Chapter 124
Chapter 124
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 124
Chapter Title: Unbeliever I
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Shin Noah
1
By any chance, do you know what promise Koreans absolutely never keep?
"Let's grab a meal sometime."
That's right.
To Koreans, that statement doesn't mean "Hey, I'm hungry—want to meet up and spike our insulin together?"
If you break it down strictly, it's more like:
"Though we may not be allies, we hereby reaffirm in this moment that we are not enemies, at the very least."
Every country has its own brand of sophisticated diplomatic rhetoric like this.
If someone from Kyoto asks, "Would you like some ochazuke?" you can't just go, "Whoa! Traditional food! Japanese people are so kind!"
When North Korea launches a missile, your brain shouldn't translate it as "Die, you Southern puppet scum!" but rather "Please, have mercy on me! I... I exist too!" with an automatic AI filter kicking in.
"Let's grab a meal sometime" is the same deal.
If you reply, "Sure thing, buddy! When should we meet? Tomorrow? Next week?" the other person will seriously question whether this diplomatic relationship is worth maintaining.
And here's one universal diplomatic phrase that transcends borders:
"The end of the world is nigh! Everyone!"
"Hell is coming! Oh! I can see the landscape of hell! Board the new ark before the fires of hell rain down!"
"Who am I? I am the son of heaven, the savior. Those who believe this truth will be blessed, but unbelievers will face only disaster."
It's the doomsday prophecy of a cult.
As anyone living with a constant mental translation filter knows, the proper interpretation of a cultist's "Someday, one day, the end will come!" is: "—But if you donate generously, we might be able to extend the deadline specially."
People who don't grasp this basic diplomatic language are a tiny minority anywhere. In international diplomacy, the weak outliers get exploited every time.
And then the Void arrived.
"Whoa! The end of the world is really here! The leader's prophecy was true! Leader! What do we do now? Should we kick off with a fun group suicide like you said last time?"
"Uh."
Monstrosities didn't have translation filters in their brains. Naturally, they couldn't comprehend the subtle nuances of human diplomacy.
The very day the Void descended, cult leaders around the world instinctively wanted to snap at the monstrosities, "Are you fucking clueless?"
"No... I mean... look, what I'm saying is... the end being near doesn't mean we have to kill ourselves..."
"Cut the crap, Leader. Just kill yourself already."
Most leaders ended up getting treated like the clueless ones instead.
But there was no need to grieve too much. The followers weren't rotten enough to abandon their leader outright. They cheerfully hit "achievement unlocked: prophecy fulfilled."
-Breaking news: Evidence has emerged that a group at a facility in North Chungcheong Province carried out a mass extreme act around 11 a.m. today...
-Police investigations suggest no clear connections between this and recent similar group incidents...
-The terrorists who occupied a Seoul subway line have been identified as members of a certain cult. They, including the leader, committed extreme acts once a day...
A brutal season had dawned for cult leaders.
Never in history had unemployment been this bad. Operating a cult now demanded tougher choices.
But as the saying goes, heroes emerge in chaotic times.
On the Korean Peninsula, two cult leaders triumphed over countless suicide urgings, finally shouting, "I want to live! With you!"
Entry number one.
"All Awakeners must join Shin Buddhism at once to escape the sin of killing! Those who refuse defy Hwaeom's will! They shatter the equality of all and destroy the peace of creation—they are enemies of the Buddha!"
"No Killing, Eternal Life! Spiritual Birth, Flower Garland! Infinite Vault of Heaven!"
Shin Buddhism.
A certain monk hunkered down in central Korea had an epiphany upon witnessing the zombie virus—Udumbara—spreading from his city.
The faith that "just slap a flower on your head and even monstrosities won't kill you" struck a chord with modern folks already doubting their brain's AI translation accuracy. They eagerly swapped their neural filters for something more eco-friendly.
Shin Buddhism expanded at a terrifying pace, dominating the Korean Peninsula, Japanese archipelago, and Chinese mainland with scorching prestige. K-pop wasn't Korea's star export back then—K-cults were.
Of course, once I stepped in to repel the Udumbara, they amounted to squat. The monk and his followers amiably booked one-way tickets to the Western Paradise.
Entry number two.
"Got it! Brothers and sisters! Your shepherd, I, will lead the way first!"
"That's our Chairman!"
"Mo Kwang-seo! Mo Kwang-seo!"
Mo Kwang-seo.
Like all pioneering creators of new doctrines, Mo Kwang-seo had a unique background.
He'd been excommunicated from the Catholic Church, then excommunicated again from Maria's Ark of Salvation—a group already excommunicated from Catholicism. A true unparalleled cultist.
Minus times minus equals plus. Armed with un-cultlike mathematical smarts, Mo Kwang-seo was convinced he'd looped his way to the true path of faith.
Around 210 followers. Too small for Korea's top cult rankings, but he didn't care. Jesus only kept twelve apostles (one of whom admired Brutus more than his own master).
Mo Kwang-seo had reason for his confidence.
More precisely, he created the reason.
"Whoa, what's that smell? Chairman, what's that?"
"Ether."
"Pardon?"
"Ether to guide me to the heavens, manifested as holy water in this container."
The "latest chemical" Mo Kwang-seo dubbed ether was also known as gasoline.
He proved he was leagues above other hack leaders.
Before followers could hint, "Hmm, the neighbors did a fiery this-world-exit show—got any entertainment like that?" he'd proactively prepared the gasoline.
"Brothers and sisters! Since ancient times, fire has been sacred ether! It purifies earthly defilement, drawing us nearer to heaven—that is fire's essence! But cleansing the foul aura is no easy task, so as the soul that pierced the six great virtues, I will blaze the wind path first and lead you to the heavenly kingdom on high."
Rock stars and cult leaders both thrive on stage performance.
Once his speech wrapped, Mo Kwang-seo doused himself head to toe in oil.
The gasoline stench was so potent, even spring pollen victims could smell it.
"You all must do the same! Pierce the wind path I've opened with all your might, one by one, so lingering earthly souls can ascend easily! Thus, with glory's merciful light and love's blessings, save the whole world! In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, amen!"
Mo Kwang-seo bolted outside. He'd completed normal Korean compulsory education and knew exactly what happens when gasoline ignites in an enclosed space.
(FYI, he majored in film directing in college.)
"In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, amen!"
"Chairman! Chairman!"
Moved by their wails, perhaps?
Some followers shouted "Amen!" and chased him. One particularly speedy one caught up and hugged him tight.
"Chairman! I'll go with you! I'll blaze the wind path with you!"
"Wha—wait!"
Maybe Mo Kwang-seo planned to just run and escape.
Out of sight, detonate pre-planted explosives to fake a self-sacrificial ascension.
Then return days later unscathed—they'd see a resurrected Jesus returned from death. Turning crisis to opportunity, right?
What Mo Kwang-seo hadn't calculated: his acting was too perfect, over-inspiring the flock.
"Let go! Let go! Stop, don't touch that—"
BOOM!
Survivor accounts say an explosion rocked the nearby parking lot. No way dousing in oil-sunscreen causes an outdoor mega-blast from mere fire.
The two followers and Mo Kwang-seo himself vaporized on the spot. Especially Mo's corpse—it burned flat and long.
"The Chairman has ascended!"
"The Chairman blazed the wind path!"
"Ahh, how holy. Amen..."
If the story ended there, it'd be like countless post-Void cults that popped up and fizzled naturally.
But misfortune strikes when the curtain refuses to fall at the finale.
"Huh?"
"What's up, Kim? Don't chicken out—slather that gasoline."
"No, not that! Look! Over there, where the Chairman ascended! That...!"
"Huh?"
The remaining followers were prepping their group pyre in the lot when someone pointed.
There was light.
Not some biblical "light as logos" literary crap. In a parking lot near Okjeong Lake, Yangju-si, Gyeonggi-do, Republic of Korea, it was literal light.
Tap, tap. A human shadow stepped from the glow's center.
"O-ohhh..."
It was Mo Kwang-seo.
Backlit, he looked haloed head to toe.
Thud. Followers dropped to their knees as one.
Tears streamed.
"A m-miracle..."
"The Chairman! The Chairman has risen!"
A faint smile.
Mo Kwang-seo—no, the being they unquestioningly took for Mo—didn't reply. Just beamed benevolently.
But for brainwashed followers, that sufficed.
Like light novel heroines melting from a forehead pat, they wept rivers, kissed his feet, and swore eternal loyalty.
"The Second Coming! It's the miracle of the Second Coming!"
Now, no "wind path to heaven" was needed.
Here, with the returned Jesus, this ground was holy temple.
No trumpets, no angels—but who cared about minor details? Cult life demands ignoring life's trivia. And these 200-odd were brave.
"Chairman Mo Kwang-seo is the returned Jesus!"
"Ooh! Amen! Amen!"
"I'm saved! We're saved!"
Mo Kwang-seo won.
Where? The religious wars.
In this Korean jar of solitary poison—home to 20 Gods and 50 returned Jesuses waging eternal crusades—Mo emerged as the last one standing.
His cult reborn as the Resurrection Church.
"Spread this miracle far and wide!"
"We believe in the miracle of holy water and holy fire!"
"Evangelize and evangelize again! Amen!"
Resurrection Church followers roamed nationwide, foreheads stamped with holy water... i.e., gasoline.
While Shin Buddhism absorbed Buddhists, Resurrection Church devoured Christians with glee.
Of course, rival cultists made the juiciest prey.
"What? Convert? Pfft! Who do you think you are? Our leader received the Eucharist from the Pope himself—it turned to flesh and blood in his mouth! Our Virgin Mary statue wept 500 times—pics and proof!"
"Yeah? So what? Our Chairman resurrected."
"Huh?"
"Our Chairman's the returned Jesus. Whatcha gonna do?"
Mo's resurrections didn't stop at one. First verse is hard; encores are easy.
Every Sunday, he burned in gasoline. Every time, he emerged stepping from light.
With infinite mercy in his smile.
"Ahh, ahhh!"
"Believe now?"
"We beleeiiiieve! Ameeeen!"
Rival cults' prized "material evidence" crumbled before one live resurrection show.
Killing your Jesus-worshipped leader weekly? Justified for the greater mission. Don't expect rationality here.
Parishioners who'd converted rivals returned home to arrest their own "false prophets."
"No! You devil bastards! Think you'll get away with this?"
"Shut it! You're the devil!"
"Wh-what?"
Yesterday's Gods and Jesuses turned Satans overnight.
Followers scourged their own foolishness for falling to Antichrist, then doused the "devils" with Resurrection Church holy water.
"M-mercy! Please, spare me!"
"May ether purify this foul soul. Amen."
"Amen!"
Sacred bonfires blazed nationwide. Even I, shuttling between Seoul and Busan, started hearing about the Resurrection Church.
'...No way, insane.'
My eyes went cold.
Cults themselves weren't special. Korea's always overflowed with them.
Since Dangun hypnotized a bear into "You're not a bear anymore—you're human, got it?" this land's been mind-control central.
But Resurrection Church was different.
I'm a proper Korean. Hearing Mo Kwang-seo's tale, my brain's AI translator fired up.
A being that revives endlessly after death?
But ignores human language?
Flashes light on revival, smiles silently?
'...No matter how you slice it, that's not human—it's a human turned monstrosity.'
Yeah.
Now even these cult nuts weren't content worshiping humans—they started revering a straight-up "monstrosity" as Jesus.