The information Britain had quietly leaked through the Dutch turned the Joseon court upside down once again.
Neither the Bibyeonsa nor the Six Ministries of Joseon could believe the absurd report at first, but none of the intelligence that had come through the Dutch before had ever proven false.
"Have the Japanese lost their minds? They still can't tell when they should keep out of a matter and when they shouldn't."
"It's obvious what they're trying to do. They want to claim Killian Gore—the man who defeated the Qing, the very center of the Heavenly Order—as one of their own blood to raise the prestige of the shogunate. A petty scheme, nothing more."
"Killian Gore is a Joseon man. A Joseon man. Didn't he admit he was born in Joseon?"
Never mind that Joseon itself had once insisted he was not Joseon.
What could they do about it now?
No matter how much he had become the leader of the Western barbarians, Killian Gore's influence could not be ignored.
More importantly, the thought of him siding with Japan was intolerable.
That was the opinion shared by most ministers.
"But even if the Japanese shout about it, isn't it simply nonsense unworthy of attention?"
"They seem to be preparing the matter quite carefully, actually. They're quietly treating it as a given that we persecuted Killian Gore, while claiming that they themselves would have treated him differently. According to their story, Tokugawa blood mixed with Joseon blood during the Imjin War, and Killian Gore is supposedly a descendant of that line."
"What kind of rubbish is that? Tokugawa didn't even participate in the war!"
"It's obviously nonsense, yes. But if they fabricate a genealogy, we would need evidence to refute it. And right now, we don't even know exactly where Killian Gore was born or how he lived while he was in Joseon."
Which meant the person who had once told him "You are not Joseon" would inevitably come to light.
And if they traced the genealogy back from there, Japan's ridiculous claim could be dismantled.
Kim Jwa-geun let out a long breath as he walked home.
He had returned from the Qing mission with great success and had been promoted to Assistant Minister of Personnel, yet he felt no joy whatsoever.
The blasted Grand Scholar and the rest of the delegation had dumped every matter related to Britain squarely on his shoulders.
After all—
The only person in all of Joseon who had personally met and spoken with Killian Gore was Kim Jwa-geun.
The argument was impossible to refute.
And so he now found himself playing the role of investigator.
Funny how no one listened when I tried to warn them before, he thought bitterly.Yet the moment Japan sticks its nose in, suddenly everyone panics.
Apparently the idea of letting Japan claim Killian Gore was unbearable.
Though from what Kim Jwa-geun had seen, Killian Gore himself would probably laugh at the entire affair.
More likely he would pretend to go along with it and squeeze even more concessions out of them.
Lost in thought about how to proceed with the investigation, Kim Jwa-geun returned home—only to find an unexpected visitor waiting.
"Lord Heungseon? What brings you to such a humble place?"
"Humble? Surely no one in the Eight Provinces would dare call the residence of the Assistant Minister of Personnel humble."
The man speaking was Heungseon Daewongun, recently elevated to the rank of Prince Heungseon.
Yet as a member of the royal clan, he held little real power.
Though Kim Jwa-geun's official rank was technically lower, the difference in actual influence between them was vast.
There was no tension at all in Kim Jwa-geun's manner.
If anything, Yi Ha-eung seemed the more cautious of the two.
"I heard that you are conducting a large-scale investigation into this man Killian Gore."
"Yes, that's correct. Do you happen to have any information?"
"Not exactly information… but about ten years ago, I once encountered a mixed-blood slave. He was quite famous in the area at the time, though the rumors about him suddenly vanished."
"A… slave?"
Kim Jwa-geun's brief spark of hope faded instantly.
Yi Ha-eung coughed lightly.
"I know it is unlikely. I've heard that Killian Gore speaks not only Joseon but also Qing and Japanese fluently. But the slave I met back then was astonishingly intelligent. If he truly was a rare genius, might he not have learned those languages later after leaving Joseon?"
"A slave… but one intelligent enough to surprise you?"
Many people dismissed Yi Ha-eung as an idle royal relative.
But Kim Jwa-geun sometimes felt that the young man had the mind of a serpent.
If someone like him said such a thing, the boy in question could not have been ordinary.
And if Killian Gore had truly been a slave—
Then being told "you are not Joseon" made perfect sense.
Who in Joseon would treat a mixed-blood slave as a proper Joseon person?
"Do you remember the slave's name? Or his face?"
"No. I met him only once. But I do remember his age. He was roughly the same age as me."
Yi Ha-eung was about nineteen.
The age matched perfectly.
Kim Jwa-geun straightened.
"Do you at least remember where you met him?"
"I believe it was somewhere around—"
"Then I will begin asking questions in that area immediately. Even if ten years have passed, someone must remember such a distinctive slave."
Yi Ha-eung nodded.
"I believe so as well."
Kim Jwa-geun bowed.
"Thank you for this valuable information. If this matter resolves well, I will never forget your assistance."
With that he immediately set out.
Even if the chances were small, it was better than nothing.
Yet as he hurried away, another troubling thought surfaced.
If he really was a slave…
Killian Gore's resentment toward Joseon might be far deeper than Kim Jwa-geun had imagined.
Worse still—
If he had been a slave, he would have no official genealogy.
Which meant Japan's fabricated lineage would be much harder to refute.
Kim Jwa-geun rubbed his temples.
"Damn it all."
The more clues he uncovered, the worse the headache became.
Meanwhile, another man in Joseon was quietly losing his mind.
Assistant Minister Kim Hak-seo, often called Old Master Kim, had been struggling to process the endless stream of shocking news.
Not only had the Qing lost to Western barbarians—
But the mastermind of the war was supposedly born in Joseon.
Worse still, rumors spread that he had been treated poorly while living there.
And now Japan had joined the chaos as well.
But Kim Hak-seo's anxiety had nothing to do with diplomacy.
This… this looks exactly like that slave we used to own.
The age matched.
The noble status in Britain.
The fact he had been born in Joseon.
Everything pointed to one person.
Yuseok.
The slave who had once lived in his household.
Kim Hak-seo had hoped the man's multilingual abilities meant he was mistaken.
But Yuseok had always been frighteningly intelligent.
So intelligent that Kim Hak-seo had avoided him.
Which meant the memory remained vivid.
But there was one thing he could never do.
He could never reveal the truth.
These days a rumor circulated frequently at court:
"If Killian Gore harbors resentment toward Joseon, it is the fault of those who mistreated him!"
Every time Kim Hak-seo heard that line, his heart nearly stopped.
Those hypocrites…
Would any of them have treated a mixed-blood slave kindly?
Not a chance.
Yet if the truth emerged, every one of them would pretend to be a saint and condemn him.
Which meant this secret could never come to light.
"Listen carefully," he ordered his servants. "The boy named Yuseok who lived here ten years ago died of illness. If anyone asks, you buried him behind the mountain yourselves."
"Yes, master!"
"Understood!"
If someone began asking questions, his name would inevitably surface.
But only his household knew that Yuseok had actually left Joseon with a Western servant.
If they kept silent, no one would ever know.
"Yuseok was a clever and kind boy who tragically died of disease," Kim Hak-seo repeated.
"Yes, master!"
Satisfied, Kim Hak-seo spent the following days destroying every trace Yuseok had ever left behind.
If the boy himself had never mentioned his former master…
Perhaps he had no intention of revisiting the past.
Which meant—
No one must ever learn the truth.
Not the Andong Kim clan.
Not the State Council.
Not even the king.
Never.
As expected, the moment Britain informed Joseon about Japan's maneuver, the reaction was immediate.
Joseon's official reply was long and verbose, but the core message was simple:
Japan's claim was baseless nonsense.
There was no Joseon person with Tokugawa blood.
Which also confirmed something else.
Joseon still had no idea who I really was.
Even after all the hints I'd given them.
If they were still wandering around in confusion, then the old man who certainly knew me—Kim Hak-seo—must be quietly sabotaging their investigation.
Truth be told, I didn't particularly want him exposed either.
Not because I felt gratitude.
But because it would be a waste.
Someday I might visit Joseon again.
And when that day came, it would be much nicer if he were still alive and healthy so I could greet him properly.
So honestly, I hoped he kept climbing the ladder of power.
"The moment Joseon or Japan has anything to say, have them send it to Shanghai or Tainan," I told my aides. "Those offices will forward the reports to London anyway."
"Yes, Minister. Though I must say… it's rather absurd watching both countries argue over whether you belong to them."
"I know," I said with a laugh.
A member of the British House of Lords.
A cabinet minister.
Of course British citizens found it irritating that Joseon and Japan were trying to claim someone in my position as their own.
Personally I found it amusing.
If they wanted to fight over me, why stop them?
Besides, it might even help erase the one flaw that could be used against me.
My slave origins.
No matter what happened, I would never become Killian Tokugawa Gore.
But if someone said—
"Isn't he just descended from Eastern slaves?"
Then I could simply respond:
"Actually, I'm descended from Eastern royalty."
Not a bad counterargument.
If they fabricated the genealogy themselves, all the better.
The more they argued, the more I benefited.
Three months later, after finishing all the remaining administrative work, we finally began the journey home.
"Minister, we'll be arriving soon."
"I hear there's going to be a massive victory celebration. I'm getting nervous already."
"Her Majesty herself is hosting it. This will be the greatest honor of my life."
As our ships returned to Portsmouth, excitement grew among both soldiers and officers.
Technically speaking, I wasn't even the commanding general of the campaign.
But Admiral George had apparently written his report as though I had been the supreme commander.
Which meant no one objected to the triumphal reception.
"Now, now," I told them. "Don't get too excited. The real parade will be in London. Today is just practice."
The ship docked.
The moment the gangway lowered, I stepped forward at the head of the group.
A thunderous roar erupted from the harbor.
Brass bands played triumphant music.
Rule Britannia
The soldiers disembarked.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
"Wooooo!"
"The Lion of the British Empire who conquered Asia!"
"Make Killian Gore First Sea Lord!"
…Well, that was awkward.
I wasn't even an admiral.
Still, I smiled and waved my hat while officers saluted the cheering crowd.
Then the reporters appeared.
"Minister! The Times! Could you comment on your successful campaign?"
"The Morning Post! There are rumors you're descended from an Eastern royal dynasty!"
"The Morning Chronicle! Did you anticipate the war from the start?"
And of course—
"Some merchants claim the opium trade has not been restored after the war—"
The reporters surged like piranhas.
I raised a hand.
"Gentlemen. I will answer all questions before the official triumph in London."
The reporters hesitated.
Then they conferred quietly among themselves.
Finally they shouted one question in unison.
"Minister! Is it true you intend to marry after the triumph?"
"…Marriage?"
I stared at them.
Apparently I had a fiancée I didn't know about.
I was about to dismiss it as nonsense—
Then one particular face suddenly flashed in my mind.
Wait.
Wasn't the triumph being hosted personally by Queen Victoria?
"…Gentlemen," I said stiffly. "That rumor is completely false. I have urgent business. Good day."
Moments ago the triumphal celebration had felt glorious.
Now it suddenly felt like a horror story.
I had no idea what was happening.
But first—
I needed to send a letter.
Your Majesty, I swear this rumor is completely false.