Chapter 1075: Explosion and Showdown (Patreon)

When the trio arrived at the abandoned industrial park, they were greeted by a massive fireball rising into the sky.

Jack brought the Suburban to a halt nearly a kilometer from the blast site. A few minutes later, the roof of the vehicle began to rattle with the sound of falling debris.

With a loud clang, a twisted, deformed metal pipe—its original purpose now unrecognizable—crashed down on the hood, missing the engine by inches. One more inch and Jack would’ve been requesting yet another car.

“Ah, shibal.” Ma Xidao cursed through his gas mask, hurriedly fastening it as Jack reminded him.

Jack immediately dialed Kang Jintae’s number. The good news: the line connected. The bad news: no one answered.

“Do we keep moving? Doesn’t seem like there’s been a nerve agent leak.” Jack said, gauging the air.

Had there been any nerve agent release, they’d already be showing signs of the “Three Flows, Four Contractions” symptoms—excessive salivation, tearing, sweating, along with pupil constriction, bronchial constriction, gastrointestinal cramps, and muscle spasms.

As an avid reader of certain time-travel novels, Jack was well-versed in this grim checklist.

With consensus from the group, Jack resumed driving toward the blast site.

The scene was chaos—smoke, fire, and the cries of the wounded. Several officers who had failed to evacuate in time were pinned under collapsed factory walls.

“Help! Over here! We’ve got people trapped!” A soot-covered Kang Jintae shouted, risking being scorched alive as he dug through rubble. Beneath him, a young officer, barely in his twenties, lay unconscious, fate uncertain.

Beside him, Lin Zheling used a wooden beam as a lever, straining to lift a fallen steel support off the officer’s lower body.

Jack left Anna in the vehicle—her lack of official status was too risky—and swapped the military-grade gas mask for a standard 3M mask before charging in with Ma Xidao.

It wasn’t clear what exactly had happened, but from the condition of the scene, Jack inferred that although the explosion had been sudden, Kang and Lin had sensed something wrong and attempted a withdrawal.

There were more than twenty officers on site; most had escaped the building in time. Those pinned were along the outer perimeter.

With the help of Jack and Ma—the two unofficial “powerhouses”—the trapped young officer was quickly freed and rushed to a waiting ambulance.

“What the hell happened?” Jack handed them each a bottle of water and waited as they caught their breath.

“We underestimated Zhang Mingjun.” Kang wiped sweat from his brow, unknowingly smearing soot across his face like war paint. He sighed heavily.

The chubby man they’d captured hadn’t sustained serious injuries—just a mild concussion. After waking in the hospital, however, he refused to speak a single word.

The only thing they had was the fake passport found on him, identifying him as “Kim Kwang-ryong,” though there was no way to confirm if that was real.

The forgery was high-quality, good enough to fool most officers. Without verifying entry records, no one would’ve known it was fake.

South Korean police couldn’t get away with the CIA’s interrogation methods. So Kang devised a ruse—he let the guard drop his guard. Sure enough, the man “escaped” from the hospital, stealing an ambulance and heading straight for the industrial park.

“You followed him here?” Jack deduced.

“Yeah. None of us expected it to be a trap set by Zhang Mingjun.” Kang’s face twisted in frustration.

They had tailed the suspect via drone to avoid detection. When he entered the warehouse, over twenty officers surrounded the area. Kang and Lin led a team inside.

Thankfully, Lin had noticed the explosives and detonator hidden inside.

They saw the chubby man walk up to a table, answer a phone, speak briefly, then calmly press the detonator.

The team barely escaped in time—but still suffered two officers seriously wounded and three lightly injured.

“Maybe it was just a contingency,” Jack mused. “Their extended absence probably raised suspicions. Since neither carried a comm device, they likely had a strict check-in protocol.

Considering their military background, this level of discipline isn’t surprising. Don’t you agree, Comrade Lin Zheling? You two have known each other for a while, haven’t you?”

He looked at Lin with a faint smile.

Lin’s face, already grim, darkened further. He glanced awkwardly at Kang, who stared back in open shock. Still, Lin said nothing.

“Ah, shibal, what the hell, man? Weren’t we supposed to be open with each other?” Kang was clearly upset.

Though they came from opposing sides of the border, Lin and Kang had personal history.

A few years ago, during a brief period of détente, Lin had visited the South to pursue a counterfeiting case.

During the “Arduous March,” the North had done many shady things to acquire foreign currency—including large-scale counterfeiting and drug production.

Lin was tasked with retrieving stolen engraving plates. At the time, Kang had been demoted to a lowly post and was assigned to “assist” (read: monitor) him.

Eventually, the counterfeiting ring was destroyed. Lin and Kang found themselves holding the engraved plates—tools that could’ve been used to politically attack the North or perpetuate more crimes.

In a moment of silent accord, they tossed the plates into the sea—ending the threat without stoking political flames.

Though Jack didn’t know all the details, he had already observed Lin’s deference to Kang. Now seemed like the right moment to turn up the heat—one last push on Lin’s conscience.

“I’ve also uncovered Zhang Mingjun’s real plan. He’s developing nerve agents to launch a terrorist attack on Seoul. The cheap meth he’s been flooding the streets with is just a way to raise funds.”

As if to confirm Jack’s words, a line of U.S. military Humvees followed by several larger vehicles rolled down the road and appeared on the scene.