Who the Hell Are You Guys? (1)
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“What the hell is this so tough?”
Chief Patrol Neung Wi roughly spat out the meat he’d been chewing and grabbed his liquor bottle.
It was harsh stuff that scorched his throat going down, but Neung Wi emptied the bottle in one gulp.
“Kuuh! Good burn.”
Grimacing with satisfaction, Neung Wi turned to his subordinate tending the grill.
“How long we been camped out here?”
“Ten days and a morning, sir.”
“Damn, not like it’s just a day or two—this grind’s wearing thin.”
As he reached for another bottle, Neung Wi glanced back at the man standing rigidly behind him.
“What’s the word on Gold Tiger Stronghold?”
“They’re negotiating with Zhu Hai Escort Agency right now.”
“I know that much. How’s it actually going?”
“No major breakthroughs yet, from what I hear. But the pressure’s ramping up. They won’t hold out long.”
“Good news, then. Once Zhu Hai’s squared away, no reason for me to stick around this dump anymore, right?”
The man hesitated, and Neung Wi’s face soured.
“Spit it out. Trouble?”
“Fresh report just in—Gold Tiger pulled off another hit.”
“Another one? Guess these bastards think they’re pros now that we keep patting ’em on the back.”
He chucked the empty bottle aside in a fit and spoke coldly.
“Ten days in a hellhole like this is plenty. Wrap Zhu Hai, then we clean house and roll out.”
“But, Chief Patrol...”
The man—Vice Chief Patrol Yeom Heuk, Neung Wi’s right-hand man—looked pained.
“What? Problem?”
“The score’s huge this time.”
“Huge how? Where at?”
Neung Wi asked, his expression bored.
“Water Dragon Merchant Association.”
“Hmph.”
A groan of dismay slipped from Neung Wi’s lips at the name.
“Nothing like the One Star Merchant Group or Flame Flower Escort Agency we hit before. This is leagues bigger.”
“I get it.”
Neung Wi shot back curtly, working his lips before adding,
“Remind me—how much they shaking down Zhu Hai for?”
“Hundred gold taels.”
“Fifty apiece from One Star and Flame Flower, so two hundred clean if Zhu Hai pays up. But nailing Water Dragon too...”
“Doubles it again.”
“Risk scales up big time. One Star, Flame Flower, Zhu Hai? Small fry. Water Dragon’s wired into heavy hitters. They won’t fold easy.”
“Pressure ’em like Flame Flower and Zhu Hai, and Water Dragon’s got no play right now. They’ll cough up the coin first, sort the rest later. Point is, we’ve got the fix for their headache, yeah?”
A shady grin tugged at Neung Wi’s mouth as Yeom Heuk spoke.
“Hand over the boiled mutt after the hunt’s done, huh?”
“Exactly. Stick to plan—gift-wrap Gold Tiger Stronghold Leader No Geuk’s head for ’em, and we’re golden. Whole mess was him going rogue for ‘revenge.’ Main stronghold’s hands are clean. Hell, it gives us cover to smack down the line-crossers and reset ties with the agencies.”
“Solid scheme.”
Neung Wi nodded, pleased with Yeom Heuk’s rundown.
No Geuk’d shit bricks hearing it, but the guy was already yesterday’s trash.
Main Stronghold Leader Neung Cheong Kang had the skills but no love for No Geuk’s burning ambition.
No denying the cash and muscle No Geuk threw into scrapping with rival strongholds. But from the throne? Pawn to play and pitch.
Greenlighting the trip and tagging Chief Patrol along wasn’t kindness—it was a ploy to swipe Gold Tiger’s hidden stash.
Letting No Geuk rage unchecked over his torched turf? Just waiting to snatch whatever he squeezed out. Death sentence from jump.
“No helping it. Grit a few more days.”
Neung Wi steeled himself for the boredom, eyes on Water Dragon’s fat payout.
“Loop in the elders too. They’re as stir-crazy as... Ah, speak of the devils.”
Neung Wi rose at the sight of old men pushing through the brush.
His old man ran Green Forest, and he wore Chief Patrol on his sleeve, but these three elders from the Elder Hall? Untouchable.
Green Forest Great Emperor Yu Ji Hak had unified the bandits and planted the main headquarters on Mokbu Mountain—straddling Huguang, Hunan, and Jiangxi—two hundred fifty years back.
Scores of strongholds had seized power since, spitting out main leaders. But one tradition held ironclad.
No heirs for the Great Emperor.
No successor either, but his juggernaut faction endured. Per his final charge, they bent knee to each new main leader. In power scraps—especially throne fights among strongholds—they stayed dead neutral.
Time wore at it, self-interest flexing muscle, but the bones hadn’t shattered.
Elder Hall was the tradition’s spine, so Neung Wi treading light made sense.
“Hahaha! Wild boar? Thought you were tiger hunting.”
Neung Wi’s laugh met Giant Strength Overlord Jang Gwal—huge boar slung over his shoulder—who guffawed and dumped it on the ground.
“Tell me about it. Tigers all vanished—ain’t seen hide nor hair.”
“Size like that’s tiger-ferocious easy.”
Neung Wi whistled at the boar dwarfing a full-grown sow.
“Vicious? Damn straight. But that’s all she wrote—two fists from this one, and look.”
Nine Mountains Woodcutter Pung Yo Sang prodded the boar’s caved-in skull with his pipe.
“Shame I couldn’t drop it in one.”
Jang Gwal shrugged it off, but Neung Sa Jong waved emphatically nearby.
“That’s a monster flat-out. Bare-knuckling one down? Elder-only territory.”
Neung Sa Jong—Main Stronghold Leader Neung Cheong Kang’s brother, sole stronghold alum in the elders—still paled next to Jang Gwal or Pung Yo Sang.
“Kahaha! Elder Neung’s polishing my ego. Feels good though—guess I’m baseborn at heart.”
“Tsk tsk. Took you this long?”
Pung Yo Sang clucked his tongue, turning to Neung Wi.
“How’s the play? Feels like bounce time.”
“Zhu Hai’s wrapping soon-ish. Might drag a tad.”
Pung Yo Sang’s eyes iced over, boredom sharpening to edge.
“Drag? Explain.”
Neung Wi swallowed hard at the viper glare and relayed his chat with Yeom Heuk.
“Water Dragon, huh. Big fish, sure...”
Pung Yo Sang muttered. Jang Gwal clapped his shoulder.
“In for a penny, few more days what’s what? Payoff’s massive—juice for HQ.”
“You say so. One catch.”
“Shoot.”
“He’s mine.”
Pung Yo Sang flicked his tongue. Jang Gwal flinched, his sixty-plus frame still rippling with muscle.
“That...”
“Pass, we bail post-Zhu Hai.”
Pung Yo Sang’s tone brooked no dickering. As Jang Gwal stalled, desperate Neung Wi clasped hands and bowed low. Jang Gwal boomed a laugh.
“Chief Patrol’s nod ain’t cheap. Fine—your kill.”
Pung Yo Sang beamed like nothing happened.
“No Geuk’s blade work was slick last peek. Be fun grinding him down.”
“Damn right!”
Jang Gwal’s voice spiked with irritation. He stomped to the downed boar, slashed its gut in one, yanked the gall, and bottled it.
“Here—gift. No bear bile, but prime from this beast.”
“My thanks, Elder.”
Neung Wi bowed sharp and took the flask.
That’s when a figure bolted their way.
Neung Wi’s crew snapped alert, but dropped weapons once they ID’d the man crashing through brush.
“Chief Patrol!”
He hit one knee before Neung Wi.
“What?”
“Pigeon post—hot off.”
The man handed over a slim missive.
Neung Wi’s face locked stone as he scanned it.
“Trouble?”
Pung Yo Sang pressed. Neung Wi crushed the paper, voice arctic.
“Nangong Family’s on the move. Headed here.”
“Nangong?”
Jang Gwal and Pung Yo Sang barked in unison.
“Zhu Hai tip ’em?”
Neung Sa Jong cut in.
“Nah. Flame Flower—we bled ’em before.”
“Nangongs don’t budge light. Hidden strings at play.”
Jang Gwal noted. Pung Yo Sang wagged his pipe slow.
“Bored as hell waiting—perfect. Wrap before they land.”
Pung Yo Sang marched off, no chance to stop him.
“Whew! Nangong crashing now? Few days more, and we’re swimming in gold.”
Neung Wi groused regret. Neung Sa Jong patted his shoulder light.
“Chin up. One Star and Flame Flower weren’t chump change. No Geuk’s dome’ll wring extra.”
“Chicken feed.”
Neung Wi couldn’t mask the sour.
<><><>
Pung Yo Sang’s stride to the stronghold bounced light, face buzzing.
Gold Tiger’s wreckage hit view, and the glee evaporated—eyes turning glacial.
“Small fry slide. No Geuk’s mine.”
Jang Gwal sighed at the decree.
No Geuk’s crew had chops, sure—but per Pung Yo Sang, just pests. No high chasing a real master.
“Gotcha. No flubs—nail it clean.”
Jang Gwal flicked his hand snappish.
“Flub? Pray for skyfall first...”
Pung Yo Sang snorted. His head whipped around sudden.
Jang Gwal’s gaze snapped same direction.
Two men on the beast trail, gait unflawed despite the pitch.
“Who’re you?”
Pung Yo Sang called.
“And who’s the old-timer? Hmph, those goons scream ‘bandit’—you less so.”
Diamond Yaksha Cheol U emerged first from the trail, flicking eyes over Neung Wi’s crew.
“Old-timer? Ha! Last breath gift—who the hell are you bastards?”
Pung Yo Sang chuckled, but his murder glare dissected Cheol U and Sima Geon behind.
“No need digging on us little shopkeeps. Flip it—who’re you, Gold Tiger hill rats?”
Pung Yo Sang clocked their beef with Gold Tiger from Cheol U’s jab.
Strictly, not foes mid-No Geuk hunt—no cause to clash. But warrior gut overrode brain. Cheol U’s lip especially grated.
“That so? Then what?”
Pung Yo Sang mocked. Cheol U fired back zero lag.
“You die.”
Cheol U advanced heavy, aura crushing.