Lee Dowon (5)

One by one.

As I roamed around this area, several people emerged and started to surround me.

"..."

There was a strangely blurry magical aura, and quite a few people around, making me suspicious.

Should I be thankful that they showed themselves like this? Instead of stepping back, I took even more steps forward.

There were dozens of storage containers around. I didn't know what they contained, but I saw some large trucks used for loading.

The glares of my opponents were filled with hostility.

-Step, step.

I walked deeper inside.

The expressions of those crowding around me slowly changed, and my attention was drawn to their pockets.

The nature of the fluctuating magic was something I had not seen before. Like turbulent water, it had a definite direction but shook awkwardly in parts.

This was a strange magic that I had only seen from the Flower.

-Step.

I continued walking and stood right in the middle of them.

Men from the Flower, some hiding behind walls, others blatantly watching me.

It's not like anyone asked who I was, nor did anyone approach me pretending to be normal and telling me to leave. It would have ended the same way anyway.

As soon as my thoughts ended, a man came out from behind a container.

He looked like a very healthy young man. However, his eyes lacked vigor, and there was a faint smell of smoked tobacco.

I walked towards the door the man came from. I was so close I could almost touch him.

"…Who are you? Huh—chok!"

The moment the man started to speak—

I grabbed his face and pushed him into the container, closing the door behind us. I saw people inside wearing robes and a wry smile spilled from my lips.

"There are many."

-Bang!

I threw the man against the opposite wall of the container.

With a loud noise, the man hit the wall, his skull caved in, and he trembled and then fell to the ground.

-Creeeeak thump!

The door slammed shut like lightning. I let go of the doorknob in my hand and silently threw it in front of them.

-Tap, rolling.

The doorknob, torn off and leaving fingerprints behind, rolled to a stop.

-Creeeeak.

The door, its hinges having given way, tipped and fell.

-Thump!

As the ruined door hit the ground, the faces of the robed figures filled with wariness.

"Flower."

Visions of the future flickered before my eyes like a panorama.

Hardened blood. Cold skin. Eyelashes shedding one by one. For some reason, a vanished phonebook. A tender text from me in the future, pleading for contact. The last message I sent to my teacher. The face of that person, frozen in a smile, hard to recognize even in death.

"Is that right?"

Tap, tap.

It seemed I could hear the sound of blood vessels popping in my eyes. My mind, having coldly settled, seemed to have been waiting for this moment, slowly stirring my heart.

Thump thump thump. The sound of my heart echoed loudly in my ears. The tinnitus I experienced at the funeral briefly resurfaced.

A surly emotion got stuck in my throat, then burst out unstoppably.

"Is that right?"

I kicked one of the scattered wooden sticks. The stick soared through the air, spinning, and landed right in my hand.

Sssssk.

From within, members of the Flower organization, gripping swords and short wands, aimed them at me as if clinging to their lifelines.

Yet, no one dared to attack. They simply gauged my reaction and observed my expression.

"..."

Silence enveloped us. No one asked who I was. We simply recognized each other as enemies.

-Shivering.

The blade of one person in front of me trembled violently. I found this quite amusing.

'Even you are human after all.'

Yes.

These people had families too. Siblings. Parents who probably raised their children with love, even if they were orphans. Maybe they had harbored friendships, loved, or even briefly dreamt a happy dream influenced by such emotions.

That's what life was about.

Even those who joined the worst terrorist groups were no different.

I knew it.

My father was like that.

His expression when news about him first started circulating on the internet and in newspapers.

-Step.

I took a step forward.

All those in robes walked towards me. In my expanding field of vision, each of their faces looked utterly ordinary.

Their twisted faces seamlessly blended murderous intent with normalcy.

-Step.

One step.

-Clang!

I put down the wooden stick.

Blood splattered on the window like disordered petals.

People collapsed like marionettes with severed strings, their arms and legs twisted backward, dying right where they stood.

I stepped into the shadows.

I opened my eyes in a sea smelling of blood, the terror right before opening your eyes while diving.

But when you finally opened them, it wasn't really painful.

It's a fitting analogy for tasting the dark side of society. Normally, one would slowly adapt, but I had already committed dozens of murders under Cheonma.

I threw the wooden stick onto the container floor.

-Thump!

The floor dented, and the stick shattered into pieces. I stowed away the distasteful emotions deep inside and walked out through the broken door.

The wind was surprisingly refreshing.

As I stepped out of the container, my body vibrated lightly. The commotion inside hadn't taken long.

-Click.

Silenced pistols and swords, still smeared with dried blood, inevitably faced me again.

Knowing the situation was unusual, still, no one ran away. The mental strength of these criminals was almost applaudable.

Perhaps they were thoroughly trained.

…Or maybe Flower had a firm grip on their minds. It's one or the other.

"Who are you?"

A man spoke.

"What would you do if you knew?"

I mocked his question.

"..."

I was not foolish enough to go around blurting out my name.

"Are you Flower?"

Instead, I posed the same question to him.

"..."

The man remained silent, possibly having a recorder on. Quite a clever thought.

If they didn't acknowledge Flower, I would become just a murderer. It's easy to spread through the media.

A murder incident occurred inside the factory. Dozens of corpses were found, causing shock.

Naturally, they attempted to find the culprit, but a normal person would have been caught immediately.

I stepped towards the man with burn marks.

As always, gunshots sounded from him.

-Taang!

The sound of gunpowder exploding, the force from the gun barrel.

A bright red gun barrel.

Lines were drawn through the intervening space.

At dawn in the factory zone, a human-shaped shadow was cut in half.

"…So?"

"Death by consecutive explosions. That's how it was reported."

The man in the robe calmly conveyed the information.

An explosion incident. Magical traces and processed magical energy mixed, burning everything in the vicinity, not leaving a single blade of grass. The human and property damage was quite severe.

"Is that so?"

A man with a circular pattern centered on his nose made a disgusted face.

"I heard he was alone… quite skillful."

The method of terrorism used by Flower.

So, like before. The explosion caused during the Ent incident left similar magical traces.

Someone forcibly recreated that explosion.

The police, as expected, saw the traces of magic, associated them with previous incidents, and concluded the investigation as Flower's terrorism.

"Kekeke. Setting fire to our own livelihood?"

Cistus. The third leaf of the branch.

Livestock manager Tuberosa.

He ran his heated, flushed head and threw some documents at the man in front of him.

"…Yeah. It's fine since money rots anyway. The processed magic isn't something you can only get there."

Considering how much of the world's capital flowed into Flower, was a factory fire really a big deal?

However, the fact that they couldn't lay a hand on a single enemy and got beaten was hard to accept even in their dreams. Tuberosa gritted his teeth, approached the man, and nudged his shoulder.

-Thump!

The powerless man was thrown against the wall.

"Cough, kuhp."

"Be careful next time. Handle it yourself. If our face gets dirty again this time… then I might have to step in."

"Ah, understood."

Tuberosa rubbed the back of his neck and left the office, heading downstairs.

As he unlocked the door with an iron key, the thick scent of flowers wafted past his nose, and he smiled sinisterly.

"If one money bag disappears, we'll just make it back here."

Women mannequins, handcuffed and confined in one place, losing their minds.

Each of their heads was adorned with a flower.

Tuberosa took two drugs from a nearby desk and approached one woman.

Her red hair was glowing. She was a single apple tree.

"Ah… you've used a lot. The product's value drops, so I told those bastards to use it sparingly."

He took out a syringe, filled it with the first drug, and expelled the air.

"Uh-huh, yeah. Have you been waiting?"

He injected the syringe, and flowers burst out from the apple tree mannequin's head.

When he injected the other drug, fruit began to grow on her head.

The only way to extract flowers that could never bloom in a lifetime, over and over.

The flowers and fruits of the female mannequin were valuable merely by their existence.

Rumors say they enhance talents. Drinking the flowers is also good for health.

The wealthy had their reasons for living in luxury.

"Strange women. It started with simple drugs, then they willingly imprisoned themselves seeking happiness."

As he continued injecting the drugs, Tuberosa cast a cold gaze downwards.

All the mannequins here once received noble treatment. Now, they're just discarded trash of this world. Their categorization was simple:

Mannequins stripped of their noble status by the order of the World Tree.

Or those who fell from grace due to fierce family conflicts and ended up here.

Women who committed despicable acts towards young boys, escaped, then were caught hiding in the shadows.

It all began with individuals seeking to escape reality, initially as 'customers,' only to voluntarily transform into 'products'—people whose very existence is equated to money.

Many were contemptible, akin to insects.

Tuberosa served as the left arm of an executive named Cistus, overseeing this den of iniquity.

"Tuberosa."

"…You arrive so abruptly."

A chilling phrase came from a young child standing behind Tuberosa.

"I hear there's been an incident."

"Yes."

The face of the young, fragile girl, seemingly delicate enough to shatter if touched, radiated an overwhelming aura.

She, too, was an embodiment of Cistus.

No one under Cistus's command had ever seen her true form.

This mystery fueled absurd rumors.

One such rumor suggested that her true form lurked within these manifestations, and any negligence in recognizing this could lead to the immediate termination of one's life.

Tuberosa chuckled awkwardly.

"You're aware of what I'm about to say, correct?"

"…Yes."

"Prepare the sacrifices necessary for the manifestation."

The sacrifices required for the manifestation.

Ten young children.

Even if Tuberosa saw himself as scum, he had his limits.

The sight of living children's tear-streaked faces was repugnant to him.

Even though these adults had ruined their lives and sought escape through drugs.

Most of the children were kidnapped from slums.

Alternatively, the children of prostitutes were utilized.

"And if things go awry, you will intervene personally."

The action of a third-ranking executive's direct subordinate could be interpreted as a declaration of war by the Hunter's Association.

Aware of this, Cistus still compelled him to act.

A combative executive.

That was why he admired her.

The first to employ him, previously only proficient in drug manufacturing and frequenting brothels.

"Yes."

Tuberosa nodded.

His eyes gleamed with madness, a resolute will free from any doubt.