Corpse.
A grotesque ritual.
A statue with an inhuman form.
And the name of a cult that practically screamed, "We are the villains."
Logan narrowed his eyes and asked, "The Evil God Cult… have either of you heard of this group before?"
Kakashi had spent years on missions far beyond Konoha's borders. Tsunade, though not a shinobi anymore, had traveled extensively after abandoning the village. Yet even with all their experience and knowledge, both shook their heads.
"No," Kakashi said after a thoughtful pause. "I've never heard of them."
Tsunade agreed. "Same here."
Kakashi folded his arms, his gaze sharp beneath his hitai-ate. "It's probably a newly formed sect. Judging by the number of murders they've committed, if they were active in any of the five great nations, they would've been flagged as wanted criminals long ago. I suspect they're confined to the Land of Hot Springs for now."
"Take a look at this."
Logan held up a photograph.
It depicted a male corpse with a long, sharp, black needle embedded deep in its chest.
Although the body was that of a man, Logan had run a comparative analysis. The positioning of the needle — relative to chest size and body proportions — aligned perfectly with the wound Tsunade had sustained.
Logan's expression darkened. "I think I understand how they did it. They performed a ritual — a curse based on cause and effect. They sacrificed this man to create a long-distance jutsu that transmits injury. His body became the price, and you, Tsunade, were the target."
Tsunade stared at the photograph, processing the implications. "So all this time… the reason I kept bleeding… was because of a corpse?"
"It gets worse," Logan added grimly. "These people haven't given up."
Kakashi and Tsunade exchanged looks. They were no fools — they understood immediately.
If the cult had abandoned their pursuit of Tsunade, they would have no reason to continue the ritual. They could have discarded the cursed corpse and moved on to their next victim. The fact that they hadn't meant only one thing: the ritual was still active.
Logan turned his gaze toward the mouth of the alleyway, his senses sharp. "They're still watching. Somewhere out there, someone's keeping tabs on us. These cultists are like hyenas, waiting to pounce the moment we let our guard down."
Aerosmith had already taken flight, but with Hot Springs Country being a tourist hotspot, the population density was high. Carbon dioxide detection — a reliable method in open terrain — became unreliable in such crowded surroundings.
That was the major drawback of Hermit Purple.
It excelled at tracing cause and effect, ignoring time and space to spy, read, and record — but finding someone wasn't the same as seeing someone.
Logan stared at the cursed corpse again. It was stored in a bland, enclosed space, void of any identifying features. With so few environmental cues, even Hermit Purple couldn't pinpoint the enemy's hideout.
He opened his system menu.
When Konan had taken the book, she rewarded him with 300 soul fragments. Samui's return had granted another 100. Combined with the smaller earnings from the past month, he now had 5,570 fragments.
Upgrading Hermit Purple from Level 1 to Level 2 would only cost 300 fragments.
Logan considered it.
Hermit Purple wasn't a combat-oriented Stand. Up to now, most enemies had come to him — often to their own regret. But after the fall of Yagura and the reformation of the Hidden Mist, Logan's reputation had grown too large to ignore. Stronger enemies had started avoiding him outright.
If he wanted results, he'd have to go looking for trouble. Infiltration, tracking, intel gathering — those were now critical.
Logan nodded. "System, upgrade Hermit Purple."
A pulse of starlight descended onto the violet vines of Hermit Purple. The tendrils shimmered, growing more durable. Faint purple sparkles danced along their surface.
Hermit Purple (★★★★): Level 2
The core abilities remained: reading, writing, spying. But now—
As Logan picked up the photo, the vines gently twitched, subtly pointing in a specific direction.
The second level could guide the flow of cause and effect.
Logan's lips curled into a small grin. "Still called the most useless Stand, huh?"
He closed the system interface.
Maybe when I max this out and evolve it with a star core, I'll be able to drop a nuke on someone using pure karmic coordinates.
He chuckled to himself and turned toward Kakashi and Tsunade. "Let's move."
If the cultists were indeed lurking nearby, monitoring their actions, then this movement would provoke a reaction.
That was all Logan needed.
For a team made up of Logan, Kakashi, and Tsunade, even a minor slip-up from their enemies was enough to unravel everything.
---
Meanwhile…
"Tsunade, one of the Legendary Sannin."
"The Copy Ninja, Kakashi Hatake."
"And…"
The white-haired man lifted a photo. "Logan — the one who toppled the Fourth Mizukage and installed the Terumi Mei puppet regime."
Though called their leader, his appearance was far from grand. He wore a simple black robe and straw sandals, resembling a humble monk more than a cult master. But his face was striking — handsome, his white hair cascading down his back like a waterfall. His eyes gleamed with wisdom, serenity… and a fanatic's fire.
He sat cross-legged in a darkened chamber, facing three individuals — two men and a woman. They were the Left Guardian, Right Guardian, and the Saint of the Evil God Cult.
Despite their graceful bearing and elegant attire, they sat beside a grotesque idol — a twisted amalgamation of limbs, eyes, and grotesque mouths. The image alone would terrify most people… but to them, it was divine.
"Master, shall we retreat?" the Left Guardian asked. "Those three are far beyond what our current forces can handle. Judging by their trajectory, they're already on their way here."
The cult may have been deranged, but they were not stupid. A direct confrontation with shinobi of that caliber would be suicide.
The leader corrected him calmly. "Call me Leader, not Master. I'm not above you. I merely heard the Evil God's voice before you did, and awakened to the emptiness of this world."
He pressed his palms together and whispered:
"The body is empty. Death returns home."
The others mirrored him immediately.
"The body is empty. Death returns home."
They chanted in unison, eyes full of reverence.
To the outside world, the idol looked like a monstrous fusion of nightmares — the embodiment of evil. But to them, it was gentle. It was salvation. A mother figure, ready to embrace the dead with open arms.
They longed for death — but not yet.
Not until their mission was complete.
Not until they spread the Evil God's "blessing" to the entire world.
Only when every soul had been "saved" through death would they accept their own.
The leader spoke again.
"We cannot let Logan and the others escape."
The three followers stiffened. "But… even if we ambush them—"
"There's no need to fight them directly," the leader replied. "We've been blessed by the Evil God. And now, we have the Son of God—Hidan."
He raised another photo. This time, it was of a wild-looking man with silver hair and a grin of manic glee.
"Hidan is the Holy Grail. His body holds the curse of immortality, the cage for the evil called 'life.' At first, I only wished to make him an immortal suffering in agony, so that others could find peace through his torment…"
He picked up the photos of Logan and Tsunade.
"But something changed. Tsunade's immense life force is slowly pouring into the Son's body. If we can offer her — and Logan, who possesses just as powerful a force — as sacrifices…"
His voice trembled with zeal.
"Then the Son of God will overflow with life. He will become a beacon — a divine chalice brimming with the cursed vitality of this world. The more he suffers, the more salvation we bring to others."
The three disciples rose to their feet.
The Left Guardian said, "Then our path is clear."
The Saint nodded. "We must retrieve Logan's blood."
The white-haired leader inclined his head, bowing slightly.
"Forgive us, warriors of the leaf. All of this is for one sacred truth—"
All three said in unison:
"Death returns home."
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