Infinite Regressor, Chapter 455 - I’m an Infinite Regressor, But I’ve Got Stories to Tell

3. "Hmm, Zhang Dou." "Yes, Sword Marquess." "Just observing you in meditation could serve as an inspiration for all martial artists." Martial arts training session. Haeundae Beach. On the sandy beach, Seo Gyu and the last remaining bodybuilders of the apocalypse were indulging in a luxurious display of strength training. A little away from the sweaty sand, the Undertaker and the Sword Marquess elegantly honed their internal energy techniques. In truth, Homo sapiens were not equipped with a mysterious organ called the danjeon to store inner strength and contract ailments. Nevertheless, the Sword Marquess often insisted on adhering to the martial world’s worldview in this manner. What if his demands weren’t met? The Sword Marquess would similarly lose respect for the 'reality' worldview. Which meant the food security of Busan would collapse—no stable wheat supply for the Haeundae Bakery—and most importantly, it meant distancing from the threat of murder by Director Noh Do-hwa. Therefore, the Undertaker had to regularly engage in warm, friendly exchanges with the Sword Marquess. "In movement there is tranquility; this epitomizes the protocol of breathing exercises!" The Sword Marquess gazed admiringly at his companion. "Zhang Dou has indeed reached the pinnacle of internal energy mastery. I cannot even tell if he's breathing or blinking!" "...Thank you." The Undertaker held back. Every time he engaged in breathing exercises, he resisted the urge to question which baseless wuxia setting involved placing a cassette tape radio beside him and blasting "Men Should Be Strong." After all, isn't the title Dou (道友), meaning comrade, wuxia enough? Historically, Korea was lenient in allowing characters from wuxia to travel between fantasy and contemporary settings, but rigid in language etiquette. So, no matter how extraordinary a leader was, he could never leap over the decorum. What the Undertaker suppressed was another truth. 'If I don't train, the Saintess will find out...' Exactly. Even in a world where [Time Stop] had occurred, the freedom of thought had continued for several months already. The Undertaker was beginning to sense that the range of his freedom was transitioning from a mental state to a physical state. In other words, he could move. 'Breathing and blinking work. If I concentrate hard, even my legs move slightly.' However. Such freedom was by no means welcomed by the Undertaker. 'The mere act of breathing exponentially increases the likelihood of the Saintess discovering me!' Training. Solely training. It's natural for the human body to feel restless after remaining still for a short while. Yet the Undertaker, with profound patience, performed 'stillness' for 5, 6, sometimes over 15 days. Purely voluntarily. The epitome of self-control! "Seeing Zhang Dou attain such a lofty state, I too cannot remain idle. Behold the Tai Chi I acquired during my youthful wanderings of the martial world――" At that moment. The world was cloaked in black and white. 'Again! It’s happening again!' The Undertaker instinctively inhaled. "Hmmmmm!" It was uncertain how long this installment of [Time Stop] would last. To withstand the cruel current, at the very least, breathing had to be indulged without restraint. Sure enough. "Mm." Footsteps. The sound of an unidentified being walking across the sand in the distance could be heard. The Undertaker couldn't rashly move his gaze nor expand his aura to sense. He had no choice but to wait until it naturally entered his line of sight. Finally, someone appeared in the midst of the 'frozen' world. Of course, it was the Saintess. "…Due to recent strange advisories, I hadn’t been able to take long walks, and now I feel like I'm gaining weight." Surveying the Sword Marquess's stance with interest, the Saintess pondered aloud. "Tai Chi… I’ve heard it's quite famous in China as a form of health exercise. Might it not be helpful if I learn it too?" So, the Saintess began replicating his stances, following the example with her backpack placed aside. "Hmmph, hmmmph-." The Saintess practiced with intensity, trying to mimic the poses. Click. After mastering one stance, she would dash to the nearby beach restroom to resume time. Click. Freeze. Learn another pose and hide in the restroom again to resume time. Click. Freeze. 'Saintess…' Watching this entire panorama, as if viewing an old, malfunctioning film projector, the Undertaker observed from the front row. 'Were you wasting time doing these silly things in secret all along…' Quite—no, exceedingly—off-putting. 'Even your posture is inaccurate. Saintess, in this round, staying inactive in your room has really diminished your physical function…' Truthfully, the Saintess had untapped potential when it came to physical activity. Yet for precisely this reason, the Undertaker sought to avoid any point investment in her physical training. Certainly, the second season of indiscriminate axe-wielding must be averted. 'I assumed your interest revolved solely around studies and intellectual pursuits. But secretly, you were also concerned with exercise…' Guilt crept in. A viscous sense of sin slithered up slowly. 'I didn't want to know this!' Glancing at the Saintess, who tripped on a challenging pose and ended up face-first in the sand. The Undertaker internally cried out. 'I absolutely had no intention of invading the Saintess’s privacy!' 'Yet why... why is such a trial only given to me?!' 'Is it an anomaly? It must be an anomaly. Nothing but the trickery of some anomaly. Indeed. Absolutely so!' The Saintess brushed off the sand from her face. "Ugh, um… Seems I’m not quite ready for this." She walked away with a downcast expression (something the Undertaker could decipher). Even the manner in which she retreated was peculiar. Instead of a straightforward walk, she backtracked and meticulously erased each footprint she had left in the sand. 'It appears… that’s how she always erased her traces whenever she came to Haeundae…' What dedication, indeed. Somehow, his heart felt a gentle ache along its edges, and the Undertaker sensed an unusual energy. 'Huh?' This energy was not coming from the outside. It was arising from within the Undertaker himself, similar to the internal energy he had trained with the Sword Marquess just a moment before. 'A sneeze?' It was a given in martial arts practice that encountering an internal deviation, or 'demon', was a widespread rule. 'Now? Really, a sneeze now?' The Undertaker felt his vital energy twist violently. 'Oh no! Not now!' Though the Saintess had retreated a bit, she was still within the field of view. If he made even the slightest sound, there was no way the Saintess would fail to notice. Moreover, the Undertaker couldn't dismiss the possibility that the Saintess was sharing 'someone's' perspective. Who could know if she was just amusing herself by sharing the Undertaker’s viewpoint while tediously erasing her sand footprints? The Undertaker. 'Hnnng— Huff huff, huh, hoot, hott, oh, oh?' Held it in. He even stifled the trembling of his fingertips. He had to. Otherwise, he was doomed. Who? The Undertaker. And the Saintess. And? The world would meet its demise, jovially sipping udumbara cocktails on the rocks. 'Saintess, please. Please just move farther away. Quickly. Argh! Just use your aura to erase the traces swiftly! Why go through the trouble of diligently erasing footprints one by one, huh, hh.... oh, it can't be—' Thus. "…Achoo." A small sound. So small that it was too quiet to be a grown man's sneeze, a noise gentler than a dragonfly's wing beat, filtered into the frozen world. Whoosh. The Saintess, who had been erasing footprints, raised her head instantly. Reflexively. Automatically. Very, incredibly swiftly. "…." Fixated. The Saintess stared in the direction where the Undertaker sat. The Undertaker remained in a meditative posture, with no thoughts or desires. He was one with nature, and nature was him. He demonstrated the state of unity between subjective and objective thought. "…." Fixated. The Saintess continued to stare at the Undertaker. Not only stared, but maintained her expressionless demeanor as she did so. She walked over. "…." Fixated. Fiiiiiixated. Fixated. She walked, moving left and right, yet her gaze never wavered from the Undertaker’s face. She approached. She advanced. She stood before him. "…." "..." Whoosh. The Saintess placed her hand beneath the Undertaker's nose. Silence ensued. "This is strange." "…." "I’m certain I heard a sound. And it seemed like the view moved slightly." Internally, the Undertaker screamed. She really was sharing his field of vision through [Clairvoyance]! "No, come to think of it, didn't the Saintess mention as she excels in clairvoyance, she views not from a first-person but a third-person perspective!" Thus, it would be easier than child's play for her to maintain simultaneous perspectives of both herself and the Undertaker, present within the same sandy setting. "Mr. Undertaker?" No thoughts. "Mr. Undertaker." No desires. "By any chance… are you watching? Or perhaps, aware of me? Surely not, right, Mr. Undertaker?" I am not the Undertaker. I am a statue. I am a goblin, and an orc, and the mother of a centaur who bore another centaur. My veins run with the barista's brew—I am a living caffeine being. "Hwaaa—" Without warning, the Saintess blew a puff of breath towards the Undertaker's eyes. '……!' He almost blinked, which would have led to a catastrophe. Instead, his heart skipped in shock. His eyelids were steel, his will of glass. Indeed, even consuming millennia’s worth of experience through time loops could not compare to a true veteran’s degree of poise. The Undertaker succeeded in maintaining his unyielding pose by mentally reciting every prayer and unique bounded field activation phrase he knew. "……." After staring intently at such an Undertaker. "Ahem." Suddenly, the Saintess coughed lightly, possibly embarrassed by her actions. Was it just his imagination, or did her cheeks appear faintly flushed? "I did something… odd, didn't I. Um, yes. This kind of suspicion is unhealthy. I must have been mistaken." The Saintess steadied her breath. Then she brought a step box from the nearby outdoor gym area, stood on it, and gently patted the Undertaker’s head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Undertaker. Of course, you can’t hear me." "……." "I always trust Mr. Undertaker." Guilt! "And because of that, even in a frozen world, I always try not to overstep the boundaries. Although, I’m not sure if I always practice what I preach… Still. Thinking of your trust, I’ll keep trying." Guilt-riddenness! "…And yet, if I'm starting to entertain strange doubts, perhaps it's time to end this ‘game’." The Undertaker nearly cried out. 'Really? Hallelujah! Thank you, Saintess! Thank you, Messiahs!' Just as the classical music his mind played was shifting from the Symphony of Fate to the Symphony of Joy, the Saintess's mutter dug in. "But if I stop even this pastime, what will stave off my descent?" ……. "Maintaining one’s humanity. For that, one needs a hobby. Mr. Undertaker taught me this… Yet, besides studies, I've failed to discover a hobby that truly fits me. Sigh. Maybe this is my limit." ……. "A hobby. A pastime that lets one be oneself without losing oneself. Like how Mr. Undertaker spends his holiday loops effectively. Where could that be…?" Pondering such matters she’s never shared with anyone, this time the Saintess truly departed. Naturally, not forgetting to squat and erase her footprints with every backward step. Watching her pitiful form. "……." The Undertaker decided. To reshape his heart's substance from glass to steel. 4. The next day. "Mr. Undertaker." "Oh, welcome, Saintess. Did you drop by during your morning walk?" "Yes. Ah, coffee. Thank you." "Not at all. It's me who should be thanking you always." "Um… Well, I'm not quite sure how to begin…" "Oh dear! Please, speak freely. Is there something on your mind?" "...Yes. I actually have a small hobby." "Ohhh." "But sometimes, even though this hobby never harms others, it touches upon my conscience. If that’s the case, should I stop engaging in it?" "No, no! What are you saying! Of course, you should continue with your hobby, Saintess!" "Oh… Is that so?" "Yes, indeed. As Awakened beings like us, we must always allow ourselves some leisure. Otherwise, our hearts wear down to nothing. Just look at me. Isn’t it a mess that a regressor like me takes holiday loops? Haha. Whatever hobby it is, Saintess, I'm sure it’s more modest than mine." "Well… but my conscience…" "As long as you don't get caught. If you don't get caught, it's fine." "...Really? Is it?" "It is." "Hmm, yes... Um. Thank you, Mr. Undertaker. Thanks to you, I feel a bit relieved." "I'm glad to hear that I could help, even a little. So, you’ve decided to continue with your hobby?" "Yes. Now that I've heard your reassurance, I think I'll really try to let myself go a bit." "I'll cheer you on." "Thank you." "Haha. Don’t mention it." Today’s lesson: The road to hell is always paved with good intentions.