When Dragon and Tiger Join Hands (1)
Seo Baek and Dang Ryong climbed the sheer cliff along the precarious plank road.
The path was broken in several spots, forcing them to leap the gaps and delaying their progress.
They reached the very place where Seo Baek had vaulted across the chasm to rescue the Shaolin monk just as the sun dipped low in the evening sky.
With the route secured, the trek to the Underground Hall would be straightforward.
Seo Baek and Dang Ryong traversed the cliff ridge before descending from the plank road. All that remained was cutting through the forest to locate the entrance.
“What’s the deal with those crossbow pricks?”
“The Underground Hall faction.”
“Weird-ass name.”
“True to its name, it’s a faction dug deep underground.”
When Dang Ryong inquired about the Underground Hall, Seo Baek gave a concise rundown: a group that had burrowed tunnels far below to evade the revenant outbreak.
“Digging tunnels and sticking around in revenant territory? Gotta be tied to the Murim Alliance.”
“……”
Dang Ryong pieced it together from the bare details—a sign his sharp mind belied his bloodthirsty nature.
“Underground means tight security at the entrances. You got a way in?”
As expected, Dang Ryong cut straight to the point.
“I’ve got a plan.”
“What?”
As Seo Baek opened his mouth to reply, he snapped it shut and ducked behind a tree.
Without a word or signal, Dang Ryong melted into cover right behind him.
Not just smart—his reactions and instincts are razor-sharp too.
Seo Baek figured Dang Ryong would make an excellent infiltration partner.
Assuming he’s not Sichuan Tang Clan... and not gunning for my head.
Not far from their hiding spot, dozens of figures trudged past.
Varied attire made affiliations unclear.
But one thing united them: bamboo spears in hand, faces masked.
Underground Hall grunts.
Dang Ryong shot a questioning glance; Seo Baek nodded silently.
Eyeing their bamboo spears, Seo Baek’s gaze turned icy.
Up close, those weren’t mere spears—far too thick.
Crossbow mechanisms hidden inside.
Leaves clung in spots, camouflaging triggers.
The Underground Hall concealed their lethal toys like a scorpion sheathing its stinger.
But there were others—over a dozen souls roped in a line, shambling under spear prods from the Hall thugs.
In a flash, Seo Baek recalled the refugees’ grim faces back in the tunnels.
And the bloodstains smeared on the walls.
He signaled Dang Ryong, and they ghosted closer, flitting tree to tree like lightning—unseen.
The Hall goons’ chatter drifted over.
“Jackpot this haul!”
“Deputy Leader—no, Leader—gonna pay fat bonuses, right?”
“Damn straight! Twelve heads—double the usual take!”
Overhearing, Seo Baek clocked their game.
Human trafficking, as suspected.
The tunnel folk weren’t sheltered refugees. They were kidnapped goods, seized and sold off by the Hall.
Not Murim Alliance puppets, then—bandits?
Unlikely. Digging tunnels that size? No ragtag bandits could pull it off.
They’d started as a Murim Alliance affiliate, no doubt.
But they’d flipped. Probably post-outbreak: luring displaced families with promises of safe passage, then peddling them.
Catching Seo Baek’s chill stare, Dang Ryong sent a transmission.
> Thought they were pros, but just slavers.
> …
> What’s the big deal? Not carving up meat for stew.
> Both are sins beyond forgiveness.
> Fine? Shall I carve ’em up?
Dang Ryong soundlessly drew his twin swords from his sleeves.
> Hold.
> Why?
> Captives make shields. Trouble.
> So? Wipe ’em clean.
> Can’t drag innocents in.
> Got it. Do your thing.
To Seo Baek’s surprise, Dang Ryong sheathed his blades without protest.
He’d sworn to save Seo Baek once, so he’d defer—for now.
An enigma.
From those bored eyes, Seo Baek guessed another motive: Small fry—no thrill in the kill.
Seo Baek’s caution wasn’t purely altruistic.
Holding off wasn’t about justice—it was the group’s uncertain fate.
What if they’d been nabbed?
Rescue the comrades safe first. Justice can wait.
Infiltration wouldn’t be a cakewalk.
Tailing to the entrance: easy.
Storming in: suicide.
Lift the wooden hatch, then the stone slab. Spiral stairs cramped for sword swings.
Stairs? Manageable. Seo Baek’s greatsword switched hands left-right; Dang Ryong’s twins were fine.
True headache: crossbows.
Narrow tunnels plunging deep.
Volley from ahead? Porcupine pincushions.
He and Dang Ryong could tank it.
But bolts flying meant busted cover.
Hostages—the group.
Non-negotiable.
Barricade the passages? Defenders hold all cards.
Tail and breach: slim odds.
Alternative...
Perfect infil point: the well.
Five entrances modeled on the Five Elements: Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water.
Seo Baek recalled Gang Pyo’s words.
—We repurposed a dried-up well into a passage.
One of the five: dried well. Horse-friendly—wider than the rest.
Easier stealth.
Where, though?
No cardinal labels—deliberate misdirection.
The Metal passage they had entered earlier must have been the middle one among the five—the one located at the center.
The abandoned well is one of the four directions. Which one is it?
> Tail ’em for the entrance. What’s the worry? Scouting backups?
> …
Dead accurate, per usual.
Eye contact alone, reading thoughts.
Prime partner material. Pity.
> Racking your brain’s a waste.
Dang Ryong peeled from cover, bounding shadows toward the group.
One grunt sidled back, lagging.
His bud called: “What’s up?”
“Heading ahead. Bladder emergency.”
“Hustle. Deputy’ll bitch.”
Alone in thick brush, he dropped trou and let loose.
Then—
Sss.
Something feathered down, perching on his nape.
“……!”
He jerked, then locked rigid like a corpse.
Two silver needles, hair-thin, embedded.
Dang Ryong’s Jeongho Jamryong—Tang poison needle art.
Seo Baek had watched the sleeve flick.
Yet the technique evaded easy sight.
Threads too fine for gleam; qi-propelled, silent.
Assassin craft akin to scentless toxin.
Open demo: pure swagger.
Watch if you want. You can’t stop it.
Group distant now; they stepped out.
> Interrogation?
> …
No need to object. Arms crossed, Seo Baek observed.
> Pressure points?
> Paralysis works. But slow.
> Understood.
> Bonus: Let him go, or they lock down. Points wear off—he’ll whine about capture.
Didn’t compute. Release the grilled mark? Alerts anyway...
Dang Ryong twitched fingers, puppeteering needles.
Kirrik-kirrik.
Faint rasp—inaudible unless straining. Unsettling, no matter the listens.
The grunt’s head lolled up; jaws gaped—blank idiot stare.
Dang Ryong smirked. “Underground Hall entrances—how many?”
“Five... Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water...”
Spilled freely. Moron? Or needle voodoo?
Dang Ryong eyed Seo Baek: Your turn.
“Dried well—from Metal gate, which way?”
“South...”
“Distance?”
“’Bout 100 zhang...”
“Guards?”
“Two...”
“Why so lax?”
“Hidden nook... hard to spot...”
Music to ears. Dried well it was.
“Done?”
“Yes.”
Seo Baek nodded, intel secured.
Dang Ryong leaned to the grunt’s ear. “Needles out—you forget everything said.”
“Got it...”
“Go.”
Finger flick—needles whisked back to sleeve, faint shimmer.
Oblivious, the grunt shuffled off.
“Blank slate.”
“Masterful technique.”
Sincere props. Foe or not—effective.
“Everyone?”
“Nah. Inferior qi only.”
Blunt on limits—arrogant indifference.
Seo Baek mapped Metal’s spot, then south 100 zhang.
Locked in. Move out.
“Let’s go.”
Two shadows sliced the dark woods—silent.