Chapter 150

The Embassy Delegation of the Britannia Empire had just returned from the West after paying their respects to His/Her Excellency, the Cheon-ja.

Even the delegation members themselves had expected to be detained, but for some unknown reason, 300 envoys were permitted to board the return ship.

Soon, they would be back on home soil.

“We’re all going to be wiped out.”

This was the thought that crossed the mind of Im Jang-hong, a junior scribe of the Hallim-won Academy, as he lay sprawled out on the deck.

He was still in his late twenties—quite young for a bureaucrat.

Though it was early to be thinking about death, he could envision no other future. If the Empire’s fortunes hadn’t declined, it would have been proper to execute the entire delegation.

“We must die.”

“That’s right! Kill the taste of this wine!” yelled someone, though it was supposed to be a whisper.

From somewhere, a response came.

Those lunatics.

Im Jang-hong chuckled weakly and struggled to sit up.

Debauchery, ecstasy, pleasure—how should one categorize all this?

In any case, he looked at the delegation members in front of him, who were now soaked in madness, mumbling drunkenly.

Promising envoys selected to showcase their nation’s strength to this fledgling empire, but now none of them looked particularly bright.

They were all clearly insane.

No one was spared—regardless of rank, family background, age, or sex; all had been reduced to wretches.

These were nothing more than alcoholics reeling from the fruit wine given to them by Alan Medoff, babbling in drunken madness.

Their chaos took on various forms.

“Lascivious maidens polishing the flute of illness, I bite them, filling my great immortal soul with their juices, fearing I drink a hundred bottles a day, yet dreading forgetting that I even drank at all…!!”

Such was the poetic ranting of Han Guang-Yun, the chief envoy of the delegation, who declaimed this loud and boisterously.

According to Im Jang-hong’s knowledge, this old man produced more than ten poems a day.

The subject matter was always one: the cocaine-laced wine conferred to them by the Britannia Empire. Its fantastical flavor and efficacy were celebrated endlessly in rhymes, after which the poet would drink another glass as a form of self-encouragement.

‘That man is a lunatic.’

Even worse, Han Guang-Yun was among the saner ones. The others were far worse off.

“Ha ha! Chwo hot!”

“You’ve finally reached the supreme state of no-eyes chess, Elder Brother.”

“Who knows!”

“Amazing, truly!”

In a bizarre twist, there were even martial artists wildly playing chess with unprecedented aggression.

It was far too aggressive for mere chess.

Fiercely adopting meditative poses before abruptly moving their pieces with a fierce slam and returning to their stoic stance, glaring at their opponents. Sometimes, they’d infuse internal power into their lost pieces and cast them into the sea, eliciting giggles from spectators.

What on earth was happening here? Were their brains entirely muscular?

“Changing horse, flying knight!”

Even worse, Master Danmok Chien, with his shirt off, officiated a match. A major figure of the martial world and head of the Danmok Sect, known as one of the top ten righteous martial artists, he had accompanied the delegation to challenge Britannia’s knights. Now, though, he clutched a bottle of wine under one arm as he officiated the match, occasionally slapping a disciple across the face for improper moves.

‘Their strength overflows; they can’t control it.’

From the start, martial artists had been the most enthusiastic about the wine.

Yesterday, one man even screamed in ecstasy and hurled himself at the ocean only to dog-paddle a distance of fifty li to return to the ship—only to collapse.

His companions didn’t try to rescue him. Instead, they applauded, urging him to try harder, summoning his last breath to follow the ship; nothing was impossible in this world.

A truly peculiar sight.

As a result of these incidents, the number in the delegation had slightly decreased.

“Haa.”

After observing the officials and martial artists, Im Jang-hong’s sight fell on the last group: the merchants.

Unlike the officials and martial artists, perhaps because they lacked authority or martial prowess, the merchants couldn’t fully indulge in the cocaine wine. Initially, they were full of grievances, but now, as the journey home approached, they huddled together scheming.

“Cocaine, they call it. From what I see, we can sell a single dan of cocaine for fifty silver taels… Everyone will be like demons, attaching to it instantly.”

“There won’t be enough to satisfy the demand!”

“But don’t we not have enough ourselves?”

“We must somehow procure more, at any cost!”

And yet, even now when they were all cognizant of the chaos aboard, they spoke such words?

Im Jang-hong watched them with a vacant expression.

On closer inspection, he noticed they too had bloodshot eyes and scratched limbs. Having consumed less, they were less drunk but more maddened as a result.

The majority of the delegation had gone completely mad.

At least when drunk on wine, they were less problematic.

When the euphoria wore off, they became truly terrifying.

At one point, good friends had cursed each other while fighting over a single glass of wine, battering each other until skulls cracked. A junior librarian had even been beaten to death for stealing wine.

Should he report this to the capital, to His Highness the Crown Prince?

‘That would be absurd!’

Im Jang-hong clenched his fists and shook his head.

It was impossible to predict the consequences when they reached the Empire.

Typically, they should have been able to gauge it—after all, they were supposed to report daily through the telepathic “Thousand Li Sound” jutsu—but the lunatic martial artists had destroyed the ritual tools, cutting off communication completely.

‘How terrifying it is to step foot on native soil again.’

Haa.

Im Jang-hong shut his eyes tightly.

With situations so grave that they warranted interrogation, the wild and lewd banquets persisted daily. At least the ones not drugged stayed confined to their cabins.

‘I feel my sanity slipping away…’

Lost in despair, Im Jang-hong was interrupted by someone tapping him.

“Cheer up, old friend!”

Turning around, he saw an elder colleague from the Hallim-won, shaking with joy despite his bloodshot eyes and drooling mouth.

“What…”

To his confusion, this colleague handed him a bottle of cocaine wine, only half-full.

“You’re not accepting? Is it because it’s just half full? Wait! Think carefully before speaking. It is wise to assess one’s preferences and dislikes before offering counsel!”

“What on earth are you…? Anyway, we’re all probably going to die when we return.”

“So exactly!”

“Yes?”

“Because we might all die soon anyway, let’s enjoy today.”

Compelled by the elder’s odd, infectious enthusiasm…

Though others weren’t completely insane, their actions showed otherwise. Whether it was the ones drinking two bottles a day or those secluded in cabins avoiding the wine, no one was entirely rational. They had all simply given up and fallen prey to the bottle.

As days passed aboard the ship, dependency turned into addiction. What else could they do?

‘Should I drink it?’

Im Jang-hong stared blankly at the bottle thrust into his hands by his colleague.

Should he drink it? To be honest, he’d been tempted, not being entirely unfamiliar with its effects.

When initially experiencing its overwhelming efficacy, he’d felt an indescribable euphoria—a sensation more exhilarating than even his first success in the provincial exams, or the triumphant return home after passing them.

Since there was only execution or exile awaiting him anyway, why not indulge?

“Alright, let’s drink.”

And so, Im Jang-hong and his elder grabbed their wine bottles and ascended to the deck.

On the deck, the wild revelry continued. There were dancing figures mingling with visiting artisans, worm-like bodies writhing around, a man stretching his arms to feel the ocean breeze as if it were celestial, and someone up in the mast, singing at the top of his lungs.

“Run!!”

It was clear to the sailors by now that all were insane.

The party carried on far into the night.

Not until the very last drop of wine had been consumed did it stop.

…

…

When the Crown Prince of the Empire received the report detailing the arrival of these 300 crazed envoys, the court was thrown into an uproar.

“Absolutely repulsive people. According to the report from the regional military forces sent to greet the envoys, they were no better than animals! Elder officials in their sixties and young scholars in their twenties were brawling over a single bottle…!”

For the Empire, this was a sudden and severe crisis.

Still, despite the chaos, they quickly organized a detailed report of the situation and submitted it to the imperial court, showcasing the Empire’s resourcefulness.

Under the guidance of the Military Governorate, the envoys were subjected to preliminary interrogations and immediately placed under confinement to prevent any leak of information.

All of this was accomplished in just a single day.

All that remained now was the regent’s verdict.

The assembled officials gazed silently at the throne. They dared not turn their heads to look but instead stole glances subtly.

On the throne sat Crown Prince Tang Yeon-cheol, administering the regency in place of the ailing sovereign.

Though handling the daily audiences during the day and retreating to the inner palace at night to attend to his gravely ill father, Tang Yeon-cheol remained robust.

The officials expected an edict that reflected his character: retribution against the empire responsible for these heinous actions.

However…

“Greatly regrettable.”

“Your Highness…?”

“They say Chief Envoy Han Guang-Yun lamented his failure to serve the nation properly and flung himself into the sea. Even his deputies and secretaries followed his lead… How can we blame the deceased?”

“…”

“I wish to ensure the lives of the survivors. Since they seem to have contracted a strange illness, let them recuperate in a suitable place. They claim it’s a unique disease, so isolate them from the public while the Imperial Physicians assess their symptoms.”

The orders issued by the Crown Prince were difficult to interpret.

The Chief Envoy and his deputies, who had plunged themselves into the sea lamenting failure and inability, were henceforth regarded as loyal martyrs.

The rest of the envoys, however, who clawed at their skin and cried out for cocaine, were simply confined and monitored.

No mention was made of narcotics.

The Crown Prince’s orders were soon carried out.

The senior figures of the delegation, reversing their ceremonial attire and demanding wine, were coerced into composing touching farewell poems before ending their lives.

The others, lamenting this tragedy, received the Crown Prince’s pardon.

Effectively, it was as if nothing had happened to the delegation.

But the awkward atmosphere at court soon dissipated.

…

The following day, after the envoy situation had been resolved, another edict from the Crown Prince reached the government offices.

This was a direct countermeasure aimed at Alan Medoff, already deemed a vile fiend by the Empire.

---