Chapter 178

Gangjoo Fortress, Ningling Prefecture, Posan County.

A rather ordinary county where fewer than forty thousand people lived.

It wasn’t the home to any renowned martial arts sects or prestigious clans, nor the birthplace of high-ranking officials.

Just another common neighborhood scattered throughout Chinguk.

However, lately, Posan County had been rapidly gaining notoriety, even becoming the subject of discussion in the imperial court.

It wasn’t for any commendable reasons, though.

“Zombie Alley,” or “Zombie Village.”

That’s what it was called after the living ghouls from Gangjoo Fortress started gathering here.

As the name suggested, it was crawling with addicts.

…

First, at the Confucian academy.

“You said you would discipline yourself, didn’t you? You declared that you would strictly follow the teachings of your master and reject improper texts. Yet you ignore proper laws and ethics while getting so entranced by Gang-hon-san. It saddens your teacher, your parents, and even me…”

A scholar was muttering as he swayed.

Moreover, he was talking to himself.

His posture was awkward, knees bent, bottom sticking out. His hands fidgeted as if someone stood before him.

But there was no one there.

“Excuse me, who are you talking to?”

“Do you even possess the discipline expected of a human?”

“Huh? What’s this all of a sudden?”

“You unteachable dung beetle!!”

“Hmph…”

The scholar berated a passerby loudly before getting back into his monologue.

His head cradled in despair, possibly overwhelmed by an invisible adversary’s rebuttal.

Anxiously, his body swayed up and down, seemingly unable to stop.

Back and forth, he wobbled endlessly.

But compared to other addicts, this scholar was in relatively good condition.

He could stand on his own, respond when called, and even carry on a conversation—not that anyone listened—despite his imagined companion.

Looking around, there were plenty of others far worse off.

…

Thud! Crash!

One addict had fallen after bumping into a laborer carrying cargo.

“Uh, sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“…”

“Oh, it’s the Gang-hon-san addict.”

“…”

“…Let me just go. Sorry.”

Weakly pushed aside, the Gang-hon-san addict froze in the fallen position.

His unfocused pupils, slightly open mouth, and slow breathing attested to his condition.

No one helped him up. Addicts lacked the energy, and non-addicts avoided him like the plague. Such scenes were so common in Zombie Alley that nobody paid them much attention.

Everywhere you looked, similar addicts lay scattered.

Groups sitting stiffly with bowed waists. One addict savoring a single sip of water for a full minute. Another dancing in front of a pleasure house, disrupting business.

There were hundreds of addicts sprawled around the opium dens. Many more from better-off families who still indulged. Even those high on other exhilarating narcotics—thousands altogether.

Addicts, usually holed up at home, often came out to wander the streets.

This was Zombie Alley.

…

“That number has risen again.”

Warden Won Neung-ik of Gangjoo Fortress, tasked with monitoring the situation in Zombie Alley, let out a bitter smile.

He decided to gather all the addicts from Gangjoo there in Posan County.

It wasn’t a forced relocation.

Only a negotiation with the Prefectural Inspector about centralizing containment. Then if they got lucky and caught the drug traffickers, it would be easier to arrest them.

That was all.

And yet, the ghouls gathered on their own.

Because Gang-hon-san was easier to find here. They could indulge freely without scrutiny.

It was amazing how even those unable to walk made their way here. Proof that addicts had their own motivation.

“I don’t regret this. It’s the right path.”

Suppressing a sense of bitterness, Warden Won Neung-ik inspected the alley.

“Warden… I can’t handle this anymore…!”

Beside him, the magistrate of Posan County was pleading tearfully.

This was the person who’d known about Gang-hon-san all along, the one who’d previously used excuses and bureaucratic jargon to cover up the situation.

While Warden Neung-ik wanted nothing more than to remove the magistrate from his post and have him executed, it was entirely possible.

However, after careful consideration, he decided against execution and chose a different punishment instead.

“You are the responsible leader of this county.”

“Huh?”

“No need for formalities. I’ve requested reinforcements from the Prefectural Inspector to supply these people with food. With the weather cooling down, we’ll also provide straw bedding and tents.”

“I can’t survive this…!”

“The rest is your responsibility.”

It was a punishment that would last until death—overseeing Zombie Alley indefinitely.

A magistrate’s term usually lasts six years, but Warden Neung-ik planned to ask for an exception. The magistrate certainly didn’t seem pleased.

“Warden, please, banishment would be better!”

“Is fabricating official reports for inspection a better option?”

“…”

“If you wish, I’ll consider it.”

“No, no, that’s fine.”

“Nevertheless, don’t worry too much. Thanks to an agreement, no more supplies of Gang-hon-san will enter the country… Once the merchants run out of stock… at least we’ll avoid an increase in undead addicts.”

There was no guarantee the situation would improve.

It was true that the Gang-hon-san ban was part of the treaty with the Britannia Empire.

But narcotics were not limited to Gang-hon-san. The court had already identified eight different types. Each was terrifying in its own right, if slightly less potent than Gang-hon-san.

Could they guarantee that these substances wouldn’t infiltrate Chinguk?

Warden Won Neung-ik had no way of knowing. But the established “Zombie Alley” was here to stay.

With that realization, he tossed a money pouch containing silver coins to the magistrate as a token of goodwill, advising him to buy the addicts some steamed buns.

Then he surveyed the area once more. His gaze fell on a man standing rigidly like an ancient tree, yet swaying unnaturally at the waist.

A hellish scene, to say the least.

But it was just another day in Zombie Alley.

**

Simultaneously, at the palace.

A disturbance arose within the secluded Naksu Hall, far from the palace’s center.

“Come, present the imperial jade quickly.”

Young Emperor Tang Yeon-cheol wagged his hand at the man before him.

“Come.” A word that struck Tang Yeon-cheol as odd after it escaped his lips, though he had no idea how to revise it.

Waving his hand in the air, he urged the seated man.

“The imperial jade, please.”

“Your Majesty, do you mean the Royal Seal?”

“…Yes!”

“My apologies, but both it and all other seals are currently in the possession of the Empress Dowager. They will soon be transferred to me.”

What?

Tang Yeon-cheol was aware that his mother, the Empress Dowager, had taken the seals. But why was this stranger receiving them?

And then it struck him—the twelve-ridged crown and formal imperial robes this man wore.

How dare he wear the attire reserved solely for the Emperor?

Surely, this was usurpation!

Tang Yeon-cheol, struggling to comprehend the unfolding events, heard a bizarre sound.

“I have inherited the throne.”

“What?”

“It was not my wish, but circumstances have dictated otherwise. I had no choice but to follow the Empress Dowager’s directive.”

Tang Yeon-cheol blinked repeatedly, staring blankly at the stranger. It took some time for him to recall who this man was.

Prince Bak, Tang Ho-il.

One of the royal family’s princedoms, second in line among the collateral branches. Politically detached, Prince Bak had enjoyed an idle life, annually receiving generous subsidies of silver and rice.

How dare he claim the throne?

“Is he stealing my position?”

Tang Yeon-cheol could not grasp this situation—it was not as if he had willingly abdicated.

How did this happen? He wanted to question but didn’t know how to start. He knew he must act, yet his movements were restricted.

Prince Bak Tang Ho-il sneered, or perhaps not—a smirk played on his lips as he spoke words Tang Yeon-cheol did not wish to hear.

“His Majesty, I apologize. We’ve already restored diplomatic relations with the Western Empire.”

“Should we recklessly confront our enemies now, the nation will crumble. In the coming years, we must focus solely on recuperation. It will take at least a decade, perhaps longer, to recover from the aftermath of the archives.”

“His Majesty will reside here in Naksu Hall for the remainder of his days. Although demoted to a common king for the sake of public sentiment, no one will harm you. This is also the will of the Empress Dowager. Thus, please rest easy…”

Stop this!

Tang Yeon-cheol snapped.

The notion of restored relations with the Western adversary, a life in Naksu Hall, a demotion in rank. These were unbearable, incomprehensible thoughts.

They were as tormenting as the withdrawal symptoms from Gang-hon-san. Indeed, how could they not be? Misguiding the empire’s direction while fraternizing with enemies?

He needed to stop it, he must.

But Tang Yeon-cheol lacked the power to resist. He struggled to move but flopped helplessly.

Another odd sound rang out.

“I will pardon Concubine Gang, who suffered from false accusations.”

Concubine Gang, whose family had been decimated due to Concubine So’s slander, was to be released from exile on an island. For someone about to be deposed, this was a trivial matter, yet Tang Yeon-cheol felt his chest tighten and his head throb painfully.

“My deepest apologies. His Majesty, please forgive me.”

“Ugh.”

“His Majesty will soon be dethroned.”

Dethroned? Tang Yeon-cheol’s eyes misted over, and he gasped.

Prince Bak Tang Ho-il bowed respectfully—it was the last gesture meant for Tang Yeon-cheol as an emperor.

…

Two hours later, news arrived that the Empress Dowager had issued an edict of deposition, and Prince Bak Tang Ho-il had ascended the throne.

Tang Yeon-cheol was now an ex-Emperor.

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