Chapter 166 - Traveler I

1

As you all know, whenever I, the Undertaker, feel the stress piling up, I sometimes take off on vacation.

And as befits a regressor, I do it on a grand scale. None of those measly one- or two-week breaks. I devote an entire run to my holiday.

But what about the other awakened?

Of course, Sim Aryeon hardly needs a vacation when every day is practically a holiday already, and Noh Doha, whose brain is possessed by Zhuge Liang, probably doesn't even have the concept of rest installed.

Those two, however, belong firmly in the realm of the “inhuman.” Right now, I'm talking about humans.

Normal people need their rest.

And Dang Seorin (has experienced a fall), who was human, all too human compared with those two, was no exception.

“Hi, Undertaker. Want to go on a trip?”

One day, I returned to headquarters to find Dang Seorin sitting in my personal chair, munching potato chips as though she had every right to be there.

How would you react if you found yourself in this situation?

A. A trip? What's this out of nowhere? You've been drinking alone again, haven't you?

B. Sorry. Could you wait another thousand years on top of the first thousand?

For the record, both A and B were wrong answers.

Here's how I answered.

“A trip sounds good. Where would you like to go?”

Let me give you a handy tip for getting along with people. If someone suddenly says they want to go on a trip, your first move should be to play along. Otherwise, your head might end up taking a long-distance trip of its own.

“Oh? I didn't think you'd say yes straightaway. You've been busy lately. Do you have time to travel with me?”

“You're just as busy. And no matter how busy I am, I always leave myself enough room to take a trip. That's included in my being a busy man.”

“Hmm.”

Busan's Dear Leader, Supreme Comrade Dang Seorin, smiled in evident pleasure. My answer had indeed been correct.

“Really? Then I'm really going on a trip, okay?”

“I told you, that's fine.”

If anything, I doubled down.

“Have you decided on a destination?”

“A destination. Hmm, a destination... Wait. Why is this chair so soft? It's almost criminally cushy.”

“That's an anomaly called [The Chair You Won't Want to Get Up From]. Sitting in it helps you recover from fatigue, but stay seated for three hours or more and it'll tear the flesh off your buttocks, just like Theseus.”

“Good heavens. Seriously, what even are anomalies...?”

“Provoking that very reaction must be the essence of an anomaly.”

“Hmm...”

Dang Seorin pinched and crumpled the tip of her witch hat. It was a habitual gesture whenever she was deep in thought.

“I haven't actually picked a specific destination. I feel like anywhere would be fine, as long as it's fairly far away. Oh, just not somewhere too close, like Jeju Island.”

“Hmm.”

I felt much the way you do when someone close to you suggests going out to eat “anywhere.”

“In that case, here are my recommended destinations.”

But I was a regressor.

This wasn't the first time Dang Seorin had suddenly come down with “I-want-to-travel syndrome,” so I had prepared for almost every possibility.

I confidently handed over a guidebook. A clean cover, crisp printing. Its quality wouldn't have looked out of place on a bookstore shelf.

“Huh? What's this? <A Travel Guide for the Guild Leader of Three Thousand Worlds>...?”

“A book of travel itineraries I made just for you. As you can see, Hawaii is on the first page. Its identity as a ‘resort void’ is fully established. Apart from the slightly high prices, I'd strongly recommend it.”

It also featured a daily Pearl Harbor air-raid parade in the skies, with SCPs occasionally making an appearance.

Taking those factors into account, its rating was Hawaii (Travel Difficulty: ★★★★).

“Undertaker, you...”

Dang Seorin looked deeply moved by my insane level of preparedness.

Inwardly, I smiled in triumph. Success.

“This is nice, but is there anywhere other than Hawaii?”

Damn it. Normally, she'd have stopped there and suggested finding a good restaurant instead.

Then again, if she had, the story would have ended with “We had a delicious meal and drank ourselves silly, the end,” and I wouldn't have made an episode of it in the first place.

“We see the sea every day here anyway. Honestly, I'd like a change of scenery. For example... How about Paris?”

“Which Paris do you want?”

“Huh? What do you mean, which Paris?”

Dang Seorin tilted her head.

“Paris in France, obviously. What other Paris is there?”

“The eras overlap there. Paris during the Huguenot Wars, Paris during the French Revolution, Paris during World War II—six Parises in all. Want a taste of religious warfare and witch trials? Then it's the Huguenot Wars. Want to see red guillotines and Napoleon? Then it's the Revolution. You can pick your Parisian romance to suit your tastes.”

“Seriously, what even are anomalies...?”

“Provoking that very reaction must be the essence of an anomaly.”

“Hmm.”

Dang Seorin carefully leafed through my <A Travel Guide for the Guild Leader of Three Thousand Worlds>.

“Oh. I want to go here.”

She planted her fingertip firmly on an entry that read:

Uyuni Salt Flats (Travel Difficulty: ★★★★★★★☆).

“Hmm.”

What sort of place was this? When it rains, water fills the desert all the way to the horizon, turning it into a watery expanse that reflects the blue sky. You could call it the most dazzling “mirror” on earth.

For the record, it was located in Bolivia, South America.

For the record of the record, a country called the Inca Empire once existed in this region. A nation of fashionistas who valued beautifying hearts more than beautifying faces.

For the record of the record of the record, space and time were like pulled taffy to anomalies. In other words, they did whatever they pleased. Just as witch trials and revolutions were erupting simultaneously in Paris, “Whose Heart Is Prettier?” contests were thriving in the Inca void.

“...”

A faint sweat broke out in the regressor's heart.

That's right. The Uyuni desert had never been an easy place to visit. Now that the world had ended, the difficulty had shot up even further.

I desperately scrutinized Dang Seorin's face, like a North Korean citizen struggling to gauge the mood of Comrade Number One.

“Well? Well? What do you think? I've actually wanted to go there at least once for ages.”

“...”

Comrade Dear Leader was positively excited.

How would you react if you found yourself in this situation?

Feeling as though I were swallowing blood, but letting none of it show on my face, I said:

“... Let's go. The Uyuni desert. I've actually always wanted to go there too.”

“Let's go tomorrow!”

“Are you serious...?”

“What?”

“Tomorrow's a bit tight. Let's go the day after.”

“Okay!”

2

There was no event in which Dang Seorin woke up sober the next day, hurriedly injected some sanity into her brain, and returned to her duties as guild leader.

“Come on, let's go! Undertaker!”

Instead, she came fully equipped. She had acquired a red leather suitcase and even put on sunglasses.

Airport fashion that would have fit right in at Incheon Airport. She'd put extra effort into her witch hat and robes, too.

I let out a low groan.

“Who ever called regressors omniscient and omnipotent? I am but an ordinary mortal, unable even to divine tomorrow's fate...”

“Huh? What did you just say?”

“Nothing. More importantly, we'll be away for at least a week or two. Will Three Thousand Worlds be all right?”

“Of course. Actually, I've been dropping hints in front of the kids for six months about wanting to get away. They can take a hint, so I'm sure they've prepared. If not, well, I'll purge them. What about you? Will you be okay?”

“I told you. Not a problem.”

Commander Noh Doha, who'd had all the work dumped on him, would be rampaging with fury when I got back, but what was the worst he could do? Kill me?

Dang Seorin put sunglasses on me too, then giggled.

“Are we taking your light aircraft now? What was it called again? Red Puppy?”

“Porco Rosso. It's a modified Savoia S-21. Don't get it wrong again. And unfortunately, getting all the way to South America in Porco Rosso is difficult. Not enough fuel.”

“Then how?”

“I have my ways. Count yourself lucky, Dang Seorin. There's no other travel guide like me in today's world.”

“Ooh. Where's all that confidence coming from?”

First, we traveled through the Inunaki Tunnel.

Perhaps it had realized I was going abroad, because the tunnel's walkway was strangely more accommodating than usual.

→ Trap Here →

Ghost Appearance Point! Watch Out!

(Celebrate) Have a Good Trip! (Congratulations)

These Japanese messages were graffitied on the tunnel walls. I suspected its affection for me had risen because I regularly did its makeup with magical-girl murals.

The two of us reached Seoul via this superfast express route.

“Dang Seorin. Do you happen to know where the Korean Peninsula's first airport was?”

“Huh? Wasn't it Gimpo Airport?”

“No. Yeouido Airport.”

There had been such an airport.

As you can tell from Robot Taekwon V launching out of the National Assembly building, Yeouido originally had ideal conditions for flying objects to take off. There was a reason the assembly members of old had their heads in the clouds.

The actual Yeouido Airport had been eclipsed by Gimpo Airport and vanished into history, but now it had made a glorious comeback as the Korean Peninsula's only international airport.

When I led Dang Seorin to Yeouido Airport, she looked distinctly uneasy.

“Was there always a facility like this in Yeouido?”

“No. You know how the ‘comprehensive income tax anomaly’ appears every May? Once the taxes accumulated there reach a certain level, the ‘Yeouido Airport’ void is created.”

“Huh? The anomalies build an airport with the taxes we paid?”

“Yes. You could say they're pretty serious about playing government. The fact that they spend taxes on something worthwhile is enough to qualify them as anomalies already.”

“Seriously, what even are anomalies...?”

Provoking that very reaction, et cetera.

Dang Seorin tugged at my collar.

“Um, Undertaker.”

“Hmm?”

“All the airport windows are bright red. There are thousands, tens of thousands of red handprints all over them. Am I seeing things?”

“Ignore them. It's interior decor.”

“...”

As I mentioned, Abyssalism was the architectural movement currently in vogue. A little blood on the windows was merely a cute detail.

In the original history, Yeouido Airport had operated in an era before citizens were freely permitted to travel overseas.

Back then, foreign travel was a privilege reserved for certain classes, a luxury most citizens couldn't even dream of.

Naturally, the officials seated at the airport inspection desks wore utterly rigid expressions.

“Where have you come from?”

A hat-wearing civil-servant anomaly mumbled an imitation of human speech.

Its fierce desire to teach an SCV its place for daring to flee its own country came through loud and clear.

A remarkable performance. I would gladly have been fooled, if only fingers weren't growing where its eyeballs should have been.

“This should tell you who I am.”

I slipped it my identification.

I had farmed the ID in Namsan the day before. Preparing it was why I'd needed two days.

“Ah. You're from the Special Service Unit.”

The anomaly's tone immediately became deferential.

“We were notified yesterday. But the person beside you...?”

I put on an offended expression.

“Must I explain every little detail to you?”

“No, of course not. My apologies. Please proceed, Agent.”

All manner of anomalies swarmed the airport, but we walked to our gate in perfect comfort.

Beside me, Dang Seorin muttered:

“How should I put this? This is quite different from the image of overseas travel I had in mind...”

“If you're going as far as South America, taking a plane like this is more convenient.”

It was an excellent means of transportation, provided you overlooked the minor drawback of a roughly 60 percent chance of crashing.

I spoke as we walked through the gate.

“We'll go to Spain first. Crossing over from Spain to South America gives us a substantial bonus against Inca-related anomalies. It'll make the flight a little longer, but this is how we make it at least somewhat safer—”

And when we finally boarded the plane...

I had no choice but to stop explaining. Dang Seorin, following behind me, stopped short too.

“Hmm.”

“Uh.”

There were already 212 passengers seated aboard the aging plane. In pairs.

And every last one of those 212 had the face of either “Undertaker” or “Dang Seorin.”

Dressed for a trip, exactly as we were.

They stared steadily.

They looked at us, and we looked at them. Including us, a total of 107 Undertakers and 107 Dang Seorins remained silent.

“...”

“... Is this interior decor too, Undertaker?”

Hmm.

I hadn't seen this coming.