gaining enough power to manipulate Joseon at his whim, he chose not to do it.

Oitotan would constanty deflate the pride of the Joseon people by grumbling that “manipulating such a small, poor country is hardly worth the effort,” but maintaining that kind of restraint is no small feat.

“You did excellently,” I told him. “If you had actively interfered in the government or tried to act like a shadow king, the Joseon people would never have looked upon us with anything but hostility.”

“Hmm? Why would I play house in a country smaller than Virginia?”

…Was he actually serious about that?

Regardless of Oitotan’s conduct, it didn’t mean problems wouldn’t arise.

“The King and the Great Northerners see us as their saviors for now,” I continued, “but that perception won’t last forever.”

Oitotan’s position was simply too overwhelming. From the perspective of the King and his ministers, the title of “Royals saved from disaster after being distracted by palace girls” and the cold fact that they were “utterly helpless during a rebellion” were not exactly pleasant pills to swallow.

“This state of affairs can’t continue. They won’t do anything foolish because they need our trade, but we can’t be too sure.”

“So… what is the plan, then?”

“I have a plan.”

Originally, it was a scheme designed to win Gwanghaegun’s favor if he had managed to keep his throne through normal means. I never dreamed the political landscape would open up like this. Nevertheless, I stood before Oitotan and nodded with the confidence of a man who had prepared for every eventuality.

In the end, it all comes down to the King.

“I have prepared bricklayers and stonemasons,” I said.

I knew exactly what the King of this nation loved.

***

Despite the lingering suspicions and anxieties, Yi Hon found that, aside from a few minor details, only pleasant things had happened lately. The people he despised had vanished from the earth, and since the “Deposed Queen” had been caught screaming about chewing his flesh, the movement to restore her had lost all its moral ground.

Furthermore, immediately after the turmoil was suppressed, a foreign prince had arrived to pay his respects, releasing a volume of wealth into the nation that even Great Ming had never bestowed. Naturally, the lion’s share found its way into Yi Hon’s personal coffers first. What remained flowed into the pockets of his favorites, like Lee Yi-cheom, creating a vivid, living example of the “trickle-down effect” across the eight provinces of Joseon.

The economy might not have been booming, but loyalty to the King certainly was. Yi Hon could issue the most sweeping commands without a single voice rising in opposition.

And yet… one thing weighed on his mind.

I lack authority.

True, a prince from tens of thousands of li across the western seas had entered Changdeokgung and offered immense tribute. In the eyes of the Joseon people, his prestige reached the heavens. But it wasn’t the gaze of his own people he was worried about. He was imagining how a monarch must look in the eyes of those from the distant “Western Lands.”

Compared to those standards, Changdeokgung was nothing short of shabby. Ashes and bloodstains still clung to various corners, yet to be fully cleared. The scorched ruins of the neighboring Changgyeonggung, destroyed by the rebels, stood as a hideous eyesore he couldn’t even afford to repair. And then there was Gyeongbokgung, sitting in the heart of the capital, a blackened skeleton left by the Japanese invasion decades ago.

Every one of these factors pricked at Yi Hon’s long-standing trauma. If a prince from a great nation of ten thousand li has come to seek wisdom, I must move to a grander palace to display the majesty of a sovereign…

“Your Majesty, His Highness Prince Nemo of the Continental Covenant seeks an audience.”

Of all times! Yi Hon thought. To come while the palace is in such a shambles! He felt a twinge of shame, being the master of such a modest palace that seemed so beneath the dignity of the royal house.

When the foreign prince finally entered and began to speak, Yi Hon found himself hanging on every word.

“As I traveled through the capital,” the prince began, “I saw a palace of truly magnificent majesty.”

Yi Hon had always suffered from a lack of authority. His father, a man who had excelled at fleeing, had spent his days bickering with everyone while the Japanese were being driven out and continued to do so long after they left. It would have been a miracle if any authority remained. After his father’s death, the remnants left behind inherited that legacy. Though Yi Hon had crushed them all, he had never forgotten the lessons of the past.

The reason I was subjected to such an unjust attack is clear, he mused.

Was it because he hadn’t fully trusted loyal subjects like Lee Yi-cheom? No. Was it because he’d ignored the reports of treason after being swayed by bribed palace girls? Not that, either.

The true reason was obvious. It was because Joseon lacked a palace that was both grand and imposing. As is the case with all dictators’ residences, the palace of an absolute monarch also serves as the seat of government. A larger palace signifies more power and more authority. Maintaining a larger palace requires more funds and more labor, which in turn means more control in the King’s hands.

If I had been in Ingyeonggung instead of this tiny Changdeokgung, it would have taken the rebels much longer to search the grounds and infiltrate my quarters.

And now, seeing Ingyeonggung being built, even these foreigners were trembling at his majesty. After all his “rational” deliberations, the Joseon monarch confirmed that his ambition for the palace was, indeed, righteous.

“I believe it was called Ingyeonggung,” the prince continued. “Though it is still under construction, its splendor and grandeur naturally reveal the height of the monarch, and its solemnity inspires awe for the sage’s heart.”

See? Yi Hon thought, looking at his silent ministers. Even a royalty from the far-off lands understands!

“Because it is not yet complete, those who do not understand the laws of the realm were able to stir up the recent rebellion, but…”

The ministers frowned slightly. They couldn’t fathom what the palace had to do with the recent coup. Clearly, they lack scholarship, Yi Hon mused. Only he understood the foreign prince’s point. And he could guess what would come next.

“Oitotan and I wish to combine our strength to add a hall to Ingyeonggung. We ask that Your Majesty graciously permit this.”

A new hall!

“A palace must be built with strict adherence to the rites,” one minister began, “how can we accept the help of foreigners—”

“I shall permit it immediately,” Yi Hon interrupted.

“…”

“If that is the case,” the prince added, “I will bring in the craftsmen to fire the bricks and carve the stone and wood.”

Yi Hon felt a rush of pure ecstasy as he expressed his agreement.

“However,” the prince continued, “though we live in a land of barbarians, we have our own ancient sages and saints whom we follow. If it is acceptable, we would like to build a shrine for them as well…”

“If they are the sages you follow,” Yi Hon replied, “then even if they are from the distant lands of the Western Barbarians, they must surely be men of the Way. How could I refuse such a request?”

“Your Majesty’s grace is immeasurable.”

Ah. It was time for the “Wonder Builder,” Gwanghaegun.

***

“It’s done, Oitotan,” I said. “The King won’t be casting us aside anytime soon.”

“Excellent. I am told the stonemasons and bricklayers have already arrived at Ganghwa.”

“Bring them all to Hanyang.”

When one thinks of Gwanghaegun, the first things that come to mind are his family atrocities, his neutral foreign policy, and finally, his obsession with palace construction. We met a version of Gwanghaegun who had already achieved a “Grand Slam” of depravity, so there wasn’t much we could do about his family life. As for the rest, he’d already established “armed neutrality” abroad and achieved “neutral politics” at home by killing everyone else.

Now, it was time for the palace construction.

“Lord Nemo,” Oitotan asked, “how did the King react when you mentioned building the palace in a European style?”

“He was… ecstatic.”

“Oh.”

A reformist monarch indeed.

A massive Western-style structure was to be added to Ingyeonggung. We planned it to be as large and as opulent as possible. After all, the deeper the King’s debt to us, the longer he would rely on us.

“By the way, Oitotan,” I added, “I’ve received permission to build a chapel.”

“How did you manage that?”

“I told him we would be transmitting the teachings of our sages and offering sacrifices to Heaven.”

It wasn’t a lie. Transmitting the teachings of Catholic saints is accurate, and serving “The Lord of Heaven” (Cheonju) is also correct. According to Catholic doctrine, the Mass is indeed a sacrifice offered to Heaven involving actual flesh (the Host) and blood (the Chalice). If someone were to say, “Wait, isn’t that cannibalism?” well… I’d have no defense.

Regardless, I’m standing firm! I’ve effectively secured the legalization of Christianity without a single debate with the Joseon scholars. We won’t be relegated to the status of a “Western Temple” or have our priests barred from the capital. We are building a “shrine,” which will be treated with far more dignity than Buddhism.

This is the beauty of having no set doctrine in our church—we can cherry-pick what we need when we need it. We’ll be able to raise a cross and proselytize right in the heart of Hanyang, near Unjong-ga!

I offered a benevolent smile to the group of people weeping with joy, but truthfully, I didn’t feel much. I was never a particularly devout believer, not in Korea and not here. Instead, I was focused on the “other function” of the chapel and the mission.

“By the way, Oitotan?”

“Yes?”

I turned to see a crowd of scholars gathered outside the wall, peering in at Oitotan.

“Since you have come to this land to learn of loyalty and filial piety,” one scholar called out, “and are instead teaching us the true Way, how can we as scholars not respect you?”

“Indeed!” another added. “The grace of the Duke of Chesapeake is something we scholars could not repay even if we died ten thousand times.”

They lingered there, glancing in our direction as if hoping their conversation would be overheard.

“What on earth… are those people doing?” I asked.

***

Yun Seondo is a name famous enough for even twenty-first-century Koreans to recognize. He is known as a leading figure of the Southerners and the author of the Eobusasisah (The Fisherman’s Calendar), a staple of modern college entrance exams.

“Lord Oitotan! You truly are a great scholar for turning away from the path of officialdom!”

Currently, he was being quite loud in front of Oitotan’s house.

It wasn’t that Yun Seondo and the other scholars were simply fools obsessed with loyalty and filial piety; every scholar of this era was a politician-in-waiting. Yun Seondo’s presence here, in particular, was a direct result of his fiery temperament.

Back in his days as a student at the Seonggyungwan, he had submitted a petition attacking Lee Yi-cheom, the most powerful man of the time. It was a reckless move, especially considering that both his biological and adoptive fathers were members of the Great Northerners faction. Perhaps he just couldn’t stand a powerful minister throwing his weight around.

Regardless, the price of that indiscriminate sniping was high. He spent eight years in exile. It wasn’t even a “considerate” exile where he could just rest in his hometown; he was sent back and forth between Hamgyeong and Gyeongsang provinces with the clear intent of shortening his life.

Though his foul temper had cooled a bit over the years, he saw no hope of being released. In the original timeline, he wouldn’t have been freed until Lee Yi-cheom was “disassembled” after the Injo Restoration. He would then have been praised as a man of integrity, gained the favor of King Injo, and enjoyed a decent career.

In this timeline, however, there was no King Injo—only the rebel Prince Neungyang. Therefore, Yun Seondo should have been imprisoned forever. And he expected as much. But then came even worse news.

“Is there a need to shed more blood of foolish scholars?” Lee Yi-cheom had asked the King. “I ask that those who committed minor crimes be released from exile and given posts.”

And so, Yun Seondo was freed. Initially, he had no intention of going to Seoul, but when he heard rumors that “If he doesn’t come to the capital after being released, should we kill him?” he rushed there immediately. But upon arriving, he heard another rumor: “He’s already in the capital after just being released? Should we kill him?”

It was then he realized: They only released me so they could kill me later!

Driven by a raw survival instinct, he found himself at Oitotan’s gate. Many other scholars had gathered there as well—Westerners, Southerners, and members of the Lesser Northerners who were all looking for a way to stay alive. They were men who needed to prove their loyalty.

Yun Seondo’s father was a Great Northerner, so his chances of being killed were slightly lower, but he was still anxious enough to loiter in front of Oitotan’s house from early morning.

Then, he saw something strange.

“What is that?” someone asked.

“Ah, I heard they are opening a shrine. There are sages from the West who dedicated themselves to scholarship, and they are transmitting their teachings.”

“Oh.”

This is it! Yun Seondo thought. I’ll use this to launder my academic lineage and find a way to survive! I’ll use this to restore my ruined family!

Evidently, he wasn’t the only scholar with that bright idea—Joseon scholars are nothing if not clever—and the courtyard of Oitotan’s estate, which doubled as a temporary shrine, was soon packed.

“From now on,” Oitotan said, “you shall be known as Da-muk (Thomas).”

“Thank you!”

“And you shall be Baek-da-rok (Peter).”

“I shall serve you as my master!”

It was a bizarre scene. When a scholar asked why they were suddenly pouring water over their heads, one who had arrived earlier replied, “I heard it’s a shortened version of the ritual bathing required before serving the Lord. They say it’s an ancient rite that dates back thousands of years.”

Hmm. After having his head washed, Yun Seondo accepted the rice cakes and wine he was offered. A true Joseon man never turns down food.

Then… Thud!

The door closed behind them. Oitotan rubbed his palms together and offered a sinister smile.

“Now… all of your names are on the list. You are all believers who serve Yaso (Jesus).”

As they tilted their heads in confusion, Oitotan began to explain who “Yaso” was. And when he reached the part about the “teachings of the sages,” they realized what it meant to have their names on the list.

The scholars turned pale. If they uttered a word of what they’d just heard, they were dead.

“Do not think of running,” Oitotan grunted. “The list is here. You are now all part of the same destiny.”

Only then did Yun Seondo realize that his life had been irrevocably ruined.

And so, in a rather surprising fashion, the first Christian believers began to appear in Joseon. The effect was remarkable.