Schemes Met with Schemes (5)
A truly audacious change of plans.
Seo Baek then relayed to Song Hyeon the contents of Joo Eun-ri's letter.
The back gate of the fortress bristled with embedded blades, and poison needles flew thick and fast, making it impossible to cross easily. Only Namgung Jin held the key to opening it.
But Seo Baek said nothing about her bid to slip away from the infiltration team. There would be time enough after they escaped the fortress.
"I had my suspicions."
Song Hyeon nodded as he listened.
"It was built from the start to block the road to Shaolin Temple. Designing the back gate to be impassable was only logical."
"We knew escape wouldn't be simple."
"The final phase of any infiltration is getting out clean. Only then can you call it flawless."
Song Hyeon's words evoked his master's teachings, and Seo Baek nodded without thinking.
"Do you have a solution in mind?"
"Of sorts."
Song Hyeon lifted the robe-wrapped bundle in his hand.
Seo Baek grinned and raised his own cloth-wrapped item in response.
"Great minds, it seems."
"Indeed. Now we just grab Namgung Jin."
Realizing their thoughts had aligned perfectly, the pair exchanged faint smiles—a rare sight from the usually stoic duo.
Seo Baek, Song Hyeon, and Joo Eun-ri gave the plan's finer points one last review, then set out.
"Let's begin."
But just as they moved to go, Seo Baek and Song Hyeon halted and turned to each other.
"One short."
"We forgot something."
They spoke in unison, prompting Joo Eun-ri to tilt her head.
"The plan's airtight—what's the issue?"
"Wang Yi Sam senior."
"Ah...!"
So fixated on escape routes, they'd wiped him from their minds entirely.
"He's here to help you, so likely near the warehouse."
"Good—no need to stumble around blindly."
At Song Hyeon's words, the group headed for the warehouse housing the thunderbolt bomb production.
En route, they scanned intently, hoping to spot Wang Yi Sam.
Finding him proved easier than expected.
A bushy-bearded warrior from the Pearl Eon Family was barking orders at his comrades—it was Wang Yi Sam.
"You there—why so damn slow? Move it!"
Namgung Jin bellowed at his men to extinguish the flames until his throat grew hoarse. Whether from his orders or not, the blaze was slowly dying down.
Only then did he catch his breath.
Thank heavens they'd stockpiled ample water against such fires.
Without it, the whole fortress might have gone up.
To Namgung Jin's eye, this was no accident.
'Infiltrators set the blaze.'
Yet no reports of intruders?
Ghosts would weep.
The Five Families Alliance, forged in dreams of a new era.
But it was a ragtag mob. The other clans chafed at bowing to the Namgung, and the Namgung lacked the force to dominate them.
Namgung Jin bore much of the blame.
His petty distrust of others.
When things soured, he blamed everyone else. No wonder his provisional alliance leader's authority rang hollow.
The fortress looked imposing, but lacked the will to run it.
Namgung Jin turned from the fire scene.
'Useless idiots, all! Better to hunt the rats myself.'
They swore it was impregnable—yet here he was, blaming others again.
Then he froze at the sight.
A single character in red on the building wall:
Nothing special. Just "mu"—wood.
But at the sight, Namgung Jin's heart plummeted.
'Shaolin 18 Arhats?'
If the character for Wood is split in two, it becomes Ten and Eight.
Combine the two and it becomes Eighteen.
Shaolin Temple was famed for gathering its finest young monk warriors.
Eighteen of them, dubbed the 18 Arhats across the Central Plains Murim.
Disciples of the division under the abbot—not strictly first-generation, flexible on seniority.
Youths or elders, rarely mixed.
Excluding abbot and elders, they were Shaolin's absolute elite.
They ventured into the jianghu for major crises.
But not seen in over a decade—dispatched to border threats.
Only once united: when Western Frontier's Guryun Temple declared war.
Rumor held they left codes on outings.
Righteous sects had signals; to the unorthodox, like black marks.
Theirs: Wood.
Black path warriors fled at the sight.
Yet here it was on the wall...
'The 18 Arhats are here?'
Realization buckled his knees.
'Damn it. Just a bit longer and the fortress would be done.'
In a fortnight, Namgung and alliance forces would flood in.
Thousands strong, clan heads arriving—then perfection.
His long-cherished scheme.
But now this...!
Feeling his tower crumble, despair sapped him.
He ground his teeth, steeling himself.
'Survive first.'
If Shaolin sent elites, the fortress was lost. Escape mattered.
Live to scheme another day.
Pity the fortress and bomb works—but Namgung wealth could rebuild quick.
'Sacrifice pawns for the king.'
He parroted the cliché of the power-hungry.
Abandoning alliance for his skin? No—upholding the greater good, he rationalized.
Like any petty villain, peril sharpened his wits.
'Disable the fortress, slip out. Even the 18 Arhats won't pursue.'
He slunk away from eyes, toward the bomb warehouse.
No guards— he'd sent them all to the fire.
'Going smoothly.'
A smug smile.
Then a voice from behind:
"Young master Namgung..."
He whirled, startled—then relaxed at Moyong Hwa-jeong.
"Come in. What's with the state?"
"The rats... cough...!"
She staggered close, then knelt vomiting blood.
Her grievous wounds shocked him anew.
"S-soje?"
He reached to support her.
Then spied her limp sleeve—third shock.
"...!"
Her outer robe hid it: sleeve torn, soaked crimson.
One arm severed!
Mouth agape, he paled at the figures behind her: alliance's five experts—Ak Gwanbi, Paeng Jagol, Eon Ja-seong.
All bloodied head to toe.
Ak Gwanbi sweated coldly, breaths shallow—chest wound.
Paeng Jagol's garb dyed red—sword to the chest.
Eon Ja-seong's right arm and leg dangled like a doll's—shattered meridians.
Moyong Hwa-jeong fared "best"—stumped but staunched, survivable. The others? Better off detached.
They leaned on each other, precarious.
One falls, all fall.
Elite reps from top clans, routed and bleeding—unbelievable sight.
Namgung Jin finally croaked:
"What in blazes happened?"
"Infiltrators got us all... real masters..."
He swallowed hard. Ironclad defenses breached?
He'd planned solo flight—lingering risked capture by the 18 Arhats.
But he reconsidered.
'Even better.'
Mission failed? Flee with them.
Dead elites? Namgung disgraced before the clans.
But survivors? Proof they fought Shaolin.
Blame a vile ambush for withdrawal.
"Understood. I'll handle the rats—rest easy."
"You don't even know where they are!"
"Last resort."
He curled a lip in a grin.
"Blow the whole fortress with thunderbolt bombs. Rats buried alive under rubble and cliffs!"