The Cult's Depraved Empire
Shy’s psychometry had yielded some truly fascinating information.
Shim Jeong-un was running a secret organization? Now that’s something I didn’t see coming.
It was completely unexpected. Shim Jeong-un’s secret outfit turned out to be a cult called FP.
Holy shit. For real.
Nam Gyuil shook his head in disbelief. Sure, it qualified as a cult, but their practices were so repulsive they turned his stomach.
27,650 believers.
An enormous number. The cult leader was a man named Sin Hansu. FP had outposts in every region. In one rural area, they’d gathered a thousand of their most devout followers to run businesses, exploiting their unpaid labor for the leader’s profit. The believers there lived like serfs, toiling sixteen hours a day and subsisting on vegetables alone. Malnutrition and overwork had already claimed lives. Meanwhile, Sin Hansu lorded over them like a king, feasting in luxury.
From the rest of the flock, they extracted donations under all sorts of pretexts. Many were young college students who dropped out or took leaves of absence to scrape together offerings for the leader, holing up in tiny one-room shacks—shivering through the cold all the while.
It was impossible to even estimate the fortune FP raked in from 276,500 people. And a huge chunk of that cash flowed straight to Shim Jeong-un, the shadowy power behind the throne.
But the money was just the tip of the iceberg. Sin Hansu had brainwashed his followers into committing child abuse and even murders. He’d even tried infiltrating the political sphere.
I didn’t expect him to plant believers in both the ruling and opposition parties to manipulate politics.
What a joke. With general elections looming, the parties were battling for National Assembly seats—a clash between the ruling party and the opposition. But first came the primaries: selecting candidates for each district. And the one who decided that was the party leader.
The leader handpicked a few from the ranks to run. That process was called nomination. So, behind the scenes, factions maneuvered to install a favorable leader who’d grant them nominations. The vote came from party members.
That’s where Shim Jeong-un got clever.
Enrolling FP believers in both parties to dominate the leadership vote. Who’d have thought?
Aspiring leaders would have no choice but to bow to FP for those votes. Ridiculous. The people elected National Assembly members, but a cult picked who got to run—in both major parties, no less. They were even grooming media figures turned believers for Assembly seats.
Shim Jeong-un’s plan: let the cult seize both parties. Naturally, the candidates who ran would be FP-approved. Ruling or opposition, it didn’t matter—Shim Jeong-un would win either way.
What a nightmare.
Party leaders rarely lasted more than a year, a year and three months tops. Nam Gyuil clenched his fist.
If this goes wrong, Shim Jeong-un could puppet the entire Korean political scene.
The absurdity of it all. Politicians blinded by power, ignoring the people and groveling to a cult for nominations. How pathetic. Religion-backed politics wasn’t some ancient relic—it was happening now, in the 21st century.
It’s a miracle the country hasn’t collapsed. God must be watching over us.
Nam Gyuil wasn’t religious. But honestly, the fact that Korea hadn’t imploded yet felt miraculous.
He sank onto the sofa.
Shim Jeong-un aims to be king of Korea.
Truth be told, with his current power, he could topple the government outright. But one wildcard remained.
The president calling in foreign hunters.
If Shim Jeong-un attacked Korea and the president summoned overseas hunters, the outcome would be unpredictable. So instead, he planned to use FP believers to handpick the next presidential candidate and seize control that way.
Fucking scum.
Nam Gyuil let out a hollow chuckle. He had plenty of intel now—it was time to act. Tonight, FP would fall.
Dangerous work, so I’ll handle it solo and stealthy.
FP had five awakeners. Cult leader Sin Hansu wielded sword aura flawlessly; the other four could barely form it, let alone sustain it.
Nam Gyuil’s target: eliminate Sin Hansu.
Once he’s gone, FP collapses on its own. The believers follow the visible leader, not the hidden puppetmaster Shim Jeong-un. They’ll skip the leadership vote too.
Without FP votes, politicians would ditch the cult. Shim Jeong-un would scramble to fix it, but with Sin Hansu dead, his grip on the believers would weaken. Recovery would take time—too late for the leadership election. Nam Gyuil could ruin Shim Jeong-un’s carefully laid table.
Plus, he’d save lives ruined by the cult. Many believers wanted out but couldn’t—torn from families.
The gate crisis fueled FP’s growth.
Cults thrive in chaos. When life’s brutal and pressure mounts, people fall for promises of salvation—brainwashed into believing only the leader provides it.
Horrifying.
If even one politician served the people... if even one hunter fought monsters without greed... this wouldn’t have happened.
The world’s gone mad, so people follow. Or did mad people make the world mad?
Nam Gyuil smirked bitterly. He eyed his Form Change.
Been useful, but this is the end.
Its time limit was nearly up. A few more hours, and it’d revert to a plain robe.
Might as well use the last of it wisely.
He had a plan.
Nam Gyuil donned a mask—a pierrot one. He carried nothing that could identify him. Even his dagger was a cheap buy from anywhere.
He slipped it into his sleeve and vanished into the shadows.
He infiltrated the rural village housing FP’s chapel, avoiding prying eyes to scout. In a city, stealth would be impossible, but this was deep countryside—pure farmland. FP had built the village for its followers: they farmed, Sin Hansu sold the produce, and pocketed every won. Sick believers couldn’t see doctors. Kids skipped school for FP’s “education”—memorizing Sin Hansu’s speeches, pure indoctrination. The facilities banned all outside culture. Prison life, basically.
Nam Gyuil leaned against a tree, peeking at the chapel. Chanting drifted out. He strained to catch the words.
These fucking psychos!!
The lyrics hit him like vomit. His vision swam. So vile and filthy he couldn’t bear it. Kids around eight years old were singing them—screaming vengeance and curses, calling to murder the leader’s enemies.
Brainwashing children to kill for the cult leader.
Appalling. The song urged strapping bombs to their bodies for Sin Hansu...
Too disgusting to repeat.
Nam Gyuil shook his head. These kids were probably dragged here by parents... What the hell were those parents thinking? Sane?
The believers showed no revulsion. They clapped and laughed. Adults—even mothers, by the look—cheered kids singing songs no child should know. Unbelievable that this existed in Korea. Where were the cops and prosecutors?
I want to drag that leader out and kill him right now.
Nam Gyuil’s fists trembled.
The hymn ended. Sin Hansu took the pulpit for his sermon. Nam Gyuil burned every detail into memory: hooked nose, lisping speech, scrawny build. Proclaiming himself the messiah in his lone white suit.
Tonight, that bastard dies.
Nam Gyuil vowed it.
Night fell thick and heavy. Nam Gyuil activated Form Change to disguise himself as someone nondescript, then masked up.
Time to move.
He drew the dagger from his sleeve and crept toward Sin Hansu’s sleeping quarters. Guards at the entrance—FP awakeners. Stronger than normals, but no sword aura.
No match for me.
These guys knew FP’s true nature and Shim Jeong-un’s role. Accomplices to Sin Hansu, not brainwashed sheep. They’d abused believers for personal gain.
Unforgivable scum.
Alive, they’d just harm society more. Nam Gyuil unleashed sword aura and stomped, launching into Nangong clan’s Je-wang Sword. Speed was its essence—the blade flashed like lightning.
Slash!!
It severed their throats in a blink. They clutched the wounds, but blood sprayed wildly.
“Guh, ack.”
They convulsed, vomiting blood, then collapsed in death rattles. Four bodies down in seconds.
Creak, thud.
Nam Gyuil slipped inside. Sin Hansu lay in bed—or so it seemed.
Creak, click.
He shut the door and locked it. No believer interruptions.
He approached the bed. Then sighed.
“Quit the games and come out. I saw you stuff something under the covers in a panic.”
The odd bulge had given it away. Sin Hansu burst from the closet.
Clang.
Daggers met.
“Who the hell are you!!”
Sin Hansu snarled. Nam Gyuil smirked.
“Hah, who am I?”
He pondered, then grinned.
“God’s apostle, come to deliver divine judgment.”
“What?!”
“Better brace yourself. The world has a way of punishing sinners.”