Chapter 377

After France had fallen, the enthusiasm that had once overflowed among its citizens also dwindled.

It wasn’t as if the descent into anarchy was the result of any comprehensible process, and with no real understanding of what had happened so swiftly before their very eyes, the entire leadership was wiped out. This was a reaction that could easily be understood from the French populace.

Suddenly, madmen shouting for the restoration of the monarchy had burst in and decapitated the president and officials alike?

If so, why didn’t they just sit down and properly reconstruct the nation?

But how could it be considered reasonable that they were all chopped down by some unknown warrior who no one even knew the origin of?

Additionally, the outrageous demise of the social elite was problematic enough, but another issue arose. With vacancies left and the urgent need for reconstruction, it seemed impossible.

The worst assassin of all time had decided to remain rooted in France.

This assassin had cut down a prince, declaring he would be the next king.

They had sliced a man who had announced his intention to be king.

They had also cut down someone who had aspired to be a minister.

Cut, cut, cut.

The warrior, who had settled in France, sliced all those who dared to step forward to rule. Regardless of age or gender, without discrimination, they cut down those entering the palace and anyone proposing solutions.

There was no way to stop the attacks of the warrior.

How could one possibly stop an assassin capable of cutting people from several hundred meters away?

What’s more, this wasn’t even like a sniper who had to operate in wide-open spaces.

This mad assassin cared nothing for obstacles between them and their target. As long as their target was within range, this warrior had the power to cut them down. They would attack from underground, slicing throats by swinging their sword after digging up the earth, or they would float in the air and cut people down in mid-air.

In this merciless cutting, the power holders were eradicated, and the open vacancies could not be filled.

If you sat, you would die.

If you stepped forward, you would die.

No matter what, you would die.

In a normal situation, the vacancies that should have been objects of desire and ambition now became positions everyone avoided, turning into execution chairs, practically mechanisms of death.

Ultimately, France abandoned the formation of a government.

Even if they wanted to, there was no way.

“What do you expect us to do?” they might have pleaded. “How can we proceed when stepping forward only guarantees your death?”

Perhaps, if there were at least warriors capable of blocking these attacks, the situation could have been different, but alas, all such warriors had perished during the war.

What about artifacts to protect oneself?

Would the countries that stripped everything of value, including these precious artifacts, while yelling for reparations, leave them behind? Not a chance. They were all stolen away.

And even if they could buy new ones, it was impossible.

Because there was no money.

Even if they somehow did possess money, if something could resist the warrior’s attacks that cut through space itself, wouldn’t it cost an astronomical amount? An item so precious, it would be almost impossible to obtain, even with deep pockets.

Of course, humans find ways eventually.

They had almost managed to procure an artifact. By directly threatening other nations with the possibility of Europe’s collective destabilization due to France becoming a lawless territory, and offering various benefits in exchange, France managed to secure the temporary use of an artifact.

Or so they thought.

Then the warrior took action again.

This time, they targeted the heads of other nations’ officials.

The necks of political figures standing on podiums were slashed, and the throats of council members en route to parliament were cut.

Only those who noticed the assassin’s movements in time could escape or block the attacks; the others were helplessly slaughtered just like in France. Simultaneously, the warrior left messages by scratching walls with their sword.

“Don’t provide France with artifacts.”

Unsurprisingly, the other nations were enraged.

They declared there would be no negotiations with terrorists, unleashed manpower to capture the warrior, and placed an enormous bounty on their head.

But they could not catch them.

The insane warrior moved with impunity, cutting down high-ranking officials one after another, mocking the soldiers and capable persons who fruitlessly tried to capture them.

And how many had been cut down?

Each government had to admit the inevitable truth:

There was no way to stop this mad assassin with the tools they currently possessed.

As a result, the lending of artifacts to France was abruptly canceled with various excuses, and the negotiators sent to the country were sent back to France without success.

And as soon as these negotiators returned, they were cut down too.

As soon as they disembarked from the airplane, it was as if the Grim Reaper had swung their scythe, cleanly severing heads, which then rolled on the ground.

Thus, the last hope was shattered, and France dissolved into anarchy.

The French citizens lived in groups, typically village-sized, avoiding all attempts to build cities. As soon as any area developed to the size of a city, the mad assassin would appear, chop off the mayor’s head, and vanish.

People grouped together in small clusters and lived solely for the benefit of their own communities. Although they had become selfish, the cheerful French people had now sunk into despair, merely trying to preserve their lives, enduring tough struggles day by day within this lawless land.

Thus, France fell.

And naturally, no one wanted to stay in a fallen nation.

The people fled as refugees across Europe, among whom were valuable farmers skilled in rare cultivation methods considered crucial for France’s potential reconstruction.

Jinseong approached these refugee farmers, offering them substantial sums in exchange for their knowledge of cultivating elixirs. The farmers, seeing this wandering shaman offering vast amounts of money for their techniques, willingly shared their methods.

Had it been a matter of selling techniques for profit, they might have hesitated. If they sold, their knowledge’s value would diminish. Even farming the crops would likely only provide them with basic sustenance rather than wealth.

But this shaman appeared simply curious, asking to buy the methods. Was it smart to turn this down?

Shamans aren’t the type to dig up land for a living. Besides, this wasn’t a shaman draped in fine silk or carrying grandeur but rather one who seemed to travel in simple attire.

Thus, Jinseong easily acquired the methods to cultivate the powerful elixirs.

“High-quality vitality and internal energy. An appropriate amount of blood and positive energy, distilled water…”

Yixian Qinglian, a legendary medicinal herb, had the effect of boosting positive energy. It resembled a lotus in its overall form and leaf structure, with stems like lotus roots. It had air pockets along its roots similar to pennyworts, and its blood-sucking behaviors reminded one of leeches and snakes. The hollow interiors of the roots served as channels for absorbing blood, and the external space around the roots could be inflated or deflated to aid in this process. The Yixian Qinglian could constrict and expand these passages, thus helping to transport its consumed fluids.

Its air pockets, which rhythmically inflated and deflated, acted not merely to float on water but served as pumps to bring the sucked-in blood into its roots.

“Blood-sucking plant.”

Yixian Qinglian was a plant that fed on the blood of animals, a blood-sucking plant. Instead of photosynthesis, it preferred to directly extract nutrients from animals and favored drinking blood over rainwater. For fertilizer, it chose not decayed matter but living bioenergy, going so far as to anchor itself with wedge-like thorns and inflating its roots to ensure no escape once attached.

Thus did the Yixian Qinglian grow by sucking life force, developing larger leaves, tougher roots, and inflated stems, and when it had sufficiently absorbed nutrients, it bloomed.

The flower was delicate and transparent, like the wings of a cicada, giving an impression of pristine purity. The beauty of the flower could be likened to the wing attire of a celestial maiden crafted into a lotus-like form, and its texture was as soft and ticklish as caressing a spider’s web.

Yixian Qinglian: Cicada-like wings.

Qinglian: Pure lotus.

“An elixir related to positive energy and vitality. It must be useful.”

Jinseong thought of Iarin.

Given the martial arts that mimicked beasts, increasing vitality and positive energy would undoubtedly help her achieve results. Moreover, because the martial arts Iarin practiced were unique and not easily discussed with others, this elixir would certainly provide support.

Positive energy was what powered bodily movement, and with an excess, it could turn people into something akin to beasts. As her martial art already leveraged wild instincts, the affinity with positive energy would be natural. If properly utilized, surpassing current limits might not be too challenging.

Of course, if the vessel was too weak, issues might arise, but Iarin had already consumed numerous elixirs and foods that enhanced life force and health. The vessel’s capacity was more than sufficient.

Jinseong smiled faintly while observing the healthy growth of Yixian Qinglian and the warrior who sucked blood.

That smile was as transparent and pure as the clear light of the coming lotus bloom.