Chapter 101 - The Sharer II

3

The world was an endless hell.

Perhaps I had named the first God of Alienation-class anomaly I encountered Gapless because my subconscious had labeled that word the proper name for this world.

“Hweee! Thirty-one people died in this stage!”

“...”

“Not a bad figure, but a poor showing compared with other dungeons... You need to try a little harder! With results like these, the rewards I can give you will be very meager indeed... Hup!”

“... This is...”

“Pigswill porridge! I heard the locals often ate it when there was a war here!”

Few immediately realized that the war in question was the Korean War.

Nor did any of the survivors know that pigswill porridge was made by boiling the contents of leftover-food bins discarded by American troops, without even separating the food waste from cigarette butts and the like.

“It smells awful, but I removed the toxins lethal to humans in advance... The rules explicitly forbid such consideration and favoritism, but having watched you struggle and strive, I wanted to offer this small kindness...!”

“...”

“Anyway, your first food in two days! Enjoy your delicious meal!”

The fairy vanished. Fifty-six survivors and fifty-six servings of pigswill porridge remained in the Busan Station restaurant on basement level six—a floor that should never have existed.

Even those who had recoiled at the porridge’s smell slowly began moving their hands. There were no spoons. The body odor coming off the fifty-six people was just as wretched anyway, so swallowing food with a similar smell was not particularly difficult.

Here and there, people wept.

Eating cannot be a sin.

For if eating is a sin, life is divine punishment.

Those words appeared in the May 20, 1964 issue of the Kyunghyang Shinmun. The contributor was Shin Yeonggak. His column was titled “The Hungry Masses.”

Fifty-six hungry souls ravenously vented two days’ worth of hunger.

Perhaps for historical accuracy, the porridge bowls were not bowls at all, but aluminum cans. Clunks rang through the cheap aluminum as fingers tapped out the last morsels and rubbed and scraped the surfaces clean.

Eating cannot be a sin...

For if eating is a sin, life is divine punishment...

Hell was where sinners sentenced to divine punishment lived, and so the world was hell.

Occasionally, brief retching sounds echoed through the restaurant. They were less a reaction to the food than to life itself. Something no human could swallow or digest slid down human throats.

The cries of “Mom” and “Fuck” that followed were probably belches.

JINGLE.

A bell rang. Those who had finished eating turned toward me.

I was the one ringing it. I couldn’t remember whether I had used aura to carry its sound farther before my fifth run, though.

This silver bell was an item I always farmed, in every run—even vacation runs.

I could picture its location with my eyes closed. The souvenir shop in the waiting hall. Turn left at the entrance, seventh shelving unit, fourth shelf from the top.

Even after looters cleaned out the entire shop, this utterly useless bell always remained: a cursed item whose jingling only drew monsters’ attention.

I needed it.

“It’s the Undertaker...”

“Where’s Jeong Sohui? Why’s he alone...?”

“Shh, don’t look at him.”

“He’ll drag you into the abyss.”

The people in the restaurant area whispered among themselves. Some faces I still remembered; others had since vanished from reality.

The soccer player Kim Jucheol, whose time I had sealed in run four, must have been there too.

I kept walking through my memories. Had this been run three, there would have been eleven survivors at this stage, not fifty-six, and Lee Baek would have been among them.

“Hey, Undertaker! Plague!”

And Lee Baek would have stood up and shouted:

“Come begging for pigswill porridge? Sorry, but we don’t have food to spare for a plague-ridden bastard like you! Everyone! Don’t share your food with him, no matter what. We can’t afford to look after some prick who thinks he’s too good for us and plays solo!”

Probably in a voice like that. Probably words like those.

Piecing together the novel Oh Dokseo had read, as though restoring a newspaper published decades ago, I thought Lee Baek had said something like that to me.

According to Oh Dokseo’s interpretation, he had said it “to consolidate his power over the survivors,” “by choosing an outsider to ostracize,” “making even eating pigswill porridge seem like a privilege,” and “giving the impression that he was taking on the burden of harsh words on everyone else’s behalf.”

My response was simple.

“Does anyone here wish to escape hell?”

“...”

“Does anyone wish to find peace forever?”

The restaurant fell silent.

For a moment, even Lee Baek did.

I looked around. Lightly enough not to intimidate anyone. Carefully enough not to miss a single face.

“Quit your bullshit and get the hell out!”

If it had been Lee Baek, he would have swung his piece of lumber, furious that he had hesitated even for a moment.

“Um, I...”

In another run, someone would have cautiously raised a hand.

“Me too...”

More hands would have risen in run four than in run five, in run three than in run four, and in run one than in run three.

They were hands that had scooped up pigswill porridge, hands that had killed monsters, hands that had murdered other humans.

One elderly woman knew she no longer had grandchildren or family to caress with those hands.

“Young man. Do it for me. A funeral, was it? That thing.”

“If my ability sends you into a dream, other people will lose their memories of you. No one will remember you.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

The elderly woman murmured,

“None of that matters.”

A transparent gravestone rose.

Inside Busan Station and after I left it, gravestones accompanied my every step. I couldn’t remember the exact number, but I was certain at least five hundred thousand had been erected.

The gravestones never vanished when a run restarted.

Whenever a new run began, hundreds of thousands of humans evaporated in “an instant.” No one knew about those disappearances.

Except for one person.

The world was hell, and a bell always rang there.

I was a lifer who had killed more humans than anyone else in this hell.

4

Thousands of years later.

“Mister. You could say I’m the one and only person who understands you.”

A brat appeared who brazenly said things like that.

Hairstyle? A red bob. Weapon? A baseball bat. Fashion? A rapper’s cap and jacket, jeans sagging like dripping candle wax (three holes included).

Her signature pose was chewing ordinary gum as though it were bubble gum, trying to blow a bubble, and having it pop with a squeak, plastering gum all around her mouth.

Oh Dokseo.

In a word, a dumbass.

This girl, who clearly looked in desperate need of psychological treatment, went further and fearlessly declared:

“I’ve read all of [Omniscient Regressor’s Viewpoint], the novel containing your entire life story. I’ve read every last detail of your private thoughts and monologues. It’s no exaggeration to say I know you better than you know yourself.”

“I see. So should I sue you for invasion of privacy now?”

“Huh? No... I mean, save me. I think I’ll die when my shield runs out.”

BANG BANG BANG BANG!

Oh Dokseo crouched inside a transparent barrier while three goblins gleefully battered it with clubs.

“Ookik! Keehik!”

“Kreee, kwek! Kheh!”

They were anomalies that regularly appeared in tutorial dungeons.

Three against one. At this textbook example of a group beating, Uehara Shino, our newly recruited party member, stamped her feet anxiously.

“Um, Jang-san. Shouldn’t we help her anyway...?”

“No. This is a necessary part of her training.”

“Ooh. Dokseo-chaaaan! You can do iiit!”

“Screw ‘you can do it’! Help me! Please!”

BANG CLANG BANG CLANG!

At first, the goblins had marveled at this transparent drum, but now they treated it as an actual instrument. Bang! Clang! Bang! The rhythm engraved in their Dionysian instincts rang out, turning the place into a rock festival in an instant.

Incidentally, followers of Dionysus had a tradition of tearing humans apart and sharing their flesh after a festival. Judging by the way the goblins looked at Oh Dokseo, this festival’s sacrifice had already been chosen.

“Keeheeheeheek!”

“Hwack?! M-Mister! Seriously, save me! My shield only has thirty seconds left!”

Absolute defense.

She called it an [AT Field]. A barrier that nullified an opponent’s attacks.

It was one of Oh Dokseo’s abilities.

I suspected it reflected her belief that she was “a reader who had fallen into the world of a novel.” Her mindset of separating herself completely from this world had manifested directly as a skill.

It was an overpowered ability, but it had a fatal flaw: she could only use it once a day, and it lasted just one minute.

“Dokseo. I’ve told you time and again. No matter how broken your skill is, it’s useless if you don’t train yourself.”

“But I’ve already killed eleven today! I’m exhausted! It’s hard! I’ve been walking for six hours straight since dawn, so please just help me now! Eek? It’s breaking, I just heard it crack, it’s really, really breaking!”

“Such a drama queen.”

The barrier shattered with a crash, and the goblins’ clubs came rushing in. Oh Dokseo swung her baseball bat with a peculiar scream.

“Hyaaaaagh!”

Red aura coated the bat.

THWACK!

A goblin’s head burst. Foul ball.

“Kik?”

“Kweek?”

The goblins, who had thought they were facing a KBO batter, were bewildered by the sudden major-league swing.

Regardless, Oh Dokseo pulled her swing using the staff techniques I had personally taught her over the past few days.

“Hyaaagh! Die! Die! You monster bastard, fucking diiiiie!”

“Kweeehek?”

Foul. Foul. Two strikes, zero pitchers on the opposing team. The opposing team failed to meet eligibility requirements and was disqualified. Oh Dokseo won.

Oh Dokseo let her shoulders and bat droop, panting heavily.

“Heek, huff—huuugh, hah...”

“See? You can do it if you try. Kids these days have no grit. They start whining before they even try...”

“I’ll fucking kill yooou!”

Oh Dokseo swung her bat at me with all her might, but there was no chance such a sluggish blow would land.

Swinging strike three. Out.

I gave her a knuckle rap on the head for daring to attack her exalted teacher. My ink-black aura echoed through her skull with precisely the appropriate amount of pain.

How much was “the appropriate amount of pain,” exactly? Hmm. For a man, about the level of a kick in the balls?

“Hbyaaaaaaaagh!”

Oh Dokseo hurled her bat away (a bat flip after striking out—terrible sportsmanship, too) and rolled around on the floor.

“I’m dying! I’m gonna die! It’s cracked! My head’s cracked! Aaaaaagh! I’m dying!”

“You’re not dying. It isn’t cracked, either. Get up and eat. Ms. Shinohara? Could you spread out the picnic mat? Let’s have lunch.”

“Oh. Yes!”

Uehara Shino, our designated porter, spread out the mat with now-practiced ease.

This, too, was quite different from run four. I doubt we could have afforded to carry luxuries like picnic mats back then.

I deliciously prepared the ready-made meals we had looted from a convenience store. I didn’t even need a fire. I heated, grilled, and blanched the food with aura. I guarantee it was the most extravagant cooking method in the world.

Uehara twirled pasta around her fork and ate it, her expression melting into bliss.

“Wow. It’s delicious...”

“The noodles are cooked just right, aren’t they? I noticed you seem to like them slightly underdone, al dente.”

“Oh, yes. It’s exactly to my taste. Your cooking is even better than what I’ve had at specialty restaurants, Jang-san!”

“Thank you.”

Just then, a fairy peeked out from behind a pillar.

“Hweee. Smells gooood...”

“Hm? What’s this? You want some too?”

“Eek. I am a fair and impartial examiner. I cannot accept any bribes from the participants in the test...”

“This isn’t a bribe. It’s compensation for your work. A gift freely offered by the people to the vanguard working day and night for world revolution.”

“Hweh! Food made from the blood and sweat of the people... To disregard it would be bourgeois behavior, so as a staunch member of the revolutionary party, I cannot refuse...”

“Here. I made a salmon steak.”

“Hweeek! A truly revolutionary flavor!”

The Japanese woman and the fairy blossomed into merry laughter on the picnic mat. True harmony had been achieved, embracing both a once-hostile nation and a currently hostile species.

“Uuugh...”

Only the otaku with delusions of grandeur lay groaning beside the mat.

“Me toooo... Feed me too. I’m hungry...”

“Are you missing your hands or your feet? It’s on the mat. Help yourself.”

“Why are you only cold to me, Mister?”

Oh Dokseo screeched.

“You only make me kill anomalies! You only make me train my aura! What did I ever do to you, huh?”

“That’s how much I expect of you, kid.”

“Sniff. I can’t live with this injustice. I’m so upset... Fuck, why’s the pasta so good, too? This is a ready-made meal.”

“Oh, Dokseo-chan. That’s mine...”

“Hweh. This BLT on rye is revolutionary too! It deserves a Culinary Hero Medal!”

Even the balance of protein, carbohydrates, and fat was perfect. Our far-too-lavish lunch for beginners in a tutorial dungeon came to an end.

Our exploration of run four had turned into a luxury vacation after all... But surely that was all right. Never mind me; I wanted these kids to enjoy luxuries while they still could.

Having greased our stomachs without leaving ourselves too full or too hungry, we stood up.

“One more floor down and we’ll reach the boss room. Once the boss is beaten, the tutorial dungeon is over.”

“Yeah. You’ll beat it for us, right?”

“No? A veteran shouldn’t steal a newbie’s XP. You’re clearing it alone, Dokseo.”

“...?”

“...?”

We were maintaining that friendly atmosphere as we stepped onto the stairs to basement level thirteen.

I sensed a strong human presence in the passage opposite us.

“Wait. Everyone stop.”

The others, who had been about to descend, looked at me. It was funny that Fairy No. 264 now counted among our companions, but I did not smile.

“People are heading toward us in a crowd.”

“A crowd? How many?”

“One hundred seventeen.”

“...”

“Every survivor except us. Get ready. Oh Dokseo, beside me. Ms. Uehara, behind us.”

I positioned myself in the middle of the corridor.

“We’ll prepare here.”

After I said that, something truly strange happened. My right hand moved toward my waist without my realizing it.

Toward my empty belt, as though weapons like a fire axe should have been dangling from it.

My fingers groped at empty air.

“...”

A strange sense of familiarity washed over me.

Déjà vu.

A very long time ago, in a distant past now thousands of years behind me, I felt certain I had experienced this exact same scene.