The Tale of an Infinite Regressor

< Chapter 1 >

──────

Companion I

Shin Noah

1

Infinite regression.

There exists a genre by such a name.

It refers to the protagonist, who, upon dying, returns to a state prior to death and continuously challenges obstacles—it’s called “infinite regression.”
Naturally, no matter how daunting the challenges may be, the protagonist somehow overcomes them. After all, they simply keep trying until they succeed.

Originally destined for a bad ending, the fate is changed to a happy one, or a subplot heroine doomed to die from an incurable disease is miraculously saved by the protagonist—
Infinite regression is essentially a cheat key that ends all tragedies.

However, as someone who has experienced it firsthand, I can say that the infinite regression described in various novels is nothing but low-grade propaganda.
It’s like those tutoring schools that only hang up banners with the names of students who got into prestigious universities.

“Shit. This isn’t working.”

I set down my cane-sword.

Regression cycle 1183.
The world had ended again. Those destined to succeed will succeed; those not, won’t. I belonged to the latter. No matter how desperately I struggled, I had to finally accept that I could not prevent the world’s destruction.

This is not a story of success but one of failure.
It’s merely an epilogue about someone who, despite possessing the ability of infinite regression, ultimately could not prevent his own destruction.

2

One must first pay attention to the human mental state. That is, mental strength always has an expiration date.
Even if someone looks fine on the outside, something unseen inevitably breaks down as the regressions repeat.

The example I am about to discuss involves an old man named Schopenhauer.

“My direct ancestor was a very famous philosopher.”

‘Old Man Sho’ often boasted of his lineage.
I had indeed heard the name Schopenhauer before. However, honestly, Old Man Sho was far from a philosopher like his ancestor.

“How can you call those muscles? Do some exercise, get moving.”

Despite being 60 years old, his body was muscular.

Old Man Sho, closer to iron (鐵) than philosophy, always emphasized the importance of exercise.

“But, if I regress, all those muscles disappear anyway…”

“Weight training is a habit. Habits don’t disappear.”

Old Man Sho spoke solemnly.

At that time, I possessed the ability to maintain my muscles and inner strength even when returning to the past, a skill known as ‘Continue,’ but back then, I was merely a novice who had only experienced about ten regressions. Therefore, it was quite challenging to sympathize with Old Man Sho’s philosophy.

Our nationalities, generations, tastes, beliefs, and political inclinations were all in stark contrast. Indeed, we had nothing in common.

Yet, there was one sole reason we always stuck together.

“Tch. This regression is doomed again.”

“Indeed.”

Infinite regression.

Yes, Old Man Sho and I were regressors who shared the same ability.

Unusually, in the world I lived in, there were not one but two regressors. Considering that most creative works designate infinite regression to only one person, this was quite peculiar.

“Ah, it’s screwed. We can’t kill that monster.”

“What should we do then?”

“I’ll go ahead, and you come later. While I hold it off, you run and struggle till the end. Then, perhaps, you might see some way out next time?”

“Damn. Always leaving the tough parts to me…”

“Aha! Watch your language! Mind your manners, boy!”

Although he humorously quoted ‘mind your manners’ in perfect Korean pronunciation, Old Man Sho was actually German.

I first met Old Man Sho during my sixth regression. At that time, he could barely say ‘Hello’ in Korean.

However, as soon as he realized that there was another infinite regressor, Old Man Sho devoted himself to studying Korean.

By the 7th and 8th regressions, his Korean proficiency improved by leaps and bounds. Eventually, by the 10th regression, he had become more fluent in Korean than I was—to the extent that he could read the Analects in Korean rather than German.

“Old man, your passion is truly remarkable.”

“You rascal! It’s not passion; it’s habit! You never bothered to learn German, so I had to learn Korean instead! Oh, dear. You are a guy who has even mastered memory skills, why don’t you study? As it is said, ‘Learning is an unending process and there is no shame in not knowing.’ How can someone much younger than me be so reluctant to learn? Tsk tsk…”

“……”

It seemed he had learned a bit too well.

Nevertheless, thanks to Old Man Sho equipping his brain with both K-grumpy power and Korean language skills, our communication became significantly smoother.

Having not one, but two regressors, each equivalent to a cheat key, wasn’t that something?

Sometimes I sacrificed, and at other times it was Old Man Sho who sacrificed. Together, we gradually composed the strategy guide for this world.

“We did it! We’ve finally done it!”

The moment we subdued the monster ‘Shibjok (十足),’ which no one had defeated in ten regressions, we both cheered. After obliterating that hateful mop-like tentacle head, Old Man Sho threw his sword aside and rushed to embrace me.

“Ah, Doctor! Thank you! It’s all thanks to you! I couldn’t have made it this far alone!”

Old Man Sho laughed like a child.

Indeed, from the 6th to the 10th regression, even though we formed a cooperative relationship, somewhere deep down, we remained wary of each other. In a world on the brink of destruction, it was difficult to trust anyone.

Both I and Old Man Sho had seen too much to easily trust someone.

However, when this white-haired German old-timer brightly smiled and hugged me, I felt the last remnants of our mutual suspicion melt away completely.

I looked into Old Man Sho’s grey eyes. I could tell he felt the same.

Yes, we were like pilots who had crash-landed at the end of the century. Though we couldn’t say we were born in the same land, we were comrades who had parachuted toward the same landing spot.

From that day forward, many things became insignificant between us. Nationality, generation, tastes, beliefs, and political inclinations lost their natural gravity.

In an atmosphere where gravity had faded, we felt significantly lighter.

“Truth be told, getting used to this regression ability is really hard.”

Old Man Sho openly shared with me his human side, what in a doomed world would be called a ‘weakness.’

We would fill thermoses with coffee or grab bottles of soju and head to an empty café (many of which were deserted as the baristas had fled when the world fell apart) for modest conversations.

“Why?”

“Every time we regress, we wake up on June 17th. But a minute after we do, my wife dies.”

“What?”

Old Man Sho explained.

June 17th, 13:59. That was when our regression began. But just around 14:00 on June 17th, a gate opens in Seoul, South Korea, and everything south of the Han River is obliterated.

Unlike us, who were in Busan and thus avoided the catastrophe, Old Man Sho’s wife was in Seoul attending a scholarly conference.

“Just one minute. Just a single minute.”

Old Man Sho gulped down the soju.

“My wife was organizing an event in the auditorium at that time. It was a gathering of famous scientists.”

“Even if you warn them that the gate is opening… there’s no escaping it.”

“Yes.”

It was a disaster that turned all of Seoul into a wasteland. Even if Old Man Sho had regressed and immediately called to tell her to evacuate, avoiding the tragedy was physically impossible.

“Calling her is futile; she won’t pick up immediately. When there’s an important event, she sets her phone to silent… I have to call her three times in a row for her to answer.”

“…”

“Then, there’s no time left. I can barely manage to tell her I love her, then there’s a thud from the sky, and the phone cuts off. Just about 10 seconds. That’s all the time I get to hear my wife’s voice…”

“What about other family members?”

“None. My wife is all I have.”

Old Man Sho muttered to himself.

Real name, Emit Schopenhauer. Alias, Swordmaster.

I felt I understood why he was so obsessed with gaining immense power.

With each regression, Old Man Sho’s tolerance for alcohol increased. During the 9th regression, he would drink soju and claim, “This isn’t alcohol,” but by the 19th regression, he was drinking three bottles at a sitting.

“Even if I drink myself to death, the regression resets my liver, so it’s a gain, isn’t it? Eheheh…”

Despite his words, Old Man Sho’s complexion was not bright.

At this point, he had survived approximately 120 years in total through his regressions.

However, the time he had spent talking with his wife amounted to only about 120 seconds.

The journey of the old man crossing a desert to sip a drop of water was becoming increasingly harsh.

“There must be someone with teleportation abilities.”

Gradually, Old Man Sho’s goals began to change.

“Yes?”

“It’s about the teleporter. If we can find him, as soon as the regression begins, I can rush to my wife.”

“No… Sir. Even if there is a teleporter somewhere in the world, how do we gather within a minute? After we regress, it still takes at least 30 minutes to meet up.”

“……”

Old Man Sho closed his mouth.

I could tell that it was not a silence of affirmation.

During a hundred years, my companion, who had tried to prevent destruction with me, increasingly fell into bizarre thoughts. He murmured incessantly.

“If we find resurrection magic, couldn’t we bring the dead back to life?”

“If I could copy someone else’s abilities, obtaining both teleportation and telepathy, I could definitely solve all problems within a minute.”

“We can do it. We definitely can.”

It was like a collapsing sandcastle.

The peak of the collapse was the 23rd loop.

As soon as the regression started, I followed the same routine as always. I cleared the dungeonized Busan Station within 30 minutes and headed to the prearranged meeting place. It was the hideout we had discovered in old loops.

“Huh? Sir? Sir, aren’t you here?”

No one was in the underground training center. I couldn’t find any signs of entry.

“……”

Feeling an ominous premonition, I immediately moved.

My starting point was Busan Station. Old Man Sho was at the old Baekje Hospital building.

I passed by an elementary school, now half-destroyed by the rampage of monsters, and entered the old hospital building. Everyone had already evacuated, so it was empty.

Old Man Sho was dead on the rooftop.

“……”

It wasn’t murder.

At the starting point, there was no one capable of killing Old Man Sho—neither monsters nor humans, not even myself.

He was the only one who could have killed himself.

Old Man Sho’s body was headless, but his torso was intact. He was clutching a smartphone in his left hand.

“Crazy.”