Chapter 50
Chapter 50
Grrrrrr-!
Dozens of motorcycles tore down the road amid the screeching whine of electric motors. Every last one stripped bare of safety features, tuned for raw speed alone—an extreme, reckless sight. And straddling them were the geomgye thugs who'd been lurking in the lowest commercial district.
"Step on it harder! Faster! They'll catch us at this rate!"
"How the hell did they figure it out? We didn't tell a soul... Wh-what?!"
They rode like demons were on their tail, but only for a moment. The faces of the lead gangsters drained of color.
Whoosh-!
An armored helicopter burst from the opposite lane. A brute in full protective gear hung off the fuselage, heavy machine gun trained right on them.
The gangsters' panicked expressions twisted as they gunned the throttles—but too late.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-!
The chopper's side-mounted heavy machine gun roared to life, shredding the fleeing thugs into ground beef.
"Aaack?!"
"Shit, take cover! Everyone, take cover!"
"These fucking bastards...!"
The lead convoy collapsed, and the rest dominoed into chaos behind them. Anyone without cybernetic implants was done for right there—only the higher-ups with partial mods had a shot.
They yanked submachine guns from their waist holsters and sprayed back. That's when someone leaped from the pulling-back helicopter.
Thud-!
A heavy impact, then the figure rose. Spotting him, the armed gangsters clenched their jaws.
"Min Jeong-hwan...!"
The noble-slaying maniac, boss of Salban-gae.
But his gear was worlds cleaner now. A black overcoat draped over bulletproof tailoring, a black hat perched atop his head, and a cybernetic frame pieced from military surplus. Nothing like the junk he'd rocked while butchering nobles up top.
"Min Jeong-hwan, you motherfucker! Salban-gae scum, dick-riding noble bastards for their cash feels that good...? Gurk?!"
Slash—the ranter's body cleaved clean in two. Min Jeong-hwan's blade had bisected his cyber-enhanced frame in one stroke.
"Yeah. Fucking fantastic."
Shrrr—In the meantime, more rappellers from the chopper encircled them, rifles locked and loaded.
Uniform outfits, synced gear, flawless coordination. Hard to believe these were geomgye trash like them.
"R-reconsider!"
Dozens of red laser dots painted their bodies; one gangster bellowed at Jeong-hwan.
"The cybernetics you scored! The guns! Use 'em to waste Kim Chang-un... that little shit! You saw—he's a powerless noble pansy! Play it smart, and all his cash is..."
"That it?"
Jeong-hwan's icy glare cut him off—no need for more. The gangsters trailed off, bitter laughs aimed his way.
"Burn in hell, you backstabbing fuck...!"
"Fire."
Rat-tat-tat-tat-!
His single word, and the survivors turned to colanders on the asphalt.
"That's the last of 'em."
Three months since Chang-un had scooped up the geomgye.
The screams and tumbling corpses? The crew running this sector. And the one picking them off to claim the underground? Salban-gae's boss, Seo Jeong-hwan.
"Any leftovers?"
"Eastern sector holders—mostly dismantled. Young master nailed the prediction."
"Good. Finally wrapped."
Muttering it, Seo Jeong-hwan fished a cigarette from his pocket.
Nearly three months, no holds barred to seize the underbelly. Geomgye, street punks, delinquents, crooks—every armed pack swept clean.
"Status on the lowest-layer dispatch?"
"No issues yet."
His identically geared crew bowed.
"No dumb merchant beefs, guild relations way smoother."
"Some shops volunteering protection money... Says turning it down's the real hassle."
"Huh..."
Jeong-hwan eyed his handpicked new blood. Thinking of the boss who'd masterminded it all, he clicked his tongue.
'Unreal. Ballooning the org this big in so little time...'
Salban-gae had been drifters—no future plans. Kill nobles on impulse, die young, done. No need for prime blades or top-shelf cybernetics. But under Chang-un? Game changed.
'Which is why now, they're...'
'Cybernetics shopping? For the whole damn crew?'
Chang-un dumped cash into the lowest commercial zone for their implants.
And more: Jeong-hwan's blacks hunted crooks popping up everywhere, patrolled like cops.
From fifty heads to thousands. Beyond gang turf—full army spec, gear and all.
"Palcheon Society, eh? Neighborhood's a helluva lot nicer thanks to 'em."
A white-haired old-timer had said it, pressing a bundle into Jeong-hwan's hands.
"Magistrates don't give a damn if us bottom-dwellers croak. Better protection racket than their taxes."
Heat seeped from the hefty wrap—steaming sirutteok piled high.
Refused cash? They shoved "protection" like this instead.
"You lot barely scrape by—why waste good rice cakes?!"
"Thanks to you, we can bake 'em. Take it, and tell young master Chang-un hi."
Prime clients in the pits, mediating squabbles, holding the peace. Now guaranteeing shop debts too.
Jeong-hwan wasn't sure if he was gangster or gendarme anymore.
'Still...'
Post-job stroll through commercial streets. Folks who'd bolted at his mad-dog rep now waved, all smiles.
Weird. Alien vibe, but...
"Nice, huh."
He nodded without thinking to a crewmate's mutter.
Yeah. Exactly. Unfamiliar, sure—but not half bad.
"Said it'd take another month, but wrapped already? Way ahead of schedule."
Pyeongun Casino office, smack in the special management zone's heart.
Min Jeong-hwan, in for results, plunked steaming sirutteok on my desk.
"Your helicopter assist, young master. Locals feeding intel too... Job got ten times smoother."
Overpay the bottom merchants for that reason. Blind spots galore for them; we had eyes everywhere.
Member rosters and reports scanned clean—proud as hell.
- Freaked at first. Bulk black-market arms haul, then Salban-gae hires... Figured war was on.
"Was half war. Think purging underground scum's a cakewalk?"
Munching sirutteok, I shot back at Jumo's voice over the comm.
"But now, every armed rot in the pits uprooted."
Spotless underground map—old phlegm finally clearing.
"Hanseong underbelly secure. Next phase greenlit."
- Next phase? What's the play now?
"Oh, forgot to mention?"
Gazing down at the Hanseong underground sprawl.
"Building an organization."
"Organization?"
"Yeah."
Colossal setup for the revolution ahead.
Jumo went quiet, waiting for details.
How to frame it? Thought a beat, then:
"Underground sprawl right under our casino? Hundreds of thousands strong. You know."
- Damn right. Joseon's untouchables—barely human. Like us here.
Nodded along.
"Topside civil war? Nobles quit eyeing the depths."
Every resource locked on Pungyang Jo scum and cronies. No watchdogs left—precarious order tanked, lives plunged deeper into hell.
Time to milk it dry.
"Scale geomgye around Salban-gae. Mold 'em into cops, plug the security hole. Inch by inch, claim Hanseong underground as my turf."
Pave roads, build schools and clinics, hand out homes. Stack good deeds and fame as the noble who gives a shit about pit-dwellers.
"Then leverage the rep—make residents beg to join."
Most here? Birth-locked in the depths, talents rotting in trash mountains, lifers by class fiat.
"Flash cash, gear, schooling—who the hell says no?"
Hundreds of thousands in manpower. Plus buried factions and lobbies in the muck.
Rake 'em all, forge one unit.
No Hwae strings, no outsiders—mine alone.
Pure talent org.
"Cheonmin army from Hanseong depths... Smells like treason."
"Whaddya say, Jumo? In?"
"Obviously. But..."
Beat.
"Org name?"
Name, huh. Had it locked.
Joseon's most reviled untouchables.
Forge 'em into my one-of-a-kind machine.
"Palcheon Society (八賤會)."
Joseon's eight cheonmin castes, united.
To flip this kingdom upside down.