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Like a cicada struggling and crawling up from the depths of the earth, stretching its body.

The cicada, covered in dirt, raised its head slightly towards the sunlight, reflecting its wings as if savoring the rays.

Witnessing the cicada soaring energetically, the pond fell in love, as if the wings cast reflections upon its waters.

Thus, the lotus slowly began to bloom.

It sprouted, appearing as transparent and fleeting as if wrapped in layers of very thin ice, gradually growing larger and forming a bud. That bud certainly existed, but it was so transparent that, unless one looked closely, it seemed like a fleeting illusion, exuding a faint presence as if lightly sketched with a delicate pencil in mid-air.

Without even a whisper of wind, the air flowed in the underground, making it sway uncertainly, and the crystal-clear water moved about so much that one might feel dizzy, thinking it would soon plunge into the depths.

If one were to touch it, they would feel the ecstasy of touching a fairy’s winged garment—a sensation as if caressing the treasures of the immortal crafted from silk.

Would the colorful skirts of a Valkyrie fluttering in the cold northern sky not resemble this scene if they faded?

The Yixian Qinglian looked so ephemeral in and of itself that it stirred a craving for possession, awakening a desire to secure it before it disappeared. It was a precious item, both a treasure and a demon.

And so, the flower continued to bloom gradually.

It consumed the warriors, draining their life force, taking in their inner energy wholeheartedly.

Thus, it bloomed and bloomed again.

But isn’t it the way of the world that if something emerges, something else must go in?

As the Yixian Qinglian bloomed more and more, the bodies of the warriors grew gradually weaker, and the inner energy that had filled their dantian was slowly depleting. Of course, it was not a permanent damage; with proper resting and diligent training, it could be restored. However, the fact that it bloomed by feeding on people remained unchanged.

The only fortunate aspect was that they were oblivious to their own situation.

They were unaware of the lotus growing by consuming them, lost solely within the confines of Jinseong’s orchestrations.

Within that mental realm, they wielded omnipotent power like in a lucid dream and revisited the regrets of their lives, sometimes unearthing the intense memories that lay hidden deep within their minds.

At the end of memory, thoughts followed, and those thoughts led to truth, which expanded their mental worlds and forged a path toward enlightenment.

Warriors who disliked stagnation experienced a precious opportunity that they wouldn’t have had throughout their lives, while those who preferred it found familiarity transformed into a chance to surpass their limits, breaking down the walls that held them back.

Ironically, this could be seen as a form of fateful encounter for warriors.

Of course, the achievements would vary from person to person, and those who underwent forced meditation without gaining enlightenment would be left empty-handed… but conversely, those who sought to confront and understand their minds would likely meet visible changes.

What else could one call this but a fateful encounter?

Isn’t it a truly good thing?

Jinseong can make the flowers bloom.

The warriors can receive help in achieving their aspirations.

This is symbiosis.

* *

Both beings stand to gain—a mutualism.

One side benefits while the other is unaffected—a commensalism.

One side suffers while the other is unaffected—a amensalism.

And one side gains while the other suffers is called parasitism.

Jinseong and the warriors fall under the category of mutualism.

Since both parties were gaining, what else could one call it but symbiosis?

However, regrettably, Jinseong was not known as the Symbiote before the rewind.

He was referred to as the Parasitic Shaman.

This name stemmed from his adept handling of parasites, but at the same time, it clearly mixed in contempt, fear, and discomfort toward Jinseong.

* *

A single line was enough to send those eagerly awaiting the tales of the warriors in Japan into a frenzy.

[All have gone missing during the operation.]

Missing in action—the term MIA.

This report came from the last survivor, Watanabe.

Watanabe had volunteered to stay behind at the lodging, knowing that he was the weakest among them, to prepare for the worst during the detailed reporting. He reported that none of the warriors who infiltrated Park Jinseong’s building had returned. He mentioned that he had tried contacting them multiple times, all of which ended in failure, adding that the possibility they had been killed or captured was quite high.

A reasonable report.

A rational judgment.

At least, it seemed Watanabe wasn’t wasting his age.

The format was spot on, and there was nothing out of place in the manual; signs of respect for his superiors were evident throughout. He seemed to have stamped the document at a 45-degree angle to express respect, and instead of sending a simple email, he printed the document himself—likely to cater to his preference for analog. Furthermore, the stapler was also angled at 45 degrees to show respect, with perfect font size and type.

It was an excellent report that one would have no objections receiving a score of “Excellent” from the criteria of excellence.

However, regrettably, while the format was perfect, the content was incredibly shocking…

The operation failed?

All missing?

Assumed captured or killed?

These were dreadful statements, filled with terrifying thoughts.

“D-D-Dammit!”

“My warriors—!”

“This is a lie, a lie! Reports across the sea are nothing but fabrications!”

The aristocrats were in an uproar.

They seemed unable to accept the fact that the capable individuals they cherished had failed and vanished in what seemed an easy task, howling to devise a countermeasure immediately while grabbing each other by the collar.

Faces flushed with rage, they exploded in anger, throwing away the elegance they usually presented as nobles to act like common ruffians.

“Return them to me!”

“Return my warriors to me!”

“Bring my loyal samurai back before me—!”

As such, the gathering place transformed into pandemonium; items were destroyed, and fists flew in all directions.

The convergence seemed to be gradually spiraling towards a disastrous end.

No, it had definitely reached a catastrophe.

Unless it was just one person who embarked to clean up this mess.

“Everyone! Please calm down for a moment!”

A politician.

The very person who had strongly argued for sending capable individuals to Korea to seize objects presumed to be inscribed with the name of His Majesty the Emperor.

And now, he was the one who needed to resolve the situation.

“There’s a solution! A solution exists!”

Now, as he was unleashing his temper due to the rage clouding his mind, once this anger settled, the arrows would surely be aimed back at him.

Isn’t someone supposed to take responsibility in a society?

Moreover, it would be unequivocal who bore the responsibility, especially since he had strongly asserted and misled the people.

The politician had to resolve this situation at all costs.

For the sake of his own survival as well.

Had he sensed this politician’s desperate striving?

The frenzy gradually dissipated, the clamors faded, and those still holding each other’s collars turned to stare at the politician.

The politician stood atop a table and locked eyes one by one with those looking at him.

As if what he stepped on was not a table, but a dais, and those below were his supporters or potential supporters.

Thus, the politician successfully calmed everyone for the time being and spoke to them.

Though he wore an expression suggesting remorse, it did not appear too serious.

As if he had a clever solution lined up, as if this was not spilt water and could be gathered back easily.

As if he could instill hope in all those staring at him.

“Everyone, I understand your anger over the uncertainty regarding the life and whereabouts of the retainers at your command. How could a lord remain calm at the adversity faced by his cherished subordinates?”

The politician spoke in a manner that the aristocrats found agreeable.

He inserted vocabulary resonant of the oratory style they used intentionally, as well as archaic expressions that one would encounter only in textbooks.

His actions effectively formed a bond of familiarity using their preferred language and made them pause to think even once more upon hearing complex terms.

The politician adeptly focused their gazes upon him, ensnaring their ears with his words.

When all attention became directed at him, he detonated a bombshell of a phrase.

“Let’s shift the responsibility onto the government.”

 

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