The Empire I Create Chapter 10

Chapter 10. An Uneasy Settlement, and the Signal Sent Skyward

Booong—
A small nuclear reactor whirred to life, its distinctive hum filling the air. The output indicator quickly stabilized on the monitor, and Hamin allowed himself a relieved smile. In this past era, this small yet powerful energy source was his lifeline—the key to deploying modern technology.

“Thanos, find us a good spot to set up our base camp.”
“I’ll launch a drone right away. I’ll survey the area within a one-kilometer radius and report back.”

As the drone lifted off, Hamin recalled his final conversation with Michael Kim and Dr. Lee Jin-young through the intercom before they activated the Time Master.

“Mr. Hamin, which time period should we program into the Time Master?”
Without hesitation, Hamin replied,
“Send me to the 13th century.”

Michael Kim and Dr. Lee looked slightly puzzled.

“Why the 13th century? That’s Goryeo-era Korea, isn’t it?”

Hamin chose not to mention the recurring dreams he had of Mongol cavalry and mysterious flying craft.

“If society is to evolve in a better direction, I want to start before the rigid systems of the later Joseon era took shape. Plus, going back before the Industrial Revolution and the Age of Exploration should allow for a more ‘co-evolutionary’ development of society. Really, any time that can help break free from this awful future—and make the most of iron technology—seems right to me. I believe that’s the 13th century.”

He’d planned for the 13th century, spoken about it with the two scientists, and thus if the time travel had truly worked, this had to be 13th-century Jeju. With a light mechanical buzz, the drone soared out of the container, followed by Hyung-jun and Mi-ji preparing for reconnaissance. Moments later, video feed from the drone appeared on the truck’s monitor: grasslands, fields of reeds, and low hills. Roughly a kilometer away, there was a small patch of flat land nestled between rocky cliffs, with no sign of any human dwellings.

While Hamin was momentarily lost in thought—dwelling on the Silent Gateway and the rush of events—the drone completed its survey and returned to the truck. Thanos began its report:

“From the visuals, that terrain looks sheltered from the wind, and the ground is relatively solid. It should work well for establishing a base. Also, there appear to be no settlements or signs of human or animal activity within at least two kilometers.”

Hamin decided to move only his truck to the new base location, leaving everything else behind. Worried that someone might tamper with the satellite or rocket in the container, he immediately ordered the Optimus units to camouflage the “container lab” with nearby reeds and wood.

All ten Optimus worked together expertly—bundling reeds, layering branches, even piling dirt over parts of the container’s surface. In about an hour, the giant metal container looked like a grassy, overgrown mound from the outside.

“Perfect. That should keep it from drawing attention,”
Hamin said, checking around it. No one was likely to guess that inside lay a rocket and satellite.

“Okay, let’s head for that base-camp site.”

Hamin drove the truck toward the small flatland spotted by the drone. The Optimus units that had finished the camouflage work climbed aboard the truck’s cargo area, while Hyung-jun and Mi-ji sat up front checking navigation data. After traveling for about a kilometer over unmarked fields, they found a relatively level spot sheltered by low hills—an ideal location for the base camp.

Wasting no time, Hamin gave the Optimus robots new instructions:

“Flatten the ground. Gather rocks and materials to build a frame for a makeshift shelter. Use reeds or whatever else you can find to cover the roof.”

Again, the Optimus sprang into action. Some used tools from the truck to quarry stones and pave the ground; others wove reeds for roofing. Their work was rough around the edges, but within five hours they had completed a large, cabin-like structure capable of keeping out most wind and rain.

By then, dusk had settled, painting the sky in shades of red. Under the rapidly darkening sky, Hamin and the robots relied on their red LED lights to finish the finer details.

“Twelve Optimus units sure get the job done fast,”
Hamin murmured with a hint of pride, though he also felt a pang of isolation. His old life had vanished, and he was now alone in this new world—an outsider in every sense.

When night fell, Hamin settled inside the makeshift shelter. He ate a quick meal of energy bars and gave an order to Thanos over a Bluetooth earpiece:

“Send the drone back out to scout any nearby villages. We need to confirm that this really is the 13th century.”
“Understood. I’ll use the drone’s night-vision mode and expand the search area for human activity.”

The drone disappeared into the darkness above. Half an hour later, the footage returned, showing simple housing structures—mostly thatched roofs—and people dressed in clothes that resembled the Goryeo style Hamin had studied. The lighting appeared to come from candles or oil lamps, difficult to distinguish from the Joseon era at first glance, but by analyzing wooden structural elements, roof materials, and other details, Thanos concluded:

“Based on our overall analysis, this appears to be the late Goryeo period under Mongol invasion—likely between 1235 and 1245. It matches the 13th century target.”

Hamin exhaled in relief.

“So we really made it. Now it’s time to carry out the plan.”

Yet with that relief came a gnawing sense of isolation—he felt the weight of how each decision he made could reshape history.

Long after midnight, Hamin still couldn’t sleep. Sitting in a corner of the shelter, he again pictured Michael Kim and Dr. Lee Jin-young. Though they had no way to watch or direct him now, he felt a flicker of gratitude and also kept certain plans to himself.

“If I do end up launching that satellite, big tech or the military in the future might track my moves in real time. But…”

Through the lonely hours of the night, he was torn by worry. Living truly alone in this era might be tougher than he’d imagined.

---

By morning, the Optimus units had improved the shelter—turning it from a simple shack into a modest stone-and-thatch house. They’d stacked rocks into short walls and layered reeds and branches for a sturdier roof. The floor was leveled and covered with a thin layer of soil, so the interior felt more cozy than he’d expected.

“This is great for a first base camp,”
Hamin said, surveying the surroundings with satisfaction.
“Hyung-jun, Mi-ji—stay here, keep the place in good order. Report immediately if any person or animal approaches.”

“Yes, sir. Initiating base-camp guard mode,”
they replied. Hamin loaded the remaining ten Optimus into the truck’s cargo bed. Their heavy metallic footsteps clunked as they boarded. Starting the engine, he told Thanos to navigate to the hidden container-lab.

After winding through the hills, they arrived back at the large, camouflaged container. It still resembled a mound of reeds and branches, with no signs of disturbance. Carefully, Hamin checked the area. Nothing suggested that any people or animals had come near.

He lifted the steel door to enter, revealing the dark interior. The rocket and satellite parts were right where he’d left them. Only yesterday he’d been hesitant about whether to launch, but in his overnight gloom and solitude, he decided, I need to send some kind of signal.

“Thanos, according to the manual, this is a small, solid-fuel rocket, right? Easy enough to assemble for launch?”
“Yes, as long as we have a launch platform of some sort.”

Hamin nodded.

“What about the launcher? It’s not like we can build a real one in this era.”

“Fortunately, the manual indicates a circular opening on the container’s left side. It was designed to let us stand the rocket upright if the Optimus units reposition the container. That should work as a makeshift launch pad.”

Hamin directed the ten Optimus to begin assembling the rocket. Thanos relayed step-by-step instructions from the manual, and the robots meticulously mounted the engine components, attached the satellite module on top, and connected the O-rings and wiring. It took about two and a half hours of focused work, but eventually the rocket and satellite were joined as a single unit.

Wiping sweat from his brow, Hamin did a thorough inspection, confirming that the solid-fuel tank was properly loaded. Next, they opened the left side of the container, revealing a round aperture—apparently built in the underground lab for precisely this purpose. Like a crane, the Optimus lifted the rocket, guiding it through the opening so it stood skyward.

“Luckily, we don’t have strong winds today, and the weather’s clear,”
Hamin said.
“Yes, ideal conditions for a solid-fuel launch.”

His heart pounded. Launching this rocket would create a thunderous noise, likely drawing attention from any local inhabitants. Still, he’d made his decision, and delaying wouldn’t change anything.

“Thanos, proceed with launch. Which orbit do we aim for?”
“We’ll target a low orbit, around 100–120 kilometers up, then deploy the antenna to send transmissions.”

Finally, Hamin shouted:

“Ignition!”

After a brief pause, the solid fuel ignited, spewing flames. Dirt and rocks scattered as the rocket thundered upward, rattling everything around. KUUUUNG! The roar shook the ground beneath Hamin’s feet—he reflexively covered his ears. Smoke filled the container, and flames shot out through the aperture. Within seconds, the rocket soared skyward.

Vwoooosh—
Moments later, the roar faded. Now just a tiny speck in the sky, the rocket disappeared into the heavens. Hamin’s vision was still hazy with afterimages, and the acrid smell of propellant hung in the air.

“I hope it made it…”
He checked the truck’s monitor. Thanos had a signal lock on the rocket at first, but once it reached a certain altitude, the communications link weakened.

“The satellite separation should happen soon. After that, once we reestablish a signal, we’ll know if it’s in orbit.”

But minutes passed with no sign of reestablished contact. Growing impatient, Hamin worried: Did it explode? Did it fly off course?

“If the satellite settles into orbit, we’ll pick up a signal. Let’s wait a bit longer.”

Time was precious, though, and Hamin decided waiting around wouldn’t help.

“No point staying here. Let’s get back to the base camp.”

He started the truck, the ten Optimus climbing aboard. He loosely shut the container door behind him. The rocket’s launch had left a charred patch of ground, but they had no time for further camouflage.

After driving only about 200 meters, Hyung-jun’s voice crackled over the radio:

“Reporting in. We have three or four children near the base camp. They’re poking around the shelter.”

“Figures. That rocket must’ve scared them, or sparked their curiosity.”
Hamin stopped the truck in thought. If these were genuine 13th-century locals, the deafening sound would naturally draw either fascination or fear.

“I’ll have the truck and robots hide in that wooded area up ahead, and I’ll head to camp on foot. That’s safer.”

Leaving the Optimus units to handle the truck, Hamin armed himself lightly and set off toward the camp.

As he neared the site, late afternoon sunlight was fading. Hiding behind a rock, he saw small figures—likely children—milling around the large hut. Maybe ten years old or so, with a couple of younger kids and one older girl. They peered in through cracks in the door, eyes alight with curiosity.

Thankfully, Hyung-jun and Mi-ji hadn’t confronted them. Hyung-jun could’ve used force, but Hamin had ordered, “Do not approach or threaten any children or non-combatants.”

“If these kids tell their village about the fireball or strange noises, adults might show up soon,”
Hamin murmured, swallowing. Should I avoid contact with the locals this early, or is it better to engage? He hesitated, but realized it might be too late to remain hidden.

He approached slowly, and the children drew back, startled. But Hyung-jun, who’d already downloaded a basic Goryeo language module, spoke gently:

“Don’t be scared. We won’t hurt you.”

Smiling kindly, and appearing like an average thirty-something man from a distance, Hyung-jun’s demeanor reassured them. They huddled together, muttering wide-eyed. Then Hamin fished some candy from his pocket, offering it forward.

“Here, try this.”

Hard candy—something these children had surely never tasted. One child cautiously popped a piece into his mouth, eyes going wide at the sweet flavor. Excitement spread fast, and suddenly they all wanted more.

Hamin gave out a few more pieces, and they quickly warmed up to him, listening to Hyung-jun speak. Hyung-jun gently added:

“Come back again, maybe bring your friends. We’ll teach you to read, and share more candy.”

The children beamed in amazement. “Really?!” They whispered excitedly about learning letters and having more sweets. Hamin grinned in relief.

Their first encounter had gone well. He watched the kids scamper away toward their village, skipping with excitement as dusk fell.

---

Later, as twilight deepened, Thanos sent an urgent message through the truck’s dashboard:

“It appears the satellite has reached low orbit. We’re picking up a weak signal.”

Hamin rushed to the monitor, where a static-filled data feed displayed something attributed to Dr. Lee Jin-young. A short video-text combination began playing her strained voice:

“Mr. Hamin… I’m not sure if this message will get through. After you left, the Silent Gateway was bombed. It seems the military and the big-tech forces got caught in some conflict. This place will likely be shut down or destroyed soon. This might be our last chance to send anything. I hope you’re safe… Please… fulfill your dream.”

The screen flickered with static. The transmission was unstable, cutting off parts of her final lines before repeating and then vanishing.

Stunned, Hamin stared at the monitor. So the Silent Gateway was bombed… what happened to Michael Kim and Dr. Lee Jin-young? Are they alive—or…?

“At least they believed I’d made it,”
he murmured, lost in a tumult of emotions.

Slumping against the truck, he ran a hand over his neck.

“So there’s almost no chance of ever going back to the modern era… Looks like the best I can manage is a few brief messages via that satellite.”

No military or big-tech entity from 2030 could reach him now, stranded in the past. So I really am on my own. Strangely, amid that loneliness, he felt a measure of freedom: No one can control me here. Everything depends on me.

He gazed outside at the moonlit fields. Who knew what the village folk would think of the rocket’s roar? Perhaps a wave of bigger reactions was coming soon. Yet Hamin decided firmly:

“I’ll stay friendly with these locals. If necessary, I can show my strength, but going in guns blazing is too risky.” If the candy-tasting kids returned daily, he could start teaching them to read, building goodwill. As he learned more of their language and customs, he might gradually influence the entire society.

Looking up at the sky, Hamin’s eyes showed no trace of wavering.

“It’s time to walk my own path now.”

His uneasy settlement, his small successes so far, and the last tenuous link to the modern world—all had converged in this pivotal first step toward rewriting history.