Chronicles of the Lazy Sovereign

Chapter 15: Fox-Dog Jang Il (1)

First impression?

Did I say first impression?

It was intense.

There’ll never be another first impression quite like that.

Back when I was just a little beggar, I once saw the infamous murderer known as the Bloodthirsty Demon in the northern capital.

He was completely drenched in blood, smeared all over his body—a hideous sight. After seeing that monster, I thought nothing would ever shock me again.

But the moment I saw him, that belief shattered instantly.

What?

Martial arts?

No, it wasn’t that.

I’m telling you—it wasn’t.

It wasn’t that kind of surprise... So how should I put this?

A kind of awe for someone who crushed my pride—my belief that I would never fall behind in one particular field?

What do I mean?

Well, it's hard to explain in words.

But it was intense.

Really, really intense.

*         *         *

Jang Il was feeling extremely flustered right now.

‘Let’s see here…’

When was the last time he had been this thrown off?

The first time he saw the Bloodthirsty Demon?

‘No, not quite.’

Or was it when he learned that the beggar who had taken him in when he had nowhere else to go was actually an Elder of the Beggar Sect?

‘That might’ve been less shocking.’

Or when he found out that Jeong Chil—that idiot he used to scold and kick around for being too dumb to even beg properly—was actually the long-lost only son of a high-ranking official?

‘Mm, yes, this definitely tops all of that.’

Jang Il looked at the person who had completely shaken him.

A beggar.

There was no better word for it.

He was just a beggar.

But that wasn’t the problem. No one would be shocked just by seeing a beggar.

Especially not someone like Jang Il, who lived among beggars every day. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that it was impossible for someone like him to be stunned by the sight of another beggar.

The problem was that something absolutely impossible—something that should never be happening—was happening right now.

Why was this happening?

The beggar standing before Jang Il was fundamentally different from the countless ragged ones he’d seen all his life.

Yes, completely different.

Anyone could see that this wasn’t just any beggar. He was a true beggar, in the literal sense. He gave off the impression of a beggar among beggars—something so beyond imagination that even Jang Il couldn’t help but feel reverence.

First off—those clothes!

Beggar clothes were normally dirty, patched-up rags, barely held together. Those who couldn’t get even that would just wrap themselves in scraps or straw mats they found lying around.

So beggar clothes all tended to look the same.

Some people might find individuality in a beggar’s clothes, but that so-called individuality was more about outcome than intention—never truly representing the person wearing them.

At least, that was what Jang Il had always believed.

But the beggar standing before him now was wearing clothes on a whole different level.

‘It’s like he’s worn those rags his entire life, wandering through every remote and rugged corner of the land.’

That’s how much history and tradition—no, even a kind of dignity, like that of an antique—seemed to emanate from the beggar’s clothes.

Well, fine.

Clothes could be dirty. They could be worn out.

One could even compromise and say that this odd scrap of cloth, dancing on the boundary between rags and garments, maintaining a deliberately ambiguous form and purpose, was still—technically—a type of clothing that could exist in this world.

However, the hands and feet poking out between those rags were not something one could easily call a beggar’s.

It felt more like dried-up bones barely covered with skin, somehow still managing to move around.

This is exactly how it would look if you opened up a mummy.

If that mummy hadn’t been standing, but lying on the ground instead, Jang Il wouldn’t have hesitated even for a second—he would’ve called the kids over and told them to clean up the corpse.

The problem was, that supposed corpse was now standing and looking straight at him.

“Hm…”

Jang Il savored this fresh shock.

Moreover, the grime caked on the beggar’s hands and feet—so stubbornly stuck it seemed fused into his skin—looked like it hadn’t been touched by water in at least a few years, even by the standards of the most destitute beggar.

Sure, beggars didn’t bathe often. But there were rivers, and rain still fell. No one could completely avoid contact with water.

And even beggars had some instinctual need for cleanliness. They might not scrub themselves spotless, but they didn’t go their whole lives without washing.

Yet this beggar, standing right before his eyes, was utterly defying every bit of common sense Jang Il had ever known.

And on top of that…

Peeking through the long, tangled hair—undoubtedly unwashed and uncombed for several years—was a face that had gone beyond emaciation, nearly resembling a skull.

‘Should I call this thing a high beggar, or a ghost?’

Jang Il was completely shaken.

And he was the Sub-Branch Leader of the Beggar Sect’s Gaebong branch.

Even to someone in his position, the person standing before him was a true high beggar—one the likes of which he had never seen before.

Not even at the main headquarters of the Beggar Sect would one find such a beggar among beggars.

Having lived as a beggar and destined to continue as one, Jang Il trembled as he felt his understanding of what it meant to be a beggar shatter before his eyes. It wasn’t even a proper Beggar Sect member—just some random beggar—yet Jang Il’s pride and dignity as a beggar were crumbling to pieces. The humiliation stung.

While he was still struggling to recover from the shock, the strange beggar slowly opened his mouth.

“Um… is this the Beggar Sect?”

Jang Il nodded before he even realized it.

And yet, his body trembled at a strange feeling.

It was hard to guess the age of the beggar standing before him.

But to carry that level of beggar-like dignity… it must have taken an immense passage of time.

What was strange, however, was that the voice he heard was unexpectedly light and clear.

Judging by voice alone, the beggar sounded just barely past twenty?

But looking at his appearance, he had to be at least fifty, if not older.

“Y-yes, it is.”

Jang Il felt a renewed sense of sorrow as his pride continued to collapse, piece by piece.

Reading someone’s identity, age, and mental state at a glance based on their appearance was essential for a beggar.

That’s how they kept their bowl from getting broken.

At the very least, Jang Il had always taken pride in being a master at that sort of thing—but now that pride had shattered and hit the floor.

“I came to ask something.”

“…What is it?”

Jang Il’s voice came out sharp and irritated.

It was human nature to be wary of someone who didn’t fit within one’s framework of understanding.

“It’s kind of a lot…”

Jang Il looked the beggar up and down and snorted.

“Got money?”

“I have to pay?”

Look at this guy.

Clueless about the ways of the world—and he dares call himself a beggar?

You had to be quick with information to be a beggar.

If you were slow on the uptake, you could get beaten to death and no one would bat an eye.

How many beggars had ended up bloodied and ruined after walking into a house that used to feed them well, not knowing a funeral had just taken place, and asking for food?

The reason the Beggar Sect was so informed was because beggars were that sensitive to information.

“Since when has anything been free in this world? You think we beggar brats—who can't even afford food—just hand out information without getting a single coin for it?”

“That does seem like a problem.”

“I’d love to give you a freebie since you’re in the same business, but rules are rules.”

“Same business?”

“Yeah, we’re both beggars.”

The strange man shook his head.

“I’m not a beggar.”

“…”

Jang Il felt despair.

In twenty years of life, he had never seen, nor even imagined seeing, a beggar so flawless—so perfect in form and spirit—and yet the man was now denying he was one.

“High beggar?”

“Nope.”

“King beggar?”

“I told you, I’m not.”

Jang Il was furious.

“Anyone can see you’re a beggar! How can you say you’re not?!”

But the strange man was just as outraged.

“Calling a perfectly normal person a beggar! What about me looks like a beggar?!”

Jang Il frowned at the beggar’s reaction.

Something was definitely off about this.

“…When was the last time you saw a mirror?”

“Five years ago?”

Jang Il nodded.

That made sense.

Judging by his appearance, he hadn’t come within sight of a river in the last five years. If he had no idea what he looked like, he might genuinely believe he wasn’t a beggar.

But that wasn’t the truth.

It was time to tell this beggar the hard truth.

“You should just accept it already. Anyone can see you’re a perfect high beggar. I get it—it’s not easy to admit. But once you let go, everything becomes easier.”

“I’m telling you, I’m not a beggar!”

“Eh, whatever. The point is, if you don’t have money, I can’t give you any information. So off you go.”

The strange man hesitated a bit, then spoke slowly, sounding a little flustered.

“Is there no other way? I really don’t have any money…”

“Then go beg or something and earn some.”

“I’m not even a beggar—how am I supposed to beg?!”

“Begging isn’t something only beggars do. Once you beg, that makes you a beggar. Judging by your bones, you haven’t even had thin porridge in days. Might as well take this chance to learn how to beg. Honestly, I’m saying this out of pity. With your face, all you have to do is put a bowl in front of you and sit still—you’ll rake it in. Why waste such a gift?”

“Enough already. Just tell me if there’s another way.”

“Another way, huh…”

At that moment, an idea popped into Jang Il’s head. A brilliant one.

“…Wanna do a bit of work?”

“What kind of work?”

“It’s really easy and comfortable. You just sit there. No—just lie down. Just do that for two days and I’ll give you the information you want. You have to do nothing difficult, got it?”

The high beggar nodded lightly.

“Sure, I can do that.”

“Really?”

A smile crept across Jang Il’s lips.

The high beggar—no, Wi Yeonho—felt miserable.

Utterly miserable.

‘This isn’t how it was supposed to go…’

Jang Il kept his word.

Wi Yeonho truly didn’t have to do anything.

He could sit when he felt like it, and when that got too tiring, he could lie down and roll around a bit.

In fact, if he nodded off, Jang Il would be delighted.

And yet, Wi Yeonho’s heart sank further and further.

Whenever he lay down, Jang Il would throw himself down in front of him and wail.

“Waaaahhh! Father! Your unworthy son is to blame!”

“…”

“It’s been five whole days since you’ve eaten even thin porridge! Father! Forgive me! Everyone, I beg you—please help my father!”

There was no need to shout.

Just the sight of Jang Il weeping in his beggar rags drew attention, and once people saw Wi Yeonho lying there, they quietly wiped the moisture from their eyes and began pulling money out of their wallets.

There was something about Wi Yeonho’s appearance that people simply couldn’t ignore.

Not just tearful housewives—even stoic warriors, who looked like they wouldn’t bleed even if stabbed with a needle, hastily hid their twisted expressions, pulled coins from their sleeves, tossed them over, and fled the scene.

One person even burst into loud sobs, ran all the way home, and came back just to make a donation.

In no time, a mountain of coins piled up in front of Jang Il and Wi Yeonho.

Then Jang Il would gather up a reasonable amount, wait a bit, and start wailing for his father again.

And again, the coins piled up like a hill.

After repeating this a few more times, the coin pile grew so large it wouldn’t fit into the sack he’d brought with him.

It was an extraordinarily successful begging session.

But Wi Yeonho simply stared blankly at the sky.

‘This isn’t how it was supposed to go…’

And his heart sank endlessly.