Influence, Fort Roberts (1)

Yura had a distressed expression.

“What is this? On the phone, you said it was just a scratch.”

She was speaking after seeing Gyeo-ul’s injuries: his left hand wrapped in bandages and the small scratches still visible on his face. Others besides Yura were also agitated, as if shocked simply by the fact that Gyeo-ul was hurt. Some people trembled faintly, and a few gazed over with wary eyes. Gyeo-ul decided to remember them all, distinguishing each one.

‘They’re just different expressions of the same feeling.’

Those scared the boy would disappear, and those who were scared of what might have bitten him.

The former was fine, but the latter was troublesome. This was the first barracks of the Gyeo-ul Alliance, the very place Yun-cheol had first invited Gyeo-ul. Now that the alliance had grown, many of the members here were different from those at the start. In fact, more than half of those present were administrative staff.

“Are you all right?”

This time it was Jin-seok. After pausing to think, Gyeo-ul produced an awkward smile.

“See? I’m fine. No trouble moving around, and the army doctor said it’d heal in a month.”

“A month? That’s not merely a scratch, is it? How did you get hurt?”

“I was hit by a shovel blade.”

“A shovel blade… I can’t even imagine the situation. It’s lucky your hand wasn’t cut off.”

Gyeo-ul agreed. The fact that he ended up just wounded, not more gravely injured, was because the soldier digging had been careful, not careless. Yet the soldier himself seemed to think it had been a hasty mistake.

“Oh, that must have hurt…”

Yura gently touched Gyeo-ul’s bandaged hand with concern. Seeing this, jinseok frowned. Perhaps it was a sense of self-discipline; the young combat squad leader was strongly conscious of others’ eyes.

Gyeo-ul softly pulled his hand away.

“That’s enough about this. Three people died in the last operation. It feels odd to be fussed over for just this. I wouldn’t be able to face the fallen, and besides, I really am all right.”

Surprised for a moment at the mention of casualties, Yura let out a sigh tinged with regret and stepped back.

“There were casualties? I’m surprised anyone died in an operation you were included in, Captain.”

Once Gyeo-ul sat in a chair by the stove, at the innermost part of the barrack, Min Wan-gi took a seat across the table and spoke. Others naturally drifted away.

Gyeo-ul recalled Stan Page: the machine gunner of the weapons squad, 1st Platoon, Charlie Company, who died from mortar wounds near Santa Margarita Lake. His funeral would take place in a few days. Before dying, the soldier told the boy that he thought he would not die as long as he was with the first lieutenant.

That was an expectation far beyond reason. Trying to live up to such hopes would mean, in various ways, losing himself. And that was precisely why the boy was here now.

“It’s troubling, even coming from you, director Min.”

At Gyeo-ul’s words, the middle-aged scholar quietly laughed.

“The sneaky thing about faith—once someone believes, that’s all it takes for it to be real.”

“You’re being mischievous. I was hoping you’d help curb that, actually.”

“Haha. I know the little leader dislikes it, but to me it’s a basic human nature. Religion and politics are fruits from the same root, after all.”

“And that root is blind faith?”

“Of course. Political support resembles religious belief. Once people’s tendencies set, after that they only see what they want to see, hear what they want to hear. They shape reality to fit their beliefs—like those who claim fossils are fakes and dinosaurs never existed. Little leader, you’d be better off making use of this tendency rather than fighting it. They say when three are gathered, it’s a political field—your alliance is well past that number, isn’t it?”

“So you don’t trust people, director Min?”

“Of course I do. I sincerely trust those I understand.”

It was a cynical perspective. Gyeo-ul didn’t entirely disagree, but he also found it uncomfortable to just accept it as is. This naturally led him to comment,

“If I were a university student, I probably wouldn’t have taken your classes, director.”

“What a pity. I used to like students like you, little leader.”

The scholar laughed heartily. Staring quietly, Gyeo-ul arrived at a rather eccentric thought.

‘In a way, I’m holding a conversation with the past right now.’

Data mining—this worldview’s every part was a reconstructed product, exploring and reassembling accumulated information from the original world. Thus, Min Wan-gi, too, must be a virtual persona crafted from the experiences of countless people in the past. Gyeo-ul thought again.

‘Just how many people have ended up disappointed by others?’

Perhaps the world was so cold because of this very thing.

“Director Jang says he’ll be a bit late. He asks us to wait ten minutes,”

Min Wan-gi’s voice broke Gyeo-ul’s reverie. Gyeo-ul checked his phone. A text had come in as well—a reply from Yun-cheol to Gyeo-ul’s message. Yun-cheol was a few blocks away, still reinforcing the construction site. Gyeo-ul wondered if ten minutes would be enough.

At that moment, the sound of raindrops striking the tent ceiling began—tap, tutuduk.

And then the start of another downpour. Swaaa—! With his eyes closed, it sounded just like the reeds in a windy field.

“It’s raining again, after all.”

Outside, long and short screams came from people. Even Gyeo-ul was starting to get annoyed by the weather. Min Wan-gi added his own concern.

“They say this weather might continue right into March. I’m worried about everyone’s condition.”

“Is there anything I should know?”

“Not at the moment. If there were, I’d have contacted you already. But if you must know, first is the electricity supply. The lighting is now on a schedule, and TV or radio listening is tough. We do have a few hand-crank radios, but people ended up fighting over those.”

“So what did you do?”

“They’re probably busy scrubbing mold by now. Which brings us to the second issue.”

Now that he mentioned it, there was a faint musty smell. Gyeo-ul found stains around the tent’s edges.

“Is heating okay?”

“Yes. If nothing else, we’re not short on heating fuel. The US military is attentive about that. I suppose they suffered greatly when colds were widespread before. Quite a few died back then.”

Back then, a unit dispatched before Gyeo-ul to obtain antibiotics was wiped out with all men reported dead or missing. The ones hit hardest were the Triad. Bravo Company of the 3rd Battalion still carried scars from that time; it had not been properly reinforced since.

‘Something doesn’t add up.’

The number of US soldiers only kept increasing. The official journal said they had passed 8 million last month, so, considering the time for basic training, Fort Roberts should already be at full capacity by now.

Something’s going on. Gyeo-ul suspected as much.

“Take care of your own health too, director Min. I worried a lot when you were sick for so long before.”

“I am. The older I get, the more I hate winter. Ah, I mean the season! Don’t misunderstand. Haha.”

Min Wan-gi still enjoyed old jokes. Gyeo-ul gave him a faint smile and shifted the topic back.

“Listening to you, it seems stress is the real issue, more than health. I never thought our alliance would be so hard-pressed that people would fight over a single radio. And if it were a trivial matter, you wouldn’t have bothered telling me.”

“That’s true. The biggest regret is the housing project. Having it halted right before completion feels significant. Those were good times, with everyone so hopeful, forgetting to eat and sleep in their enthusiasm.”

“That must be disappointing too.”

Construction sites left exposed to rain and wind were already in such disrepair that repairs would soon be needed. That was the same reason Jang Yun-cheol hurried into action as soon as the rain stopped.

Paduduk. The wind battered the barracks, making the structure ripple. The lanterns swayed, casting every shadow in the room into a wild dance. Gyeo-ul almost got lost in the illusion. When the soundless commotion died down, Min Wan-gi spoke,

“Director Jang will be quite cold when he returns. We should get some hot drinks ready. What about you, little leader? It’s all instant, but there are plenty of choices.”

Compared to when Li Ai-ring first visited, the alliance had improved in many ways.

Min Wan-gi opened a nearby cabinet, showing it was well-stocked. Gyeo-ul picked according to his taste.

“I’ll have cocoa, then.”

“All right. Please wait a moment.”

The middle-aged scholar put water on the stove and took out three glass cups. An alliance member who had been organizing the refugee workers’ schedules came over looking to help, but Gyeo-ul declined. Instead, he got up himself to assist Min Wan-gi. Everyone everywhere hesitated as they watched.

It seemed Jang Yun-cheol had similar tastes to Gyeo-ul, as there were two cups of cocoa. Min Wan-gi chose coffee for himself. Then, one, two, three, four, five cubes of sugar…

Seeing Gyeo-ul stare, Min Wan-gi, who had put in ten sugar cubes, made an embarrassed excuse,

“Uh, I have a sweet tooth these days.”

“Mm… You’d better brush your teeth well.”

“Heh, haha…”

By the time the water boiled, Jang Yun-cheol entered. Meeting Gyeo-ul’s eyes, he nodded deeply. Taking off his raincoat, shaking it outside, and striding quickly to fill an empty seat by the table, he looked at Gyeo-ul up close and his eyes widened.

“Huh? Are you hurt?”

“… It’s nothing.”

Wanting to avoid further explanation, Gyeo-ul offered him the prepared drink.

“Warm yourself up first. Director Min was worried you’d be cold, director Jang.”

“Haha, thank you.”

The three men of different generations began their main discussion over two cocoas and one glass of sugar syrup.

“I brought you here today for this.”

Gyeo-ul put a stack of forms on the table—recommendations for Civil Affairs Committee members received from the regimental commander. There were also documents outlining the structure of the military government office and descriptions of planned duties.

As the two men looked over the paperwork, Gyeo-ul explained the context.

“A military government office is being set up soon to handle all refugee administration. They need Civil Affairs Committee members, and the regimental commander told me to recommend people. I wanted to ask for your opinions on how to use this, and whom to appoint. Also, I wanted to give you both the first chance to choose.”

Each recommendation form was categorized by department and rank. After carefully reviewing and swapping forms, the two directors both sighed at the same time. Jang Yun-cheol asked,

“Is it done just by writing a name here? No review or screening?”

“Yes, seems so. But we can’t just pick anyone, right? I’ll be held responsible.”

“Wow, this is… an incredible privilege. We could even monopolize all the positions, couldn’t we?”

When Jang Yun-cheol expressed his admiration, Min Wan-gi shook his head.

“It looks impressive, but it doesn’t really have much substance. The highest position you can recommend for is only equivalent to a US federal employee Grade 6. There might be role specialization by department, but even if we assume the military government office is less prestigious than a state government, there will be plenty of higher-ups above those selected. Even if we fill the slots with only our alliance members, their actual authority would be limited.”

US federal officials are divided into specialized career tracks, so it’s not a uniform ranking system. Salary structure is divided by position importance, which was what Min Wan-gi was pointing out.

Jang Yun-cheol hesitated.

“Is Grade 6 low? Back home, that would be quite a high rank…”

Min Wan-gi replied,

“It’s neither low nor high. There are 15 grades in total. Unlike Korea, the higher the number, the higher the rank. Grade 6 is about equivalent to a US Army corporal or sergeant. Our little leader here would be considered about Grade 11 in civil service terms.”

Gyeo-ul tilted his head.

“Grade 11? I’m only a first lieutenant—does that make me that high?”

“Yes. There is a special grade above 15, that’s why.”

“I see. You know a lot.”

“Well, it is my area of expertise, after all. Haha.”

In the meantime, Jang Yun-cheol was showing a hint of disappointment. Min Wan-gi grinned again.

“No need to be discouraged, director Jang. This is a good opportunity nonetheless.”

“Well, true, it wouldn’t make sense for us to take everything. And having a Korean in charge of Chinese refugees’ complaints would be problematic too.”

Gyeo-ul spoke gently.

“My credibility is at stake here. If we nominate with obvious favoritism, what would the higher-ups think? The regimental commander said this is the American way, but first he was testing me. I don’t want to damage my standing with the US military over something like this—there are a lot more things we might gain in the future.”

The regimental commander had said he offered the recommendation because Gyeo-ul had proven his sincerity.

But regardless, the US military held the real power. If they didn’t like something, they could simply cut everyone out.

Min Wan-gi spoke.

“Ultimately, this is for show. Of course, key posts will already be set aside. The US military obviously considered that before giving us these slots.”

————————— Author’s Note —————————

#The Foolish Author’s Attachment

Early in the novel, in #Intermission, the journal and time acceleration, there were contents like this.

― The virtual persona keeping the journal learns from the player’s behavioral patterns gathered in previous sessions.

In the last chapter (101), it was stated that the control AI implements all the personas in the world.

Thus, the journal is a narrative device that shows the control AI learning about Gyeo-ul… In earlier journals, Gyeo-ul would consciously make choices, but in later ones, he just accepts things as they come, right? Meaning that he would have acted the same as the journal says… It shows how much the learning progressed… Kind of that sort of feeling…

Hehe… Sorry… The author needs to be more capable…

#Q&A

Q. classicpig: @Did I miss something? Where is Gyeo-ul pouring all his money now? Is it his family again? And I’m surprised the author’s younger than I expected… Only just 30? Enjoying the story.

A. You didn’t miss anything. This monster story written by an unkind author never gives all the info at once.

As for my age, people always say I’m younger than they expect. Why is that? When you read these fresh, innocent, child-like words, you should think, “Ah, the writer must be in kindergarten,” right? That would be normal…

Q. haruos: @By the way, Han Gyeo-ul and that early loan repayment thing is bothering me.

A. But isn’t it encouraging, since it’s not a balloon payment but regular payments?

Q. Nesstor: @ [Request: Please write a calm love story between control ai and Gyeo-ul!] 〈Reward: Offerings equivalent to 1.3 billion people〉 〈Will you accept? Y/N 〉

A. 〈 N 〉 Such things are totally unacceptable to my inner child. The control AI is adorable, okay? I won’t give them to anyone. They’re mine, haha.

Q. ZAHARA: @My reason for reading on Noble Road! The title is supposed to be anti, but the more I read, the more fitting it seems. There’s no better title!

A. Thank you for understanding. For me, it’s the perfect, most satisfying title! Sadly, so many people say the title is negative, which makes me a little sad.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep