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

Eschatologist VI

“Hooah! Urrrrgghh!”

The Sword Demon charged.

However, compared to when he sliced my neck in one move, his movements were now like those of an old caterpillar.

In a bad sense, his footwork had changed. To avoid the mines (statues) I had planted all over the city, the Sword Demon was forced into inefficient paths.

Of course, it was hard to believe that Old Man Scho, who had fallen into corruption, still maintained the same fervent political ideology as before.

In fact, the statues I made the most were of Adele, Old Man Scho's wife.

Statues of her were hiding behind the statues of Marx and Luxemburg.

About 90% of the reason the Sword Demon hesitated in his iconoclasm was because of those statues of his wife.

One might wonder if I really needed the communist statues at all, but such a question would be against the anti-communist ideology of the Korean peninsula.

Why would I pass up the opportunity to legally ridicule and humiliate that senile old man? It was a fun event that came after thousands of years.

Regressors must enjoy things when they can.

Some of the wife's statues weren't just busts but half-body statues. I even added her right arm to make the “fuck you” gesture.

Hundreds of middle fingers were proudly raised at Old Man Scho.

The desolate ruins of the city had become a bit more interesting with these exterior decorations. This was environmental beautification and urban aesthetics at their best.

“...! ...!”

The Sword Demon howled again at my thoroughly prepared gift attack. He must have been touched by the dedication of an old comrade.

I couldn’t understand the language of anomalies well, but if translated into German, it would probably have meant ‘Danke.’

From behind me, Go Yuri muttered.

“Interesting...”

Leaving the amused observer behind, our exchange of swords—or rather, cane sword and steel pipe—became fierce.

Even if the opponent was Old Man Scho, who had reached max potential, fighting was manageable when his movements were restricted.

“Grrrr!”

The Sword Demon, frustrated, jumped into the air.

His plan was to leave no chance of stepping on the statues!

However, it was a half-baked plan. Apparently, that old man had been on vacation for so long that he had forgotten what kind of person I, the Undertaker, was.

“Look at me—!”

Rip!

I tore off my shirt without hesitation. From behind, Go Yuri laughed, “Oh my.”

But my stripping wasn’t for fan service. Nor was it to provoke the enemy like some holy knight tank.

It was purely out of a desire to show Old Man Scho the portrait drawn on my underwear.

A canvas-like white undershirt.

On it was a portrait of Mrs. Adele.

“...!”

Old Man Scho stopped mid-air as if he had collided with a car.

His fingers trembled as they clutched the steel pipe. His mouth hung open, producing only monstrous sounds, “Ugh—ugh?”

From his perspective, he had just witnessed a sudden masterpiece, so worship was inevitable.

Moreover, not only on the clothes but also on my forearms, hands, and feet, I had tattoos of Mrs. Adele.

The [Wife Shield], a complete upgrade of the [Friend Shield], had descended here.

“Try to attack, old man. Try to attack! Where will you strike? My neck? Do you see the ADELE tattooed here?”

“Ugh, ugh... Huh?”

“Cut it if you can! You rotten old man!”

The Sword Demon was at a loss. Even the Old Man Scho, who had abandoned friendship and fled, couldn’t move against ‘love.’

Remember, this is the orthodox way to deal with anomalies.

Servants go to great lengths to hide their true names for a reason. Knowing their identity reveals their weaknesses, and once you grasp that weakness, the stiff neck of the anomaly turns into a chicken neck.

From now on, it was my turn.

I charged with my entire body covered in an AT Field specially designed against the no-show.

“I’ve wanted to punch you for a thousand years!”

“Urrrrgh!”

Strike. Strike. And strike again.

Each time I swung my cane sword, Do-hwa, the Sword Demon could only dodge.

Even then, Old Man Scho’s murky eyes kept scanning my skin, checking for gaps that didn’t have a portrait or tattoo of Mrs. Adele.

But I didn’t make the mistake of leaving my ankles as the only clean area, unlike a goddess trying to make a baby invincible.

As a Korean who grew up reading stories like ‘The Child Warrior Udoori’, which taught resilience from an early age, I avoided such fatal mistakes.

“Hrrrgh...”

In the end, Old Man Scho couldn’t find any weakness on my body. The Sword Demon couldn’t maintain his mid-air hover and fell.

His only option left was to get beaten by me.

And the beating targeted both his body and mind. I wasn’t a dualist like Descartes, treating the physical and mental separately.

“Emit, what’s wrong?”

“...?!”

“I’m at the conference right now! My God, have you been drinking? Why are you acting like a child? Wait a moment, Emit. I hear something strange in the sky!”

The lines spilling from my mouth.

They were an exact copy-paste of a 30-second phone call Old Man Scho had with his wife.

Highly developed plagiarism is indistinguishable from the original.

I not only copied the dialogue but also perfectly mimicked the voice. I converted the vibrations of the sound waves into aura, successfully reproducing ‘Mrs. Adele’s voice.’

This strategy was inspired by the 107th cycle when I fought the corrupted version of the Saintess, the Executioner. Using a tactic created by a fallen one against another fallen one was an achievement of human intellect.

“My brother’s name is Maximillian! God, Emit, what are you talking about? This is driving me crazy. Hold on, let’s talk about this in person later!”

“Ugh, ugh, urgh...”

Old Man Scho was helpless against my ‘voice phishing’ strategy.

The mental resilience of a German crumbled in real time against a Korean scam attack.

“Well, well...”

Watching our fight, Go Yuri had a look of sheer ecstasy on her face.

It was like the expression of someone who bought a pastry from a subway bakery that smelled amazing and found it tasted just as good. Just watching seemed to satisfy her.

The battle continued for one, two, three, four days.

In this fierce battle, I wasn’t just releasing thousands of years of accumulated stress on Old Man Scho. That was only 85% of the purpose.

The remaining 15% was to learn by observing the ‘answer sheet,’ as I had told Go Yuri.

‘This anomaly before me is, after all, a manifestation of the potential talent Old Man Scho might have developed.’

Hoo—

I controlled my breathing as I deflected the opponent’s aura and stared straight at the Sword Demon.

Rather than orthodox techniques, it was a mix of unconventional and demonic arts. It was closer to a level built through sinister energy rather than pure martial aura, yet the Sword Demon was undeniably one of the possibilities for ‘Emit Schopenhauer’ as a martial artist.

My gaze sharpened.

‘I must remember as much as possible.’

The grip on the sword handle.

The direction of his swings. The proportion and method of mixing feints into his attacks. The angles at which he added weight to his strikes and the speed at which he deftly parried. The way he utilized aura in his swordsmanship.

If Old Man Scho had not dropped out of the game from the 23rd cycle, he might have eventually developed such sword techniques.

‘I’ll observe, remember, and pass it on.’

For the Old Man Scho who would return someday.

Therefore, I extended the battle as long as possible, even though I could have ended it faster.

I introduced numerous scenarios. How would he react if attacked from the left?

How would he defend against an ambush of formless aura while pretending to swing a sword?

What if I did this? What about that? Oh, what about this?

I threw countless question marks at my enemy.

“Urrrrgh!”

And my comrade answered with countless exclamation points.

Pounding those curved question marks into his unique exclamation marks, that was the path the martial artist walked.

Even if a human fell into being an anomaly, their blade remained straight.

‘I can’t quite grasp the subtleties.’

I admitted it honestly. As Old Man Scho said, my martial talent was rather lacking.

I had hoped for something, but my senses weren’t dramatically impressed by the dazzling display of swordsmanship and footwork unfolding before me.

Moments of enlightenment or breakthroughs commonly seen in martial arts novels didn’t seem to have any connection with me.

As a martial artist, I was less than mediocre.

‘But if I accurately imitate and demonstrate it, Old Man Scho will understand the hidden meanings.’

However, as a supporter, I had supreme talent.

I rarely felt more grateful for the [Complete Memory] ability than now.

I was always faithful to the role assigned to me as a regressor in this world. I helped my comrades. Supported them. Connected them.

I used time and death, the absolute barriers for mortal humans, as stepping stones to link the frontline like a thread.

“Old man, you’re not fighting me right now, nor are you fighting to defeat me.”

The dark aura and the night-sky-colored aura intertwined.

“Ugh! Hrr, hurrrgh!”

“You’re fighting to become a better person than you are now. This is quite a fortuitous thing. After all, isn’t every battle a duel with oneself?”

“...!”

“I’ll make a prediction. Someday, you will lose your life under your own blade.”

The battle that had lasted all night for four days was gradually coming to an end.

I thought of it as a long letter that the current Old Man Scho was sending to his future self.

In the past, people exchanged letters with recorded game moves to play Go over long distances.

So it wouldn’t be strange for two martial artists to pass on their martial arts across a bit of time.

“... Ugh, ugh...”

The Sword Demon was completely exhausted.

Even a slaughter machine driven solely by ‘love for his wife’ had its limits.

Due to the inherent limitations of being based on a human body, the Sword Demon’s muscles were weary from endless minor wounds, and his heart groaned under relentless fatigue.

The aura was not infinite either.

In the battlefield environment, manipulated to be thoroughly advantageous to me, it was Old Man Scho whose engine cooled down first.

Pop, pop, pop—

The once grand aura of the Sword Demon, enough to turn broad daylight into night sky, had diminished to nothing.

Like a broken TV occasionally showing noise, the night-sky color flickered around Old Man Scho’s shoulders.

If the Sword Demon was the fallen form of Old Man Scho.

That sight was the collapse of that anomaly.

Yes. Although it might be paradoxical for a regressor like me to say, many events have an end.

The time to bury the small time capsule in my mind was approaching.

“Ugh, ugh... huh...”

As I stepped back, the Sword Demon reflexively swung his steel pipe.

Sway—

The strike was pathetic, slicing only through the air.

The Sword Demon tried to follow me, but his steps faltered, and he fell. His ankles were slashed with dozens of wounds like a tree stump poorly felled by an unskilled lumberjack.

The Sword Demon tried to crawl with his hands.

But his nails were all broken from the rough handling of aura.

Crunch! Each time the Sword Demon moved, blood gushed from his ten broken nails.

The Sword Demon’s blood was pitch black, smelling like charcoal.

A long trail of ash followed.

“......”

I raised Do-hwa.

Determined to deliver the final blow to Old Man Scho, to his remnants, to his bad ending.

If Old Man Scho were to die, I thought for a long time that I would be the only one qualified to conduct his funeral.

But I had to momentarily pause my downward strike.

Old Man Scho wasn’t crawling towards me, the one he had fought for four days straight.

“...Ah...”

He was crawling a little further back.

“...Adele... Ah...”

He was heading towards Go Yuri.

Footnotes:

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