Those Even More Devoted to the Free Gifts (6)
In the northern reaches of the Central Plains lay the territory of the Demonic Cult.
"Man, this place gives off such a gloomy vibe, being Demonic Cult land and all."
Jaryong-o gripped the carriage railing tightly, looking tense.
Well? As we ventured deeper, the greenery grew thicker, creating a dark atmosphere, but it wasn't exactly gloomy.
"They're staring daggers at us. Everyone, stay sharp."
"Yes, sir."
The lead escort warrior issued a low warning to his men.
Sure enough, gleaming eyes flashed from the dense underbrush.
Looking around, I spotted several figures wearing devilish masks—no horns, but demonic in form—watching us warily.
Only then did a chill creep in.
The Demonic Cult was the Demonic Cult, after all.
"Halt."
In that instant, a man in a devil mask appeared out of nowhere in front of us.
The escorts' hands froze on their sword hilts, but the leader raised a hand to stop them.
Jaryong-o stepped forward.
"We're heading to Face Guests Forest at the request of the Masked Demon."
The masked man spotted me hiding behind the escorts, ignoring the others entirely as he spoke.
"From here on, only the innkeeper and the carriage proceed."
"Like hell. How do we know you won't pull something?"
Jaryong-o growled, thickening the tension between the escorts and the Face Guests.
This could turn ugly any second, so I stepped up.
We were here for a deal, and the Masked Demon needed masks anyway. Going alone shouldn't cause issues.
"It's fine, Ryong-o. Understood. Just me and the carriage."
"You sure?"
"This is the safest spot, right? Who'd come to Demonic Cult turf to steal?"
"True, but..."
Ryong-o shot me a worried look before stepping back.
The escorts relaxed and retreated as well.
Just the carriage and I moved forward.
The man turned and led the way in heavy silence.
The air was thick with it, making me uneasy—not scared, but the quiet was stifling.
"Hey, how much farther?"
I tried breaking the silence, but got only more silence.
Soon, a narrow path opened up, ending at an entrance guarded by Face Guests.
They rushed over, inspecting the cloth-covered carriage for dangerous goods.
Confirming only masks inside, they stepped aside—but didn't let the carriage through.
"Any problem? Why..."
Suddenly, masked men dropped from all sides, grabbing my arms.
"Wh-what the hell?!"
A rough cloth covered my eyes next.
"Why are you doing this? I'm the innkeeper here to trade! What's going on?!"
"Move."
No explanations—they just dragged me along.
I couldn't resist anyway, so I went willingly.
I heard the carriage wheels rolling behind.
After a bit—creaking wooden floors, hard stairs up, over a ledge—I was finally free.
Still blindfolded, I groped around until rough hands yanked it off.
I squinted against the sudden light.
The scene: a dim room. Candles lined a central path on both sides, illuminating a figure sitting cross-legged at the end, back to me.
"Masked... Demon?"
Horns protruded from his head.
Reacting to my voice, he rose slowly and turned.
With hands behind his back, the Masked Demon loomed like a yaksha fresh from hell's gates.
Tension hit me; I swallowed hard.
His mask shifted.
"Right on time."
"What was that? You treat a trading partner like this?"
"You use some odd words."
"Uh, well..."
"Forgive us. Demonic Cult rules—we can't reveal our interiors to outsiders."
Did I overstep? I shrugged, but it was fine.
No apology for the rough handling, but his tone softened.
Thought he'd be mad. Glad not.
Humans after all.
"Then say so upfront. You shaved years off my life."
"Face Guests speak sparingly."
Dismissing it, he waved and shook something in his hand.
The mask pack I'd brought as a freebie.
"What's this? Never seen it there."
He examined it curiously, turning it over.
I peeled off the packaging, revealing the folded white mask.
To me, impressive; to him, just wet trash.
"Wh-what is it? Wet leaves?"
His red eyes glared suspiciously—scam?—so I shook my head frantically.
"N-no! Don't do that."
"What?"
"Can I come closer and explain?"
He eyed me and the pack, then nodded.
I took it, unfolded carefully: eye holes, nose, mouth.
A face-shaped mask pack emerged; he recoiled visibly.
"A m-mask! But... how does a mask fold like paper...? What is this...?"
"Not for wearing around—it's a mask pack. Come here."
I mimed removing a face mask.
He gave me a meaningful look, then reluctantly removed his.
Still oily, red face. Handsome if the skin cleared up. Pity.
Daily packs would fix that, though Murim folk might skip the hassle moderns hate.
"Just moisturizes. Like this on your face."
I placed it on his face, aligning forehead and eyes, smoothing cheeks to stick.
"C-cold!"
"Bear with it."
It fit nicely.
His pupils trembled wildly.
"Wh-what is this?"
Uncomfortable? Sticky hassle?
But,
"Innkeeper!!"
"Y-yes?"
"Why didn't you mention this amazing thing sooner?!"
He bellowed suddenly.
Face Guests burst in, startled.
"H-heek!!"
I gulped in surprise.
They gripped sword hilts, scanning the empty room confusedly.
Then he shouted,
"All of you, come try this! Now!"
They approached hesitantly.
I opened the freebie packs, applying to their faces.
Then,
"Whoa! This freedom! So cool!"
"Moist!!"
"M-my itch is gone! Impossible!!"
Ha, haha. What is this?
Best reaction ever?
The stoic Face Guests grinned ear-to-ear, stomping excitedly.
I got into it too.
"Lie on the floor for this. Standing, it drips."
"Lord Demon, may we lie down?"
"What?"
Air froze.
Dare lie in the Demonic Cult exalted's room?
I thought so, but he didn't.
"If it needs lying, lie! Down! Kahaha!"
Bizarre sight: Face Guests sprawled starfish in his room, chattering.
Didn't they speak little?
I chuckled in disbelief.
Anyway, they loved it—good for me.
"National rule: rub leftover liquid on neck and arms. Not a drop wasted."
"Hmm, smells great."
"Remember: 10 minutes—one incense stick—then discard. Or it sucks moisture out."
"Damn. So good, yet only one stick? More?"
"Sorry, just five as freebies."
"A thousand of these! Deliver fast as possible?"
"Of course! Prep and send right away."
"Yes! Haha! Wish others felt this."
Way different from my Demonic Cult image.
Not just scary.
Masked Demon cared for subordinates first; they seemed gruff but shy.
People live here too.
Skin: hope it gets smooth and fresh.
"I'll prep the mask packs—er, white masks—and send them soon. Won't come myself."
"Come or not. Just send proper white masks."
We chatted amiably at Face Guests Forest entrance.
He'd walked here with one on—loves it that much.
"Um, by the way."
"What."
"As a lord, you must know strong folks? Money-loving. Ideally peak experts like you."
Thought for store guards: hire a master.
Too Demonic Cult for him, and busy.
He raised a brow quizzically.
"Strange."
"What?"
"You don't know?"
"...Pardon?"
"This is Demonic Cult land. Trading with us? Word's spread across the Central Plains by now."
What?
"Soon, rumors of your inn under Demonic Cult protection. Face Guests Forest, no less. No thug dares touch it—opposing us."
Uh. So.
Our convenience store.
Demonic Cult's convenience store?
One deal?
"We couldn't get proper masks before. Worried about vile Orthodox scum, many refuse even trade."
Why say now?!
"Too annoying to seize by force, so we asked Manokru. You eagerly trade—win for us. Grateful."
Tears welled.
"Watch Orthodox. Might trash 'Demonic Cult inn.' Need guards? Lend Face Guests."
"......Please."
"Hahaha! Soon send dozen high-skill ones. Safe travels!"
I trudged back to Jaryong-o with the carriage.
Waiting, he waved wildly seeing us.
"No trouble?"
"Trouble...? None?"
"What happened?"
"You knew?"
He tilted his head.
"Knew what?"
"Trading with Demonic Cult means their protection?"
"Obvious, friend. Thought you knew."
His face so innocent.
Only I didn't know.
Just me.
Protection's good, but "Demonic Cult protected inn" rumors? What customers come?
They'd face Demonic Cult!
Orthodox cut ties.
Demonic Cult folk shop? Nope. Never showed.
Main customers: Orthodox warriors, civilians.
Lost in a blink.
What now. For real.