I'm an Infinite Regressor, But I've Got Stories to Tell-Chapter 294

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◈ I’m an Infinite Regressor, But I’ve Got Stories to Tell

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The Exile V

“Wh-why...?”

Ji-soo collapsed to the ground, her soul breaking to the sound of autumn leaves crunching beneath her knees.

“Why? Why does such a person exist? Why is something like that even human? Why...?”

No tears flowed from her dark green eyes, yet Ji-soo was undoubtedly crying. It was just that her physical body couldn’t keep up with the sorrow in her heart.

It hadn’t always been this way. Once upon a time, she must have known how to shed tears to cry. Over time, however, she had grown accustomed to a life without them. And for someone who had become so familiar with crying without tears, finding another way to grieve was unfathomable.

“Why?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

However little a body might understand of expression, the body was nevertheless the medium through which human beings lived. Wrapping my Aura around her like a scarf, I patted Ji-soo’s back, doing my best to ward off the chill of the autumn night.

It was all I could do.

When had slipped us both by, Ji-soo stared blankly at the night sky. The half-moon seemed sated. As though it had feasted on many tears of sorrow, it appeared to possess a bite so cutting that it could inadvertently slash under one’s wristwatch.

“It was the opposite,” she murmured. “The story Godmother told me about the emperor... It was actually the opposite. An Anomaly wreaked havoc in our village, killing everyone.”

Once, Kim Ji-soo had been a part of a group of orphans who banded together after losing their parents. It was a survival strategy born of necessity. After all, there was no room in the world for orphaned children who lacked the labor capacity to make them useful.

People in similar circumstances, of similar ages, formed their own little pack, working together to survive. They elected leaders, divided roles, endured hunger together, and hunted together.

A primitive form of community.

Like so many other groups, they eventually faced annihilation.

“Everyone but me died... Then, Godmother Yu appeared.”

The Anomaly had swept through the Forsaken Village, leaving it destined to fade into obscurity without a name. However, Yu Ji-won had saved it—or rather, she had saved only Ji-soo. Ṛα₦Ɵ𝔟Ёṡ

More precisely, she had barely managed to save just Ji-soo.

“You’re lucky.”

In the middle of the charred remains, Ji-won picked up Ji-soo. Her blue eyes gazed silently at the soot-stained child.

“And you have good eyes... What’s your name?”

“...Ji-soo.”

“What a common name... Ji-soo, do you hate the Anomaly?”

Ji-soo replied that she did.

“Would you dedicate your entire life to it, dig to the bottom of your soul if necessary, just to exact revenge on it?”

Ji-soo once again said yes.

Her family had just been wiped out. Although they quarreled often, they had lived together like siblings. Now they were gone, killed by the Anomaly.

She had lost her parents, her home, and the last shelter her friends had cobbled together in the aftermath.

A fire that could not be extinguished began to burn within Ji-soo’s heart.

“Can you swear it?”

In hindsight, perhaps she had answered too hastily. She didn’t fully understand what it meant to dedicate her “entire life.” Nor could she comprehend the process of “digging to the bottom of her soul.” She hadn’t known how much more pain she would endure.

“Excellent.”

Manipulating humans into achieving their known goals while forcing them to pay unknown costs—such was the essence of a demon’s tactics.

“Now, Ji-soo. First, offer me your name.”

“My name...?”

“I am gathering people like you. If you follow me, you can become an Awakener. A new life awaits you... Think of it as a ritual to separate yourself from your old self.”

In a world tainted by the Void Poison, names held a significant, mystical power. But as someone whose only home lay in a slain band of orphans and strays, Ji-soo could not have known that.

“As Confucius said, all matters of life begin with calling things by their proper name. The same applies to Awakeners. I will give you a new name.”[1]

“Okay... I’ll offer my name.”

“Good. Hmm.”

Ji-won rested her chin on her hand.

“Let’s see. People often describe hatred as ‘burning,’ but that’s a misnomer. If hatred were combustible, it would diminish as it burned. Instead, it grows.”

Her whisper was soft.

“Hatred pools, drawing in nutrients and water from its surroundings, swelling its volume on its own... The pond’s ‘ji.’ The marsh’s ‘soo.’”

She stroked Ji-soo’s hair in a gentle stroke.

“Ji-soo. You are a pond nestled in the most secluded corners of the world, a marsh where hatred gathers... You don’t understand, do you? That’s fine. You will soon.”

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The flashback ended.

Under the moonlight that filtered through the pine forest, Ji-soo murmured into my shoulder.

“Now that I think about it, it was strange.”

“What was?”

“Everyone adopted into the Misfortune Workshop was like me—the sole survivor of a Forsaken Village or someone miraculously spared during an Anomaly attack.”

“Hmm.”

“At first, I didn’t doubt the godmother. In fact, I admired her for saving so many unfortunate people like me.”

But...

“At some point, as Godmother Yu’s actions in the Misfortune Workshop became increasingly blatant, I began to have doubts, like bubbles rising to the surface of a marsh. Could it be that the godmother intentionally allowed the Anomalies to strike, intervening only at the last moment when a single survivor remained?”

For a breath, there was only the question, then I admitted it.

“It’s plausible.”

Ji-won had specifically targeted children without ties, abducting them to the Underwater Tunnel.

“The group you belonged to, Ji-soo, were wanderers. They couldn’t enter established strongholds like Busan or Sejong. Wandering groups like yours were often indistinguishable from bandits.”

Citizens with connections couldn’t easily flee from their crimes, not when their families or acquaintances would be held accountable. In contrast, the unattached could commit crimes more freely.

“Untrustworthy thieves.”

That was the general perception of wandering groups, tinged with both justified and unjustified discrimination. This made them easy to ostracize. In Korea, the only place that openly accepted such wanderers was Daejeon.

“Your assumption is probably correct... Ji-won was the sharpest blade of the National Road Management Corps. She had no reason to go out of her way to save wandering groups who presented no labor value and who could disrupt order. Normally, she would have ignored them.”

I closed my eyes briefly and sighed.

“But for some reason, Ji-won changed. Perhaps she thought, ‘If I intervene, I can give meaning even to these wanderers who were annihilated by Anomalies.’”

“‘Meaning.’”

“Yes. By sparing only one promising individual from the group and allowing the rest to perish, she might have believed she was giving purpose to the lives lost.”

Recycling waste.

Perhaps that’s what it meant to Ji-won.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing, Undertaker?”

“Ji-won wasn’t always so diligent. She used to be satisfied with fulfilling her assigned duties and currying favor with me. I’m the one who instilled her with motivation and ambition... I’m sorry, Ji-soo.”

A heavy silence fell over us.

In the next cycle, the 704th, I uncovered the truth.

Ji-soo had been destined to die during the Anomaly attack. Even the Saintess’s Clairvoyance couldn’t reach her wandering group for the mere fact that they lacked an Awakener.

The survival rate of wanderer groups was always low. Unlike fortified cities imbued with countless spells for protection, Anomalies could invade the Forsaken Village at any time.

Ji-soo died, and she would continue to die in every cycle but the 703rd. The only reason she ever survived was because Ji-won acted out of character, going beyond merely tracking the caravan route.

“I truly am sorry.”

The child before me’s story was a cruel one.

For the first time in hundreds of cycles, Ji-soo was pulled from the jaws of death by her savior, Ji-won. Yet the salvation waiting for her was the depths of a hell she had never known.

Savior and tormentor.

Godmother and nemesis.

“However, if you still desire revenge, if you wish to harm Ji-won, I might be able to help.”

And for the first time, Ji-soo lifted her head from my shoulder to stare at me.

“You’d help me, Undertaker?”

“Yes. But heed my words carefully. Don’t let your guard down, as you did when you first met Ji-won.”

Ji-soo looked into my eyes, then flinched at what she saw there, her shoulders tensing under my gaze. This must have been the first time she met my eyes so directly.

“I am a regressor... When this life ends, another awaits me. Ji-won has long been my lieutenant, and she will remain so in the next life.”

Her expression cracked, revealing a shocked comprehension. The mysteries she had long pondered—why someone like Ji-won had treated her life with so little regard—finally unraveled.

“Ji-soo, I can grant you the right to determine your next life.”

“Ah...”

“I can ensure you and your friends find refuge in Busan, where you’ll live comfortably. Whether that makes you happy is up to you, but at least you’ll be at ease...

“Do you want the means to fight Anomalies? I can assign your reincarnation project to a Baku, guiding your Awakening through dreams without the need for torture. Or if you want, I can share with your future self the events of this cycle. Though you might struggle to grasp the reality, you’d still gain insight into one of the world’s greatest secrets...

“I’m not forcing you to choose just one wish. Everything I’ve mentioned, and anything else you desire—if it’s within my reach, I’ll make it happen.”

Comfort. Strength. Knowledge.

A regressor wasn’t an omnipotent god but was capable of taking responsibility for a single life—albeit one suspended by the temporary reprieve of an apocalyptic world.

“Child who has lost her name... Your scars and hatred are not meaningless. You’ve come this far chasing Ji-won. You earned this moment.”

“Ah.”

“Take your time to think. Ponder and deliberate, then tell me what you desire.”

I patted Ji-soo’s head, adding my warmth to the spot where Ji-won’s fingerprints lingered.

“I’ll be waiting.”

From that day onward, Ji-soo’s “torture theater” came to an abrupt halt.

“Hmm.”

Even on idle holidays without assignments, she no longer dragged Ji-won into secluded alleys.

Ji-won found this peculiar.

“Lately, Ji-soo seems to have her head in the clouds. She often stares blankly at the sky.”

“Well, she must have a lot on her mind.”

“Did you pull some strings, Your Excellency?” she asked sharply.

“Yes. I did.” When only her gnawing silence bit back at me, I asked, “And what of it? What will you do about it?”

“My apologies...”

Her sharpness held no sway over me.

Two months passed this way.

One dawn, as I enjoyed a café au lait outside my tent under the early morning sky, I heard a faint rustling of dewy grass, then Ji-soo appeared.

“Undertaker.”

The blank expression she’d worn for two months had been replaced by resolve. I nodded.

“Good morning. Have you collected your thoughts?”

“Yes.”

“You’re quite thorough. Pondering for two months without respite isn’t easy, even for a monk presented with a koan...”[2]

Ji-soo hesitated.

“Go on. Speak.”

Her lips moved wordlessly several times before she finally managed to squeeze out her words. “Thank you for granting someone like me a wish. But I... I don’t think I should wish for happiness.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve killed people too...”

The words were croaked, as if her voice had come not from the throat but more spilled from the wounds of her heart.

“For revenge. To bring pain to Godmother Yu, I’ve killed seven people who had nothing to do with me. Even though I chose criminals as my targets... Godmother isn’t any different. She’s the same as me.”

So, she had thought this far.

My gaze softened. “Continue.”

“Yes... But I can’t forget the godmother. I don’t want to forget what she’s done.” Her fist tightened by her side, then she called for me. “Undertaker.”

“Yes.”

“You said Godmother Yu is your lieutenant. Is that because she’s exceptionally competent?”

“That’s part of it,” I said with a nod. “She’s resourceful. She always delivers results. She doesn’t hesitate in battles against Anomalies. And, to be honest, she also once wished upon me, just as you are now. That’s why she’s always by my side.”

Ji-soo took a deep breath.

“Can I... take Godmother Yu's place?”

I blinked. It was an unexpected request, even for me. “What?”

“Being by your side... That seems to be the most important thing to Godmother Yu. So I want to take away what matters most to her.”

Her dark green eyes stared straight into mine.

“Please help me replace Godmother Yu.”

Footnotes:

[1] Confucius in his Analects argues calling someone by the improper name and failing to acknowledge what duty is associated with one’s proper title leads to social disorder and the inability to deal with life’s problems as they come.

[2] A koan is a riddle in the form of a story or question presented to monks of Zen Buddhism and designed to allow its practitioner to see their own nature at heart.