The grip of the Three-Eyed Buddha on his face felt as dry and rough as death itself.
“Is this how I die?”
Even if death was inevitable, he refused to meet it passively.
Tang Mujin swung his fist. It wasn’t a practiced martial arts move, just a desperate, instinctive punch.
The Three-Eyed Buddha didn’t bother to defend himself. To be precise, he didn’t need to.
Thud. The first punch landed squarely on the Buddha’s chest, but he didn’t flinch.
As Tang Mujin prepared to throw a second punch, a hand appeared from the side and caught his fist.
With his face still held by the Buddha, Tang Mujin couldn’t turn his head. But his eyes could move. He glanced sideways and saw an unfamiliar old man standing next to the Buddha. Clearly, he was an ally.
Yet, the two couldn’t have looked more different.
The Three-Eyed Buddha, despite his age, had a massive, steel-like physique that belied his years.
In contrast, the old man beside him was unremarkable—slender and frail, resembling an ancient tree.
The frail old man spoke in a disgruntled voice.
“Three-Eyed Buddha, must you always resort to violence first?”
“I was worried he might scream. I’m a monk, not a murderer,” the Buddha stammered, though the old man seemed unconvinced.
“That’s no excuse. Your behavior is excessively rude.”
“Rude? I was just excited to see a promising young talent,” the Buddha replied sheepishly, releasing Tang Mujin’s face.
Was this supposed to be a friendly gesture? It was hard to tell. At least it wasn’t filled with malice or murderous intent.
Tang Mujin’s mind raced. Should he call for help?
No, that wouldn’t be wise. These two seemed to prefer avoiding crowds.
And if the Buddha decided to turn hostile, anyone approaching would be in grave danger. The frail old man was no ordinary person either.
Whether his face was gripped or not, as long as he was in the same space as the Buddha, life and death were beyond Tang Mujin’s control.
When your life is in someone else’s hands, people tend to react in one of two ways: they either lose their composure or become eerily calm. Most fall into the former category, but Tang Mujin was the latter.
In a steady voice, he asked, “Why have you come to see me?”
The question seemed to intrigue both the Buddha and the old man.
“Calm, aren’t you? A true hero in the making,” the Buddha remarked, not with hostility but with admiration. His earlier mention of a promising young talent wasn’t entirely empty talk.
The old man nudged the Buddha’s side, prompting an unexpected response. Without much hesitation, the Buddha apologized to Tang Mujin.
“This might sound strange, but I’m sorry about last time. It wasn’t intentional.”
Tang Mujin’s mind was a whirl of confusion. What was this about? An apology for their last encounter?
The previous conflict had been far too severe to be resolved with a simple apology. Many from the Mount Heaven Sect had died, and Namgung Myung had lost an arm.
Yet, Tang Mujin didn’t press the Buddha for his crimes. Or rather, he couldn’t. Life was precious.
“This isn’t the time to discuss that. Besides, I’m not the one who suffered the most… By the way, who is the elder beside you?”
“I am the Old Man of Soul Destruction, the external chief of the Demonic Sect.”
So, a high-ranking figure in the Demonic Sect. But something about the name caught his ear.
”…Isn’t it the Demonic Cult?”
“Outsiders often call us demons, but within, we refer to ourselves as the Demonic Sect. The name originates from the Manichaean faith.”
“I see. I apologize for my ignorance.”
As Tang Mujin quickly lowered his stance, the Old Man of Soul Destruction shot a glance at the Buddha.
“Ignorance? It’s nothing compared to what this friend of mine has done.”
“Come on, I told you not to bring that up.”
Fearing a quarrel might erupt between the two elders, Tang Mujin quickly interjected.
“So, what brings you to me?”
The Old Man of Soul Destruction didn’t beat around the bush.
“I hear you have expertise in poisons. We need your help.”
“Help?”
“Yes. There was an incident involving a poison master, but he died last year, leaving things unfinished. His disciple isn’t skilled enough to complete the task, so we had to look outside. That’s when we heard about you.”
The timing suggested that the story the old man heard was about Chu Sam, not the real poison master. The old man continued.
“At first, I didn’t pay much attention. A true poison master isn’t someone you can just summon. But when I heard about the master’s disciple, I thought, ‘This is it.’”
With a bit of imagination, Tang Mujin pieced together the situation. The Demonic Sect had mistaken Chu Sam for the poison master and now wanted to recruit him, the real disciple.
Whether the old man and the Buddha knew the full truth was unclear.
“Is this coincidence or fate? Things have gotten complicated.”
Yet, even after hearing their story, questions remained.
“But didn’t you try to kill me not long ago?”
The Buddha, despite his imposing figure, fidgeted awkwardly.
“We didn’t know you practiced poison arts. It was only after we arrived that the people from the Assassins’ Guild told us the poison master was a fake. Naturally, we assumed you hadn’t learned poison arts either. Frustrated by the wasted effort, we thought of killing everyone. Even after seeing your poison skills, I should have backed off, but I was too heated, and my mind isn’t the sharpest…”
So that’s how it was.
Surviving that encounter had been fortunate for both parties.
Tang Mujin pondered. These people had the power to take him by force, yet they sought his cooperation. The task they had in mind must be significant.
The old man’s next words confirmed Tang Mujin’s suspicions.
“Anyway, can you help us? I promise your safety in my name and will offer ample compensation.”
“Compensation… Money?”
“Nothing specific. Whatever you desire, as long as it’s within my power.”
A thought struck him. These people moved with the Assassins’ Guild. If he needed information on them, this was the surest way.
“Can you provide information on the Assassins’ Guild?”
“Of course. Do you have a grudge against them?”
“I do.”
The old man smiled, seemingly pleased.
“Good. Don’t tell anyone about today and wait two days. I’ll bring you the head of Black Butterfly, the leader of the Assassins’ Guild. Will that suffice?”
The old man spoke as if it were a simple task. Indeed, with the Buddha by his side, what could be difficult?
But that wasn’t what Tang Mujin wanted. He needed to dismantle the Assassins’ Guild himself, and Black Butterfly, or whoever he was, had to die painfully before his eyes, regretting what he’d done to the poison master.
“I don’t need that kind of help. It’s something I must do myself.”
The old man smiled kindly, not like someone who had just offered to deliver a head.
“Indeed. Revenge is best served by one’s own hand.”
“What exactly is it you want me to do?”
“I haven’t seen it myself, and I’m not well-versed in poisons, so it’s hard to explain. The poison master’s disciple will fill you in.”
“Understood. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll assess the situation.”
With Tang Mujin’s positive response, the old man seemed relieved.
“Good. Now, sleep for a while.”
“What?”
Before Tang Mujin could say more, the Buddha pressed a point on his body, sending him into a deep sleep. As he slumped over, the Buddha effortlessly hoisted him onto his shoulder.
When the two men leaped onto a nearby rooftop, Dan Seol-young, returning from an errand, spotted them.
She recognized the Buddha’s face and knew he was a formidable master.
But seeing Tang Mujin’s limp form, she couldn’t stand idly by.
Dan Seol-young chased after them with her clumsy footwork, shouting at the top of her lungs.
“Who are you? Put Mujin down! Namgung Myung! Hong Geolgae! Where are you? They’re taking Mujin! Stop, you bastards!”
Of course, her skills were no match for the two men. She ran for a while longer before collapsing in frustration.
Tang Mujin regained consciousness the next day.
”…You can’t just knock me out like that. I should have at least informed someone.”
The old man shook his head.
“No. The world doesn’t view the Demonic Sect kindly. It’s better for you to be thought of as kidnapped than associated with us.”
A rough form of consideration, perhaps. But that consideration left many worried, darkening Tang Mujin’s expression.
Dang Mujin occasionally hitched a ride on Sam Anbul’s back, and when they found themselves in more secluded areas, they walked side by side, steadily moving westward. More than half of the journey was spent with Mujin being carried.
Though their relationship hadn’t started on the best of terms, traveling together allowed Mujin to learn quite a bit about his companions. Swae Honnoong was much as he appeared—stoic and reserved—but Sam Anbul was surprisingly talkative and lively, a stark contrast to his intimidating appearance.
Whenever Swae Honnoong showed no interest in conversation, Sam Anbul would subtly try to draw Mujin into the dialogue. Mujin, not one to remain silent indefinitely, gradually joined in.
Once the ice was broken, Sam Anbul shared all sorts of stories with Mujin, holding nothing back.
“So, how did you end up joining the Demonic Sect, Sam Anbul?”
”…I used to be a temple laborer at Shaolin.”
A temple laborer, or bulmokhani, is someone who performs menial tasks like cooking and fetching water at a temple. It’s a position that sits awkwardly between being a monk and an outsider, often looked down upon by both. Naturally, they aren’t taught martial arts.
“I didn’t choose to become a bulmokhani. My family was desperately poor, and my mother was the sole breadwinner. With so little to go around, one less mouth to feed was a relief.”
Time has a way of turning even the saddest and most painful memories into stories. Despite the somber nature of his tale, Sam Anbul recounted it with a cheerful demeanor.
“I was a big eater even as a child, and my mother had no choice but to send me away. It was only natural.”
Mujin nodded, understanding that unlike monks who choose their path, the life of a bulmokhani often begins out of necessity.
“But what parent can sleep peacefully after sending their child away? A few years later, my mother came to Shaolin to bring me home. The head of the temple told her I had no intention of returning, that I didn’t even want to see her.”
“Couldn’t you have at least seen her? She was your mother, after all…”
Sam Anbul shook his head.
“I didn’t know. The head never told me she came. I suppose he was worried that a big, strong, and somewhat dim-witted laborer like me might run away. My mother must have believed him, thinking her son was so disappointed in her that he didn’t want to see her.”
“Did you ever get a chance to clear up the misunderstanding with her?”
“No, I never did.”
Sam Anbul continued his story calmly, even as they walked briskly.
“I found out when I was in my twenties. Tired of the monotonous life of a bulmokhani, I made an excuse to leave and visited home, only to hear from my younger sibling that my mother had already passed away.”
”···.”
“Where else could I go? I returned to Shaolin and began secretly learning martial arts. For over ten years.”
Mujin furrowed his brow.
“If you were caught, they would have severed your tendons.”
“You know the Great Three Prohibitions?”
“Yes.”
Mujin couldn’t forget them; he had once suffered because of those very rules.
“But what choice did I have? I was that angry. I used the martial arts I learned in secret to kill the head of the temple and then fled.”
For someone of Sam Anbul’s stature, it was a rather sordid tale.
But it doesn’t take a grand reason for someone to go astray. People are pushed and pulled until they reach a breaking point. It’s the same for notorious villains and petty thieves alike.
“So you hid the fact that you killed the head and joined the Demonic Sect?”
“No, I didn’t hide it. But the sect accepted me anyway.”
“They accepted you even after you killed someone and fled? Weren’t they worried about trouble with Shaolin?”
“That’s the nature of the Demonic Sect.”
“What exactly is the Demonic Sect?”
“A refuge for the outcast, the forsaken, those with nowhere else to go, who can no longer walk their path.”
Following Sam Anbul’s gaze, Mujin turned to see the towering, snow-capped Tian Shan mountains.
Sam Anbul concluded his story.
“That’s the Demonic Sect.”