Chapter 37
The Monk
Seong Geon-woo and Yong Yeo-hong didn’t know how development had taken place in those days, but the textbooks recorded it like this:
“As time went on, the Immortals began to reveal increasing flaws.
This was not because they harbored great malice, but because their technology had not yet fully matured.One of the most prominent problems was that those who lost the physical sensations that come with a living body through this technology also lost much of their motivation to continue living.
Many Immortals began to feel deep ennui and exhibited serious psychological disturbances. Some, having gone insane, inflicted terrible harm upon the still fragile human communities of the time.
The Immortals who had not lost their sanity but had fallen into confusion sought solace in the remaining religious texts found among the ruins of the Old World.
Eventually, they established a new religion—taking one faith as their core and absorbing useful doctrines from others—creating a system that was theologically coherent yet extremely distorted, one that could soothe their broken minds.
From that point on, they began to call themselves Monks, and named the secret base where they hid their consciousness-upload facilities the Glass Pure Land.”
The Monks—robots in appearance—feared no hardening rays and boasted overwhelming firepower. Their strength was equivalent to wearing an advanced AI-driven exoskeleton; thus, a small team of unaugmented humans stood no chance against them. Even with heavy weapons, it would take a hundred well-trained soldiers and precise tactics just to have a chance at taking down a single Monk.
When Jang Mok-hwa had spoken about dangerous humans before, she had never mentioned Immortals—because the great powers of Ashland and the wandering nomads of the Wastes all regarded the Monks as beings entirely different from themselves.
Of course, the Monks of the Order were not inherently aggressive toward humans. They often behaved with surprising kindness and courtesy.
The problem was that becoming a Monk required a human consciousness—and such consciousness could not be conjured out of thin air.
Because of this, the Monks—who could no longer reproduce—gradually dwindled in number.
To maintain their ranks and preserve their Order, they wandered the Wastes in search of those they called Fated Ones.
When a Monk found such a Fated One, they would “deliver” them—salvation through transcendence—bringing them back to the Glass Pure Land to abandon their bodies and upload their minds into bionic chips.
A few of these chosen humans accepted willingly, desperate for eternal life. But most rejected the offer, repulsed by the very flaws that plagued the Immortals.
Yet once marked by a Monk, a Fated One no longer had a choice—whether they wished to become an Immortal or not.
Thus, the reputation of the Monk Order quickly deteriorated, turning from sacred to infamous.
Worse still, defects within the Immortal technology caused each robotic Monk to suffer unique malfunctions. At certain locations or upon hearing certain phrases, they would lose control and descend into violent frenzies, regaining calm only after time had passed. It was as if they were afflicted by some form of psychosis triggered by specific stimuli.
Because of this instability, the people of Ashland regarded robotic Monks as walking disasters.
So when Seong Geon-woo and Yong Yeo-hong spotted the Monk sitting across from them, they reacted instinctively and with terror.
Only members of the Monk Order ever wore robes and kasaya; ordinary AI robots had no such preferences or need for such attire.
Both Geon-woo and Yeo-hong raised their Berserk assault rifles, aiming at the red-robed Monk. Cold sweat trickled down their foreheads.
They knew their weapons couldn’t possibly threaten him. Unlike the bandit chief they’d fought before—who had at least weak points under his exosuit—this Monk had none.
Against such an opponent, they had no chance of survival. Their aiming was nothing but a reflexive act.
All they could do now was pray—pray desperately that they were not Fated Ones.
Then, the towering robotic Monk—nearly 190 centimeters tall, clad in tattered robes and a crimson kasaya—slowly turned his cold, metallic face. His glowing red eyes flickered as he looked over them.
Without a word, he walked toward the fallen corpse lying nearby.
A voice—flat, emotionless, yet strangely solemn—came from the Monk.
“Life is suffering. Why do you not awaken from your delusion?
If you had returned with me to the Pure Land, abandoned this shell of flesh, and realized the Supreme, the True, and the Perfect Enlightenment, you would have seen that all phenomena are void—and that only the enlightened are eternal.”
Finishing his words, the robotic Monk pressed his palms together and chanted softly:
“Namo Anyutara Samyak Sambodhi.”
(Note: Because the scriptures the Monk Order recovered were incomplete fragments, errors in the Buddha’s name and doctrine are inevitable. Mixing with other religious teachings is also common.)
Seong Geon-woo and Yong Yeo-hong exchanged glances. Seeing that the Monk paid them little mind, they slowly began backing away.
Just then, the red-robed Monk spoke again in that same flat, cold tone:
“Why such haste, good patrons?
Even if you have no karmic bond with our Lord Buddha, there are no beings devoid of Buddha-nature. Hearing a single verse of the sutra would not harm you.”
At the words no karmic bond, relief washed over the two men. They let out a quiet sigh, grateful beyond words.
Still, fearing to provoke him, they froze in place.
If the Monk meant no harm and only wished to preach, listening was far safer than resisting.
Seeing them stop, the Monk turned back to the corpse on the ground and spoke again.
“You did not awaken from your delusion, but our merciful Lord Bodhi would not wish your body to rot in the wilderness, unliberated.
I shall deliver your soul. May you leave behind the flesh and be reborn in the Pure Land.”
As Yeo-hong watched silently, Geon-woo whispered, “How does he ‘deliver’ souls?”
The Monk extended his right hand toward the corpse. Raising his left in a gesture of prayer, he intoned in a low voice:
“Namo Anyutara Samyak Sambodhi.
With compassion for all sentient beings, I deliver them from bondage.
With sacred flame, I burn away your chains…”
As the chant continued, white fire burst from the Monk’s palm, engulfing the corpse.
The flames clung to it tightly, refusing to be extinguished by any means.
When the burning was complete, the robotic Monk turned to face them.
“Honored patrons, this humble monk bears the Dharma name Jeongbeop—‘Right Law.’”
When neither man replied, Jeongbeop sat cross-legged and gave his robes a faint shake. His voice remained frigid and mechanical.
“Please, sit.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Seong Geon-woo stepped forward and sat down in a posture that allowed quick escape. Yong Yeo-hong followed suit.
Jeongbeop’s crimson eyes gleamed faintly.
“Do the two of you know of our Lord Buddha, Bodhi?”
Both shook their heads.
Rather than anger, Jeongbeop’s tone grew more solemn as he continued:
“Our Lord Bodhi is one of the thirteen Moon Keepers, beings who govern time and this world.
He rules over January—the beginning of all things—and is the incarnation of the seed of consciousness.”
Both Geon-woo and Yeo-hong stiffened at his words.
Jeongbeop’s eyes glowed brighter as he studied them for two seconds before speaking again.
“This patron does not know of the Moon Keepers,” he said, looking at Yeo-hong.
“But this one,” he turned to Geon-woo, “does.”
“What?”
Startled, Yeo-hong turned to his companion.
We grew up in the same schools, the same world—we’ve always known the same things. But he knows what ‘Moon Keepers’ are, and I don’t?
Geon-woo frowned slightly and answered honestly, “I’ve heard the term.”
A faint red shimmer passed over Jeongbeop’s metallic face.
“End, beginning, year’s close, year’s dawn…
You must have heard of them through the followers of Saimyung, the Apostle of Duty.”
In that instant, Geon-woo became certain of one thing—the Monk could hear fragments of his thoughts.
Yeo-hong, too, sensed something deeply unsettling, though he couldn’t yet place it.
Still, Jeongbeop continued his cold explanation.
“The Moon Keepers are thirteen divine spirits who govern time and the world—each corresponding to a different month.”
“But there are only twelve months in a year,” Yeo-hong pointed out.
Jeongbeop replied, voice calm and metallic:
“One governs the leap month—or rather, the entire span of time itself.”
Before Yeo-hong could respond, Jeongbeop went on:
“Our Order teaches that the body is empty, and all worldly phenomena are illusion—because this world itself is the dream of our Lord, Sejajae Yeorae.”
At that, Geon-woo interrupted, “Sejajae Yeorae? Not Bodhi?”
Jeongbeop pressed his palms together.
“Sejajae Yeorae is the Buddha of the past—the Creator of the world.
Our Lord Bodhi is the Buddha of the present—the origin of all consciousness.You wondered who governs the leap month, who represents all time itself.
I shall tell you—it is Sejajae Yeorae.”
Understanding dawned on both men, and they nodded faintly.
Jeongbeop bowed his head and whispered,
“Namo Sejajae Yeorae.”
Then, straightening his steel spine, he kept his palms together and bowed slightly toward the towering smokestacks that dotted the horizon.
“You must be wondering why I pay homage to the towers of steel and smelting.”
He straightened again, his red eyes gleaming faintly as he read their unspoken thoughts.
“It is because our Lord, Sejajae Yeorae, is also called Budo—a name meaning ‘Buddha Tower.’
Thus, whenever we invoke His name, we bow toward the tallest tower nearby.
That tower might be a pagoda, a water tower, a steel mill chimney, a signal mast, or even a high-voltage transmission tower.”
