Incheon's Chinatown had grown into something more than a district. Lanterns swayed in the wind, dragon carvings guarded rooftops, and narrow alleys whispered with the scent of incense and blood. But at the very heart of it stood a palace that seemed torn from another century.
The Dark Crocodile Society's headquarters rose like a fragment of an old dynasty — sweeping tiled roofs with upturned corners, red lacquered beams, golden dragons coiled along pillars. Carved stone lions crouched at the gates, jaws parted in silent roars. From a distance, it looked like a temple. Up close, it radiated dominance.
Inside, the throne hall stretched wide, its polished wooden floors reflecting the glow of oil lamps. Tall banners hung from the ceiling, each marked with the crocodile sigil in black ink against red silk. Incense drifted lazily, curling around pillars carved with clouds and serpents.
At the far end, beneath a canopy of carved wood and golden dragons, stood a Chinese-style throne — heavy, ornate, lacquered black with inlaid jade and gilded patterns. It resembled the seat of an emperor rather than that of a crime lord. Upon it sat Paecheon Jo, a monarch in all but name, his posture commanding and his expression carved from stone.
He lifted a porcelain Chinese cup, painted with coiling dragons, and poured clear baijiu. The liquid gleamed in the lantern light as though it too carried secrets.
Before him, Yujae Seon stood with hands clasped behind his back. He did not kneel, for Paecheon required loyalty, not groveling. His voice was calm as he delivered his report.
"Boss. Speed Faction is fully engaged with our reinforcements. Jaegyeon Na himself has appeared. But Cheon Ma… still no sign of him."
Paecheon swirled the baijiu slowly, studying the ripples in the porcelain. His silence stretched, filling the chamber with tension. Then he spoke, voice low but resonant, echoing against the carved beams above.
"Good. Let them exhaust themselves."
He rose from the throne, the embroidered robe across his shoulders whispering as he moved to the map table. The surface was littered with ink brushes, scrolls, and maps of Incheon marked in crimson strokes. He placed the cup down gently, then traced the borders of the city with a long finger.
"They think this war is theirs," Paecheon murmured, his lips curving into a sinister smile. "But they are already within my net. By the time they realize… the web will be closed."
Yujae's eyes narrowed slightly, but he did not ask the details. He simply inclined his head, his voice steady.
"It will be done, sir."
Paecheon lifted the porcelain cup once more, draining it in a single motion before setting it aside. The carved dragons on the throne seemed to leer in the flickering lamplight as he spoke his final words.
"Move the assets. Seal the channels. The plan begins now. No leaks. No mercy."
The orders spread like fire through the palace. Messengers vanished down shadowed corridors, generals bent over maps, and the air itself seemed to tighten with foreboding. Outside, Incheon screamed in chaos; inside the palace, under the gaze of golden dragons, a far greater storm was already unfolding.
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