This was no longer a simple fight.
"We''re defending ourselves!" one of the fatties shouted back, voice trembling but defiant. "You were the ones who attacked us first!"
"Doesn''t matter," the burly man sneered. "We are the Servants'' Discipline Department. No one will listen to your excuses. The elders will stand with us."
His words hung heavy in the air.
Authority. Power. Influence.
They weren''t just facing swords.
They were facing the weight of the entire hierarchy.
Alex''s iron wok came down onest time.
The final standing member of the second wave from the Servants'' Discipline Department crumpled to the ground. Silence followed-broken only by groans and the scrape of bodies shifting in pain.
Alex turned to First Fatty, breathing steady, eyes sharp.
"How many people are there in total in the Servants'' Discipline Department?"
First Fatty hesitated, then answered, "About a hundred."
"A hundred?" the burly man barked from the ground, blood running down his mouth as he forced himself up on one elbow. "You ignorant fools. There are nearly three thousand servants in the sect. Two hundred belong to the Servants'' Discipline Department alone. And when they hear about this, all of them wille for you."
His voice trembled with fury and promise.
"All of them."
Alex went quiet.
Three hundred was not impossible for him.
But if he crushed them all, he would make enemies of the entire department, even the entire sect. Elders. Supervisors. Every faction that feared losing control.
This would not stay a simple grudge.
He looked at First Fatty. “Brother..... is the Servants'' Discipline Department corrupt?"
First Fatty let out a coldugh. "There''s nothing more corrupt in this ce than them."
"What do you know about="
The burly man didn''t finish his sentence.
Alex''s iron wok swung in a tight arc and smashed into his face. The impact knocked
him t. His body twitched once before going still.
Alex lowered the wok and turned back to the fatties.
"Brothers," he said calmly, "we can''t stand here and wait for all three hundred of them to surround us. That would be foolish."
The eight fatties exchanged uneasy looks.
"I''m thinking we go to their headquarters," Alex continued. "We strike first. We take control of the Servants'' Discipline building and end this at the root. If we control the headquarters, this problem can be solved cleanly—before it spirals out of control."
"Alex... just to confirm," Third Fatty said cautiously, jogging beside him. "We''re attacking their headquarters?"
"Yes."
"The building where all three hundred of them work?"
"Yes."
"The ce filled with weapons, records, chains, and torture rooms?"
Alex nodded once. "That one."
Third Fatty ran in silence for three seconds.
"...Good. I was worried we were doing something reckless."
The fatties froze.
"You''re serious?" one of them asked.
Eight Fatty was the first to step forward, eyes zing. "That''s a good idea. I''ve been sick of those bastards for a long time. If we''re going to fight them, we might as well
hit them where it hurts. I''ve always wanted to smash that building at least once."
"I''m in," another fatty said without hesitation.
"Count us in too," the rest chimed in, one after another.
There was no more doubt in their voices.
"Well then," Eight Fatty grinned, lifting his iron wok onto his shoulder. "We''re brothers. All for one, and one for all. Let''s go pay them a visit."
A slow smile touched Alex''s face. "Good. Can someone lead the way?"
"Wait," Fifth Fatty puffed. "Shouldn''t we make a n first?"
"We have a n," Alex replied.
"We do?"
"Yes."
Eighth Fatty grinned. "Hit them first. Hit them hard."
Fifth Fatty frowned. "That''s not a n. That''s a slogan."
Alex''s eyes stayed forward.
"It bes a n," he said calmly, "if we survive it. Let''s go. Dotn worry I will handle it!"
"I will lead you," said Sixth Fatty, the smallest and quickest among them. He was known for his speed despite his size. "Just follow me."
He took off at once.
The other fatties thundered after him, their heavy steps shaking the ground. Alex ran alongside them, matching their pace easily.
From a distance, it must have looked ridiculous.
Eight massive, round-bodied men charging down the path with iron woks in hand—
and Alex moving beside them like a calm de cutting through the wind.
It looked absurd.
It looked unstoppable.
They ran for nearly fifteen minutes before the Servants'' Discipline Department headquarters came into view.
It was arge, three-story building made of dark stone, its windows narrow and severe. The ce looked less like an office and more like a fortress.
Alex slowed to a stop and studied it.
"I''m going inside," he said calmly. “I''’II take control of the building and check their ount books. I don''t beneve for a second that won''t find dirt on them. Can you block the front door and make sure no one gets in?"
The eight fatties exchanged looks.
Then they nodded.
Without another word, they marched to the entrance and nted themselves in front
of the massive wooden doors. Their broad bodies formed a living wall.
No one was getting past them.
Alex stepped inside alone.
The moment he crossed the threshold, several Servants'' Discipline members spun
toward him.
"What are you doing here?" one shouted. "You''re not allowed inside!"
"Where is your leader''s office?" Alex asked, his tone t and direct.
"Get out!" the servant barked.
The iron wok shed.
A loud crack echoed through the hall as it smashed into the man''s face. He dropped
instantly, unconscious.
Gasps rippled through the room.
Alex lifted the wok slightly, his eyes sweeping across the stunned faces.
"Where is the leader''s office?" he asked again.
Silence.
He took a step forward.
"For every person who doesn''t answer,” he said evenly, “I''ll start breaking heads.”
The threat was not loud.
It didn''t need to be.
One man, trembling, raised his hands. "Third floor! It''s on the third floor! Please!"
"Good."
Alex turned and rushed toward the staircase.
"Stop! You can''t—"
The iron wok swung again. Another body hit the floor.
Behind him, First Fatty and the others remained at the entrance, blocking the doors
like human barricades.
But themotion had already spread.
More members of the Servants'' Discipline Department began returning, and this
time they didn''te alone.
An elder arrived with them.
"All of you fatties!" the elder roared
as he stepped forward, robes sweeping behind him. His presence was heavy oppressive. “What are you doing at the Servants'' Discipline Department headquarters? Do you have a death wish?"
The fatties nced at one another, uncertainty flickering across their faces.
“Move away from the door," the eldermanded coldly. “Come here and kneel
before I break every bone in your bodies."
First Fatty swallowed. He leaned closer to the others.
"What do we do?"
“Number Nine said to hold the front until he finishes,” one whispered.
"But he''s not back yet."
"Then what?"
A tense silence passed between them.
"If we move, he''ll be trapped inside," another said.
"And if we don''t," someone muttered, "the elder might execute us.”
They looked at each other again.
Then something hardened in their expressions.
Without another word, they turned
back toward the elder and the approaching Servants'' Discipline members. Each fatty lifted his iron wok and held it firmly in front of his chest.
"We''re not moving," First Fatty said, voice shaking but resolute. "If you want to
execute us, then do it."
The elder''s face darkened with fury.
"How dare you!"
He drew his sword in one smooth motion. Steel rang as it left the sheath.
"If I don''t cut off each of your arms today," he thundered, "then my name isn''t Jun
Sik!"