The Tales of an Infinite Regressor

Chapter 89 – The Pursuer III

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Chapter 89

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The Pursuer III

6

I am, in essence, a storyteller who crafts my experiences into tales to share with all of you. Therefore, unless my brain loses its taste and begins to believe itself to be an all-knowing divine being, my stories inevitably stick to the first-person narrative.

However, there are times when I envy the wholesalers of tales, those who speak in the third person or indulge in narrative gymnastics.

Just imagine. How enjoyable it would be to mock and ridicule from an omnipotent perspective?

Unfortunately, I lack the skills to evolve into a divine being at the end of a story or the ability to possess others. Thus, narrating events from a third-person perspective or immersing myself in someone else’s first-person perspective is simply impossible for me.

Nevertheless… there are beings upon whom no guilt weighs, no matter what mischief they commit.

For instance, wouldn’t it be possible to distort history regarding these anomalies?

So, I gave it a try.

“Here come the guards! Here come the guards!”

The anomalies trembled in fear (of course, such conversations likely never happened), shouting from the shadows.

“To think we should feel fear from mere humans! Isn’t it shameful for anomalies like us?”

“Stop! Don’t put on your masks! Those who couldn’t bear it and charged forward never returned!”

“Hail to the anomalies! For the glory of the underworld!”

“The Agrippa ghost in the art room, defeated! Lost! No life signs detected!”

“You fool. Believing in a topic made of marble with no physical immunity!”

“This is unbelievable. The Beethoven portrait in the music room is unresponsive. With the words ‘Symphony Tool’ written on Beethoven’s portrait, he died! Blood is flowing from Beethoven’s lips!”

“The anatomical specimen ghost in the biology room was found with all its organs shattered! There are letters like ‘Arrhythmia’ in the heart, ‘Diabetes’ in the kidneys, and… ‘Noh Doha’? Unidentifiable characters are written on the tongue like a curse!”

“No! This is outrageous! We are the strongest among the tutorial dungeons that have arrived on the Korean Peninsula, the school ghost story! Yet our aces are perishing without even attempting resistance?”

“Enemy shadows, approaching! They’re coming this way! Ahh! The flashlight! That light! Our eyes!”

“Block them! Protect at all costs!”

“Here come the guards! Here come the guards!”

“Aaaahhhh! Help! Help!”

Thus, ended a delightful session of distorting history.

But no matter how much history is distorted, the truth does not disappear.

Here, the truth is that all the ghosts from the first to the third floor of the school building have been cleaned up by me.

Day 2 of exploration.

After exorcising the ghost of the “student left alone in the after-school classroom” on the third floor, I installed a notice board near the staircase for easy identification.

[Patrol completed]

With this, the lower floors of the school building have all turned into safe zones. We returned from the void of “school ghost stories” to the reality of “Baekhwa Girls’ High School.”

“What truly matters… is the fourth floor, isn’t it?”

I muttered to myself. When purging the void alone, it was quite useful to constantly engage in such self-talk.

“It’s a way to check one’s consciousness.”

If unintended murmurs emerge or if such murmurs feel like “my words,” it’s a sign that a brainwashing anomaly has appeared nearby.

Of course, there were drawbacks to talking to oneself.

“Venturing to the fourth floor is extremely dangerous. But that’s probably where the most trapped survivors are.”

“Yeah. They’re probably starting to show up soon.”

*Clang!*

Without hesitation, I wielded my staff-sword ‘Doha’ and stamped my shadow.

“Aaaaaahhh!”

As it is now, excessive self-talk could inadvertently summon anomalies like doppelgangers.

However, if precautions were taken in advance, one could deliberately continue murmuring to lure in the doppelgangers.

My shadow, imprinted on the staff-sword ‘Doha’, wriggled and twisted.

“How? How? How?”

“It’s all thanks to the triumph of civilization, anomaly.”

With a swoosh, I pulled out the earphones from my left ear. A small microphone was attached to the lapel of the security guard uniform.

I was listening in real-time to my own murmurs through the earphones. Both the microphone and the earphones were connected to a smartphone, and I intentionally reproduced my voice in low quality.

If there was a “voice coming from the earphones recorded at a completely different distance or sound quality,” it would be evidence of a brainwashing anomaly nearby.

And the method to purge the doppelgangers was simple.

“Try speaking the name of the Saintess.”

“…? …”

“You can’t answer. You’re not me.”

Bubbling and bubbling, the shadow boiled and then *pop*! The bubbles burst, and after they all burst, my shadow returned to normal.

Since hearing the Saintess’s real name for the 36th time, I never spoke to her again. As a doppelganger living only for this session, it could not have known the Saintess’s real name.

So, ‘I’ and ‘you’ were different. The denial of identity. As a flawed anomaly, it could no longer sustain existence and collapsed.

“You persistent one. If you’re trying to brainwash me, at least bring your A-game.”

But it wasn’t over yet.

I reattached the earphones and microphone. This time, I took out a walkie-talkie from my pocket.

“Alright. This is Security Guard Chief. Currently proceeding from the first floor, through the second and third floors, to the fourth floor. Over. Continuing night patrol as usual.”

“Copy…”

“Gotcha.”

Confirming the presence of a walkie-talkie anomaly that wouldn’t respond.

Immediately, I played the phrase “Continuing night patrol as usual” on loop with my phone recorder.

But I sped it up tenfold.

Naturally, the walkie-talkie’s speed, which had to respond to my words, became urgent.

“Copy, copy, copy, copy.”

“Oh, quite resistant, aren’t you?”

I increased the speed to twenty times.

“Copy, copy, copy, copy, co…py, copy, copy, copy, copy, copy, copy, copy, copy, copy.”

Boom!

Before 60 seconds had passed, the walkie-talkie exploded on its own.

There was no value in a walkie-talkie that couldn’t respond properly.

“This is Security Guard Chief. Proceeding to the fourth floor. ‘Continuing night patrol as usual’ on the stairs. Over.”

“…”

There was no response from anywhere. Just in case, I glanced at the school speaker on the wall, but it remained silent too.

Exorcism complete.

With this, most of the brainwashing anomalies were likely eradicated.

“Hmm.”

In the silence of the stairwell, I glanced upwards for a moment.

The fourth floor.

The death floor.

In the void where stairs or elevators existed, along with the ’13th floor’ and ‘sub-basement 4th floor,’ it was the most dangerous area.

One shouldn’t laugh at wordplay using the pronunciation of ‘death.’ It could lead to a stream of consciousness flowing through the nostrils like in the case of Egypt’s Mira.

“Playing jokes with words in the world.” That very act of language is the essence of humanity.

Wordplay using homonyms forms the basis of comedy and poetry. For the human race striving to dominate the world through language, it’s also a cornerstone of sorcery.

Wise readers would have already noticed.

Yes, that’s right. This is the reason why I insist on calling myself the Chief and never mention the Saintess’s real name.

Simply revealing the real name could be exploited for sorcery.

Unless one is like Noh Doha or Tang Seorin, active in the underworld. Beings like us, who only become free when we ‘hide our identities,’ must even conceal our names under pseudonyms.

[Proofreader – Gun]

“Let’s see.”

I opened the trunk and took out ‘money.’

There were two main types of money.

One was a pouch full of gold and silver coins. The other was a stack of banknotes from various countries, bundled in bundles of two hundred each.

I used the stairs leading to the fourth floor as an altar and arranged gold coins, silver coins, and banknotes side by side. I even bit a silver coin with my teeth.

And quietly closed my eyes to chant.

“…”

Swoosh.

A faint breeze brushed against my cheek. When I opened my eyes, the money I had placed on the stairs had completely disappeared.

“Tsk…”

On the other hand, the silver coin I bit remained intact. I spat out the coin and tucked it back into the trunk.

“Goodness. The Grim Reaper really knows how to feast on a good stash of cash.”

To enter the realm of death, or ‘the underworld,’ unscathed, I had to show some respect in my own way.

That was through offering money.

Depending on what kind of anomaly ruled the realm of death, the type and amount of money for offerings varied greatly.

The money I had just placed on the altar included not only banknotes but also gold and silver coins from ‘coins issued by various countries around the world.’ There were even silver coins from Greece and gold coins from Venice.

But here, in the ‘school legend,’ the ‘underworld’ existing didn’t discriminate or bother about nationality; it simply greedily took all the offerings.

That was the sound of a greedy anomaly.

However, this was not bad news.

On the contrary, it was almost a piece of welcome news, something to embrace with open arms.

“Would you like me to spit out what you’ve taken?”

It was a simple transaction indeed.

The more greedily they devoured the offering, the more ‘favor’ they had to bestow upon me.

Karón, the ferryman of the underworld, wasn’t foolish enough to set a fixed price of one silver coin for everyone, regardless of their age or gender.

There was wisdom in Karón’s decision to avoid protests demanding resignation due to controversies over fairness.

But just now, didn’t the ‘anomaly of the underworld’ consume an amount that exceeded 100 million, even without considering the historical value of gold and silver coins? And this was from someone who hadn’t even died yet.

This was a bribery offense with no room for excuses, no matter the religion or mythological system.

Embezzlement. Corruption. Favoritism controversies.

As a citizen of a staunch democratic society, all I could do was burst into laughter. I boldly walked towards the most dangerous area of the ‘school legend.’

Step by step.

Step by step.

As soon as I reached the fourth floor, true to its reputation as the worst area, fleshy red masses wriggled and rushed towards me from all directions—

“…?”

—they couldn’t move. The crimson tentacles all froze in front of my nose.

As if there were an invisible barrier surrounding my body.

Drumming…

The dark corridor. Like the mouth of hell, from the black corridor on the other side, a gold coin rolled out with a clunk and tapped my foot.

I grinned.

“Not accepting.”

“…”

“No refunds.”

“…?”

Drumming, drumming, drumming.

Gold coins and silver coins rolled one after another from the other side of the corridor. As time passed, numerous coins piled up at my feet, but I paid them no mind.

“I said I’m not taking money. Besides, if you can’t pay money to humans, you’ll have to pay with limbs or something for their lives, won’t you?”

“…”

“With the current interest rates, I wonder how much this collateral debt will increase. We’ll see in a bit.”

Ignoring the request for a refund, I walked on, and the illusion of fleshy masses that had surrounded me disappeared all at once.

Only a normal school corridor was visible.

It wasn’t entirely rid of the ‘underworld’ yet. As evidence, the windows of the corridor still glowed red, and there were bloody handprints here and there.

But at least for a while, my surroundings would be protected from the curse of the ‘underworld.’

Maybe that’s why.

Whoosh, whooo, whooo, whooo, whooo—

The wooden corridor echoed with cheerful footsteps. Despite that, they maintained a steady weight. The rhythm of a living organism, with the breath flowing and muscles contracting, unique to a living being.

Not an anomaly, but human footsteps.

“Hyaaah-!”

The rhythm of that living being was confirmed even in the foster. From the wooden corridor, a human in a white school uniform jumped over in an instant, jumping up and kicking towards me with their right foot.

An excellent jump. A splendid kick.

I lowered my head and grabbed the opponent’s shoe. Shake. The black-and-red Air Jordan basketball shoe paused.

Although the weight of the comforter was transferred along with the kick, I skillfully managed to control it with the palm of my hand.

“Hyaaat?”

The opponent was perplexed. An orange ponytail swayed in the air.

For a moment, our eyes met.

“—Human? Huh? An adult?!”

Instead of slamming the opponent onto the corridor, I gently landed them on the ground to prevent them from breaking their waist.

“Ack! Huuk! Gahak!”

The opponent staggered, unable to regain their balance, and eventually fell on the corridor. But since I had slowed down all the momentum, they didn’t seem to have suffered any injuries.

“Ow… um, wait. An adult? Really an adult?”

“Mhm.”

I nodded.

“Yeah, I’m human.”

“Aaah…! F-finally! You’ve come to save me!”

Their face turned pale.

Although their appearance was quite different from when we met later on, the name tag attached to their front pocket proved that the person in front of me was indeed the one I had been searching for.

The Awakened one who would later become the strongest necromancer in the Korean Peninsula.

Former runner-up in the national high school basketball girls’ division. Her main position was point guard.

The 113th student council president of Baekhwa Girls’ High School. A unique witness linked to the cult ‘Mugan.’

Cheon Yohwa.

Heavenly silk, lonely longing, and the potential for transformation. A name imbued with a hint of the transcendent.

Finally, the moment had come when I encountered my target in the worst tutorial dungeon.

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