Demonic religion
The Three-Eyed Buddha's grip on Tang Mujin's face—its touch was dry and coarse, as if death itself had taken form.
"Am I to die like this?"
Even if death awaited, he had no intention of meeting it in a daze.
Tang Mujin thrust out his fist. It wasn't a proper martial technique—just a strike born of pure instinct.
The Three-Eyed Buddha did not block. More precisely, he had no need to block.
Thud. The first punch landed squarely against his chest, but the giant did not react in the slightest.
As Tang Mujin drew back for a second strike, another hand suddenly appeared from the side and intercepted his fist.
Because his face was still clamped in the Three-Eyed Buddha's grasp, Tang Mujin couldn't turn his head.
But his eyes could move. And so he looked—and there beside the Three-Eyed Buddha stood a frail, unfamiliar old man. Clearly an accomplice.
Yet the two men were complete opposites in appearance.
The Three-Eyed Buddha, though aged, carried a massive frame and a body forged like iron. He did not feel like an old man at all.
But the elder at his side was plain, even withered—slender, bent, resembling a dried-out tree.
That frail old man spoke in a tone laced with disapproval.
"Three-Eyed Buddha. Must you always lunge with your hands first?"
"I only feared he'd shout. I'm still a disciple of the Buddha. I don't go about killing people at random."
The giant fumbled over his words, but the frail elder looked unconvinced.
"That excuse grows stale. Your conduct is far too discourteous."
"Discourteous? Nonsense. I was only glad and proud to see a promising junior, that's all…"
The Three-Eyed Buddha scratched at the back of his head, releasing Tang Mujin's face at last.
Was this supposed to be goodwill? Perhaps. At least it wasn't saturated with malice or killing intent.
Tang Mujin's thoughts spun rapidly. Should he cry out for help now?
No—that would be folly. These men clearly disliked drawing a crowd.
And should the Three-Eyed Buddha decide otherwise, anyone approaching the room would be slaughtered. Nor was the frail elder beside him likely to be a mere bystander.
Whether his face was gripped or not, sharing this space with the Three-Eyed Buddha meant that life and death no longer rested in Tang Mujin's hands.
When one's life is placed into another's grasp, people split into two kinds: those who lose their reason, and those who grow calm. Most fell into the first. Tang Mujin belonged to the second.
In a steady voice, he asked:
"What business brings you to me?"
Both the Three-Eyed Buddha and the frail elder revealed a flicker of surprise in their eyes.
"Composed. A fine stock for a hero."
The giant's words carried not hostility, but approval. Perhaps his earlier talk of "junior" had not been empty courtesy after all.
The frail elder, frowning, nudged the Buddha's side with his elbow. To Tang Mujin's astonishment, the fearsome giant did something unexpected—he apologized.
"Strange as it may sound, I owe you an apology for last time. I meant no true harm."
Tang Mujin's mind whirled. Was this about that battle? But the cost of that fight was far too great to be brushed aside with a simple apology. The men of Mount Heaven had died, and Namgung Myeong had lost his left arm.
Yet Tang Mujin did not press the matter. Or rather, he dared not. Life was precious.
"This is not the time to discuss it. I was not the one most wronged, in any case. By the way… who is the elder at your side?"
"I am the Soul-Shattering Elder, holder of the position of External Chief of the Demon Cult ."
So—a high official of the Demon Cult? But something about the name snagged his ear.
"…The Demonic Cult , is it not?"
"Outsiders, viewing us as fiends, often call us that. But among ourselves, we name it the Demon Cult. The term comes from the old faith of Mani."
"I see. Then I was narrow-minded in my speech. Forgive my discourtesy."
As Tang Mujin quickly lowered himself, the Soul-Shattering Elder cast a reproachful glance at the Three-Eyed Buddha.
"Discourtesy? Compared to this fellow's behavior, that was nothing."
"Tch. I told you, enough of that."
Before their bickering could grow into a quarrel, Tang Mujin swiftly interjected.
"Then—why have you sought me out?"
The elder wasted no words.
"I have heard you possess insight into poisons. We require your help."
"Help?"
"Yes. The Poisoner left work unfinished before his death last year. His disciple lacks the skill to complete it. We were forced to look outward, and that is when we heard rumors of the Mad Physician."
At that, Tang Mujin's thoughts clicked. The "Mad Physician" story must have referred not to the true Mad Physician, but to Chu Sam.
The elder continued:
"At the time, I paid it no mind. The Mad Physician does not move so easily. But when I heard he had a disciple, I realized—this must be it."
Adding imagination to their words, Tang Mujin saw the picture clearly: the Salmak had hunted Chu Sam thinking him the Mad Physician, while the Demon Cult had come seeking his so-called disciple—himself.
Chu Sam was a fake, but Tang Mujin truly was the Mad Physician's disciple. Did these men know that much? Hard to tell.
"Coincidence or inevitability? The threads are twisted indeed."
Still, doubts remained.
"But… not long ago, did you not try to kill me?"
The Three-Eyed Buddha shifted uneasily, almost sheepish.
"I didn't know you practiced poison arts. Only after did I hear from the Salmak rabble that the Mad Physician was a fraud. Naturally, I thought you weren't versed in it either. Anger at the wasted journey drove me to a rash thought—to kill you all. Even after seeing your poison, I should have withdrawn, but… my temper was hot, and I've never been the sharpest thinker."
So that was it. By chance, both sides had survived—and perhaps that had been for the best.
Tang Mujin pondered. These men had the strength to take him by force, yet they sought his cooperation. The task must be important indeed.
The elder's next words confirmed it.
"So, will you aid us? I give you my name as guarantee of your safety. You will be rewarded well."
"Reward…? You mean money?"
"Nothing fixed. Whatever you desire, if it lies within my reach, it shall be yours."
A thought struck him. These men had moved with the Salmak. If there was a way to gather intelligence on the Salmak, this was it.
"Can you also provide me with information on the Salmak?"
"But of course. Do you bear a grudge against them?"
"I do."
The elder's face lit with satisfaction.
"Excellent. Then breathe no word of tonight to anyone, and wait two days. At this same hour, I will bring you the head of Black Butterfly—the Salmak's leader. That should suffice, yes?"
He spoke as if it were nothing. And indeed, with the Three-Eyed Buddha at his side, what task could be difficult?
But that was not what Tang Mujin wanted. The Salmak were his to destroy, and this so-called Black Butterfly must die screaming before his eyes, repenting of his deeds against the Mad Physician.
"I do not need that kind of help. This is something I must do myself."
The elder only smiled kindly—though it sat ill, coming from one who had just offered to hand him a severed head.
"Indeed. Vengeance is a blade that must be wielded by one's own hand."
"Then—what is it you would ask of me?"
"I cannot explain well, not knowing poisons myself. The Poisoner's disciple will tell you the details."
"…Very well. I cannot promise success, but I will see what I can do."
When Tang Mujin agreed, the Soul-Shattering Elder's expression finally eased.
"Good. Sleep for a while."
"…What?"
Before Tang Mujin could protest further, the Three-Eyed Buddha pressed a point on his meridians. As drowsiness overtook him, Tang Mujin slumped into unconsciousness. The Buddha casually swung him up onto his shoulder.
The two men vaulted onto the roof of a nearby building. By chance, Dan Seol-yeong, returning from her own errand, spotted them.
She recognized the Three-Eyed Buddha's face. She knew he was an extraordinary master.
But when she saw Tang Mujin's limp head hanging from his shoulder, she could not stand idly by.
With clumsy lightness-skill, she gave chase, shouting at the top of her lungs:
"You bastards! Put Mujin down! Namgung Myeong! Hong Geol-gae! Where are you? They're stealing Mujin away! Stop, you sons of bitches!"
Of course, her crude footwork could never keep up with them. After a long, desperate run, she collapsed onto the ground, her face drained of strength.
***
It was not until the following day that Tang Mujin awoke.
"…Elder, you can't just strike my meridians like that. I should at least have told the others before leaving."
The Soul-Shattering Elder shook his head.
"No. The world's opinion of the Demon Cult is poor. Better that people think you were abducted than that you went willingly into our company."
A rough kind of consideration. Yet that "consideration" meant worry for more than a few people, and Tang Mujin's face clouded over.
He sometimes rode slung on the Three-Eyed Buddha's back, and sometimes walked alongside him through lonely stretches. By his reckoning, he had been carried for more than half the journey west.
It was not a bond born of fortune, but traveling together, Tang Mujin came to know them better.
The Soul-Shattering Elder was much as he appeared—plain, old, unbending. But the Three-Eyed Buddha, for all his fierce looks, was lively and talkative. If the Elder ignored his chatter, he would pull Tang Mujin into conversation instead.
And Tang Mujin, not inclined to keep silent forever, found himself slowly responding.
Once the ice was broken, the Three-Eyed Buddha poured out stories of every sort, hiding nothing.
"But Elder Three-Eyed Buddha, how did you come to join the Demon Cult?"
"…I was once a temple drudge at Shaolin."
A temple drudge—neither monk nor layman, but a menial servant: fetching water, cooking meals, doing chores. Looked down upon by the ordained monks, yet never truly belonging outside either. Of course, they were forbidden to learn martial arts.
"It wasn't by choice. My family was dirt poor. My mother worked alone, raising me. With so little to eat, it was only natural that I be sent away."
Sadness, once it has aged, becomes memory. Though the tale was not bright, he told it cheerfully, as if reminiscing.
"I was big since childhood, and I ate twice as much as anyone else. Sending me off was the only way my mother could survive."
Tang Mujin nodded. That was how the life of a drudge began—not from lofty vows, but from necessity.
"But what mother sleeps soundly after sending her son away? Some years later, my mother came to fetch me. The Hall Master Chu told her: Your son wants nothing to do with you. He says he never wishes to see your face again."
"You didn't even see her? She was your mother…"
The Buddha shook his head.
"I didn't know. Chu never told me she had come. I was useful—strong, stupid enough, worked hard. He feared I might run if I saw her. But my mother must have believed him. So, my son has cast me aside. He must be bitterly disappointed. That's what she must have thought."
"You must have met her later, to clear the misunderstanding."
"No. I never did."
Even as he strode briskly, the Three-Eyed Buddha spoke calmly.
"I only learned the truth after I turned twenty. I snuck away, weary of the endless drudge's life, and went home. My younger brother told me. By then, my mother had already passed."
"…."
"So where else could I go? Back to Shaolin. And I began secretly stealing martial arts. For over ten years."
Tang Mujin frowned.
"If they had caught you, they would have crippled your meridians."
"You know the Three Great Precepts?"
"Yes."
He could never forget—he himself had once suffered because of them.
"What else could I do? I was too angry. I stole their arts, and with them, I beat Hall Master Chu to death. Then I ran."
For such a notorious figure, the tale was miserably petty.
But people don't always need grand reasons to twist. A man pushed too long, breaking in a single moment—that is enough. Be he great villain or petty thief, the story is the same.
"And then you hid in the Demon Cult, concealing the crime?"
"No. I didn't conceal it. The Demon Cult still took me in."
"They welcomed you even after you killed a man and fled? Even with Shaolin's wrath looming?"
"Exactly. That's what the Demon Cult is."
"Then… what is the Demon Cult, truly?"
"The cast-out. The abandoned. Those driven to wander until they can no longer walk. For them, a last refuge."
Following his pointing hand, Tang Mujin turned his gaze. There, crowned in white snow, stretched the colossal Tian Shan range.
The Three-Eyed Buddha ended his tale.
"That is the Demon Cult."
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