The World Is Vast (2)
No matter the organization, securing a successor is of paramount importance.
Human beings are not immortal; sooner or later, everyone returns to the embrace of dust and earth. Knowing this inevitable fate, men strive tirelessly to leave behind a legacy. Designating an heir is an essential part of that endeavor, and for any faction, the legitimacy of that heir carries decisive weight. Without sufficient legitimacy, a successor faces constant checks and defiance from vassals and subordinates, turning the inheritance of authority into an uphill battle.
In that sense, the mantle of the Blood Demon, Wi Ho-chang, was originally slated to fall upon Geumjang.
Not only had Geumjang been the very first follower Wi Ho-chang accepted, but his loyalty was beyond question. With leadership proven over decades, the remnants of the Blood Cult had prepared to obey him without a word of dissent—until the Heavenly Demon suddenly appeared out of nowhere and snapped his neck like a twig.
"So what are we supposed to do now?"
An aged, decrepit voice echoed through the dim chamber like a hollow sigh.
A handful of figures sat facing one another, their gaunt faces illuminated only by the flicker of a single oil lamp. When the old man occupying the head seat posed his question, the only answer was a heavy, suffocating silence.
"Elder Geumjang has fallen to the Heavenly Demon. Who in the world are we supposed to follow now?"
Despite the despair dripping from the query, no one opened their mouth. In truth, none of them had an answer. After all, the grand resurgence of the Blood Cult—a dream they had nurtured for decades—had collapsed on the very eve of its fulfillment.
The sole reason these scattered remnants had gathered in the first place was the post Geumjang had uploaded to the Gallery. It was an ambitious, stirring proclamation urging them to assemble at the sacred grounds to herald the Blood Cult's glorious return. Yet mere moments after that post went live, a recording surfaced showing Geumjang being utterly humiliated and dispatched by the Heavenly Demon.
"...Before we worry about who to follow, we ought to be worrying about whether we'll even survive."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Exactly what Taejung Elder just said," replied a relatively young, middle-aged man among the group. "Not only do we lack a suitable successor, but our central rallying point has evaporated into thin air."
Low groans rippled through the gathered cultists. Not a single word he spoke was false. Far from heralding a glorious second coming, the Blood Cult's very existence was dangling by a thread.
"And most critically, we have virtually no new initiates. The younger generation has dried up entirely."
Indeed, fresh recruits were nonexistent. No matter how much renown the Blood Demon enjoyed across the Gallery, that notoriety existed purely as an internet meme. Decades ago, those who flocked to the Blood Cult were martial artists enraptured by Wi Ho-chang's transcendent might. But the Righteous-Blood War had concluded fifty years ago. A decade would have been one thing, but half a century was a lifetime.
Those who had been twenty-somethings in their prime back then were now gray-haired relics on the brink of the grave. More than half of the elders had perished in the war itself, and of the survivors, half again had died from lingering injuries or simple old age. When the 'youth' of the cult consisted of men pushing past their fifties, the situation spoke for itself.
"That is... a grave problem indeed. Without fresh blood, our cult will naturally wither and vanish. Do you know why this has happened?"
"Hmph! Isn't it obvious? Those greenhorns simply have no appreciation for our cult's supreme majesty!"
"Back in our day, the youths clamoring to join our ranks formed an endless ocean..."
"This is all the fault of that damned Murim Alliance!"
No, you senile fools, it's entirely your own fault, the middle-aged man thought, suppressing a contemptuous sneer. These relics were still drunk on bygone glory, utterly blind to reality. When the Blood Demon was around, they could skate by in his shadow, but the man had long since achieved Feathered Ascension. Furthermore, following their victory in the Righteous-Blood War, the Murim Alliance had systematically laid bare every hideous truth about the cult. Granted, the Alliance had plenty of filth hidden in its own closet, but history was written by the victors while the vanquished were left to rot in disgrace.
Even looking strictly at Wi Ho-chang, the man had openly massacred innocent civilians. No matter how one spun it, the Blood Cult was a vile, unpalatable syndicate that repelled sane people. And on top of that wretched reality, their presence on the Gallery wasn't even properly managed. Internal secrets were leaked left and right, and bizarre lunatics claiming to be cultists turned the forum into a toxic troll fest. Nowadays, the second anyone brought up the Blood Cult, commenters immediately mocked them, crying that the cockroaches were crawling out again.
"Quiet, all of you! You know full well that whining achieves nothing! What we need right now is a solution!"
"What if we display our martial might, just as the Blood Demon once did...?"
"Elder Geumjang was effortlessly slaughtered by the Heavenly Demon! What martial might could we possibly display? All we would accomplish is polishing the Heavenly Demon's reputation even further!"
Arguments flew back and forth across the table, yet not a single viable idea emerged. These were men who had lost both their strength and their wits to senility. To borrow forum slang, they were nothing more than obsolete dinosaurs trapped in the past.
"There is an issue far more urgent than that, is there not?"
"And what would that be?"
"Whom shall we appoint as our successor? Regardless of the path forward, we need someone to lead us."
"..."
A heavy quiet settled over the room once more. Everyone understood that endless bickering would never forge a consensus. Better to settle on a leader first and march under his direction. That was the underlying intent.
"Ahem. With Elder Geumjang gone..."
"Would Taejung Elder consider taking the mantle?"
"I am far too old. This withered frame will return to dust before long."
"Then who should be nominated?"
"We are the Blood Cult, are we not? Why not resolve this the Blood Cult way?"
The 'Blood Cult way' was simple: fight to the death until only one remained standing. In the cult's golden age, when talent overflowed, it was a brutal yet pragmatic sorting mechanism. Today, it was utter insanity. Their numbers were so pitifully small that every single warm body counted.
"We must exercise restraint," the middle-aged man intervened cautiously. "Infighting right now would spell our doom, and it would leave an irreparable stain on our legitimacy."
"And yet, no one possessed greater legitimacy than Geumjang..."
In the Blood Cult, legitimacy was measured by a simple metric: how much personal tutelage had one received from Wi Ho-chang? Among them, Geumjang had sparred with the Blood Demon himself, making him the undisputed heir. Of course, all of that was meaningless now that he was dead. But strictly speaking, if legitimacy came down to direct instruction...
"Come to think of it... did not the Blood Demon personally impart his teachings to an ape?"
"It was not an ape, but a primate! A gorilla, to be precise!"
"Surely you cannot be suggesting we enthrone a beast as our grand leader?!"
No matter how far they had fallen, they were still proud human beings. The instinctive revulsion at taking orders from a wild ape was undeniable. It was a matter of basic pride, and several cultists nodded in agreement, but Taejung Elder raised a withered hand.
"Is there anyone among us who received the Blood Demon's martial arts in full?"
"..."
"Well... a few pointers, perhaps..."
"Precisely. None of us received the complete heritage, unlike those gorillas. Their mastery of his arts must be astonishing—far exceeding our own."
"Even so, to submit to beasts..."
"We merely appoint one as our successor on paper. Who says we must truly worship it?"
The old man's reasoning was cold and conniving. Appointing an heir and kneeling before him were two entirely different things. They would suck the creature dry of every scrap of martial wisdom, and once they possessed the secret techniques, slit its throat in secret. The beast even knew how to speak human tongue, meaning learning from it would be effortless.
"Indeed..."
"That is not an unreasonable path."
"At the end of the day, it is merely a gorilla."
With that sinister rationalization, the consensus swung toward crowning a gorilla as the supreme head of their order. No matter how clever an ape might be, they reasoned, how could it ever outsmart a human?
"Naturally, we should crown the Chief Gorilla," one elder asserted. "He is the strongest among them."
"Nonsense! Have you forgotten what was said? That beast banished his own white-furred brother! The Blood Demon himself was exiled in his youth simply because he looked different; we cannot possibly tolerate such prejudice!"
"Where did you even hear such nonsense? I have heard nothing of the sort!"
"It was written in a post on the Gallery!"
"And you believe random rumors on an internet board?!"
At this point, even the Blood Cult's own remnants had no accurate information regarding their founder's legacy. Thus began an unhinged clown show of an argument.
Should it be the Chief Gorilla, or Ggobongi?
Sheer martial prowess, or perceived ideological purity?
It was a debate that would have been laughable under normal circumstances, but watching it unfold before his eyes left the middle-aged cultist utterly paralyzed.
What kind of brain-dead shitshow am I watching right now?
In his eyes, this farce exceeded all known bounds of absurdity. Masked by Wi Ho-chang's legendary exploits, the Blood Cult had always been a few screws loose, but the Righteous-Blood War had wiped out the few intelligent members who once kept the wheels turning. There was no longer anyone left who possessed a functioning brain—or rather, anyone capable of grasping basic reality. The truly capable minds of Jianghu had all migrated to either the Murim Alliance or the Demonic Cult, choosing between establishment obedience or ambitious rebellion. No one in their right mind voluntarily joined the Blood Cult anymore.
What the hell do they think the Forest of the Four Seasons even is?
There was so much he wanted to say that words failed him entirely. He didn't even know where to begin unraveling this tangle of stupidity. Fine, set aside the insanity of picking a gorilla as their sovereign. How did they plan to retrieve it? Were they genuinely planning to stroll into the Forest of the Four Seasons—a purgatorial death trap from which no traveler ever returned?
Granted, Wild Grylls had recently revealed glimpses of the forest through his posts, but that was merely a drop in the ocean. Nobody knew what horrors lurked in that abyss, and more crucially, there was zero evidence that anyone could ever get back out.
"Um... there is a critical matter we must consider first," the middle-aged man ventured hesitantly.
"Ah, yes. What are your thoughts?"
"Setting aside the gorillas for a moment... they reside deep within the Forest of the Four Seasons. Even if we miraculously find them, how do we intend to escape?"
"Doing so alone would certainly be impossible."
Alone would be impossible. Which meant, in other words...
"Therefore, why don't we all march into the Forest of the Four Seasons together?"
"Together... you say?"
"Indeed! The Blood Cult has always grown mightier when united! The Forest of the Four Seasons shall be no exception!"
"..."
"Furthermore, is there not already a survivor living inside? We can simply demand supplies and support from him once we arrive."
There was no plan. Zero. Venturing into that death world with these delusional geezers would be nothing short of ritual mass suicide. Why don't you just say you want all of us to hold hands and jump off a cliff together?
Were they genuinely ignorant of the forest's horrifying reputation, or had their senility convinced them this was some grand, sacred pilgrimage? People often said the world was vast and full of lunatics, but this leaped past lunacy into an uncharted realm of madness.
Wait... what am I even thinking? The Blood Cult was a den of lunatics to begin with!
And he was currently sitting right in the middle of that den. His jaw went slightly slack as a crushing wave of existential dread washed over him. He felt as though his very soul were evaporating out of his mouth in a pale, wispy mist.
Misinterpreting his slack-jawed expression as stunned admiration, Taejung Elder smiled benignly and addressed the room.
"It seems we are in agreement. However, the Forest of the Four Seasons is widely known as an inhuman hellscape. We must prepare thoroughly."
"Agreed. We should gather as many believers as possible before making the trek."
"I still find the notion of bowing to an ape distasteful... but desperate times call for desperate measures."
"And what shall we do when we encounter that human survivor?"
"He dared to enslave the true heir to our cult! Naturally, he must face divine retribution!"
Were their brains calcified into stone, or did they genuinely believe they could saunter out of that forest alive? Or were they simply brainless husks incapable of thought?
"And what about you, brother? What are your plans?"
"Ah... I believe I must pay a brief visit to my hometown first."
"Oh? What business calls you there?"
"I recently heard word of a promising youth who wishes to join our order."
"Oh! Splendid news indeed! Very well, see to it at once."
On the very day the Blood Cult began preparing its expedition into the Forest of the Four Seasons, the middle-aged man packed his belongings and ran as fast as his legs could carry him.
Looks like someone handed in their resignation today. That was the takeaway I gleaned while lazily browsing the Gallery board.
Every now and then, random chatter popped up claiming the Blood Cult was preparing to march into the Forest of the Four Seasons or whatever, but I scrolled right past that nonsense. I had far more pressing domestic matters on my hands.
"All right. Repeat after me. Park."
"Park."
"Jong."
"Jong."
"Hyuk."
"Hyuk."
"Good! Now put it all together."
"Dumb... ass."
"You little shit! Where the hell did you learn that word?!"
"Park Jonghyuk."
"Why, you motherfucker..."
What on earth did I need to do to get this gorilla bastard to actually listen to me?
They say the world is vast and full of lunatics, but never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd be getting verbally clowned on by a gorilla. Seeing the smug look on his furry face when he messed with me, there was no doubt about it—this ape was definitely far smarter than he let on.
If those cult fanatics ever saw this, wouldn't they go wild trying to serve him as their grand master?
Nah. Not a chance.
That would go way beyond simple madness. Even the most unhinged cultists couldn't possibly be dumber than a gorilla.