Chapter 46 - Returnees III

5

David Hume said that true friendship knows no distinction between young and old, only the free communion of souls.

Immanuel Kant said that young friends teach us vigor and old friends teach us wisdom, so we should never choose our friends by something as trivial as age.

The most important point here is that neither of them ever actually said any of that.

But you got the general impression. Isn't that enough?

My approach to befriending the Sword Marquis and sharing his friendship followed that same principle of “general impressions.”

“Undertaker, my little brother!”

“Sword Marquis, my elder brother!”

That very day, we emptied four bottles of makgeolli and became sworn brothers.

We practically recognized each other as brothers just by meeting eyes. It was a reunion of long-lost family. Had even Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei witnessed our bond, jealousy would have driven them to furiously chew through five hundred peaches.

What the hell does that mean, you ask? Uh... Just go by the general impression.

Our “Makgeolli Oath” did not end as a single night's entertainment.

“Brother. I have something to report.”

“Mmm...?”

The next morning, I bowed deeply to the Sword Marquis with my hands clasped. For the record, he was utterly smashed and personally checking the temperature of the wooden hall floor with his left cheek.

“Report? Urp... What is it?”

“Did you not reveal to your younger brother last night that you are the direct disciple taught by the Mount Hua Sect's leader?”

In fact, he had done no such thing.

But the Sword Marquis nodded as though it were perfectly obvious.

“Ah, yes. So I did.”

“How can a man destined to lead Mount Hua spend eternity secluded in a remote thatched cottage? They speak of finding contentment in poverty and the Way, but with the world in turmoil, one cannot pursue personal comfort alone. Return to Mount Hua and restore the pillars of your sect.”

“What?”

The Sword Marquis opened his mouth. I could sense his shock.

More specifically, I could sense the shock in his thoroughly intoxicated stomach.

For a while, he spent some time in the front yard introducing his stomach to the dawn air. More accurately, he was giving the dawn a taste of the air in his stomach.

I could describe this scene in exhaustive detail, but for my readers' sake, I shall provide no visual or auditory material. Such is the tenderness and boundlessness of my goodwill toward you.

“Whew.”

The process was skipped, leaving only the result. After gulping down water from a plastic dipper—yes, the kind you see hanging at mountain springs—the Sword Marquis gave me a serious look.

“Undertaker, my brother.”

He seemed to be trying to exude profound internal power. To add my personal impression, he certainly exuded something, but it was closer to bad breath than internal energy.

“Are you saying you will escort me on my return to Mount Hua?”

“Precisely.”

“I am deeply grateful for the sentiment, but the martial world today is a playground for the wicked rabble of the Demonic Cult. The Way has been severed, and righteousness has crumbled. Chivalry is no more than a sword hilt villains wear for show. What gives you the nerve to promise a journey through such a world?”

“I shall simply navigate these troubled times with benevolence.”

“...!”

Do you know what that means? I don't. But once again, there was a general impression, and that alone made the Sword Marquis widen his eyes as though he understood everything.

He slapped his knee.

“Indeed! If I cannot accomplish it alone, I need only accomplish it with my brother! I have lived behind closed doors so long that I forgot even this simple truth!”

“Will you place your trust in your younger brother?”

“Returning to Mount Hua has been the greatest wish of my life. A friendship that discusses profit is precarious, but one that discusses wishes is steadfast. I place my trust in you alone.”

What followed happened in a flash.

We left the island immediately. Despite having presumably lived on Ulleungdo his whole life, the Sword Marquis had accumulated very little. So little, in fact, that his luggage was completely ready less than forty minutes after he decided to venture into the martial world.

What stood out about his attire was the pouch hanging at his waist.

“Brother, what is that?”

The Sword Marquis stroked his beard with an easy chuckle.

“The essence of the Mount Hua Sect.”

The same bullshit as always.

I shrugged and stepped onto the ship's deck.

“Bleeaaarrgh—”

Oh, for the record, on the voyage to the mainland, the Sword Marquis introduced the fragrance of his stomach to the waters of the East Sea as well.

Having brilliantly dyed heaven, earth, and sea in his own colors on the same day, at the same hour, he truly displayed the dignity of a master who had reached the Profound Realm.

But wasn't this guy an Ulleungdo native? Sure, he'd had a bit of makgeolli, but seasickness? What a disgrace to islanders.

“Bleeaarrgh...”

On every sea crossing, from Ulleungdo to Gangneung and from Incheon to Shanghai, the Sword Marquis flaunted his intimate friendship with the deck railing. Thanks to him, I got to change careers and become a masseur specializing in rubbing his back.

He offered an embarrassed excuse.

“When my... dantian was injured, my stomach and duodenum suffered some damage as well. Ha ha. It never used to be like this. How mortifying.”

Was the dantian connected to the stomach? What astonishing anatomical knowledge. It had about as much scholarly value as investigating what material a unicorn's horn was made of.

As an aside, securing passage to Shanghai was itself a miracle, and an achievement of mine.

As you well know, when the gate disaster struck—now that everyone is familiar with the terminology, I suppose I could just as well say “when the void disaster struck” or “when the void arrived”—the part of Seoul south of the Han River was wiped out in one fell swoop. There was no chance Incheon had escaped unscathed.

As many people fled by sea as overland. Without the experience I'd gained from repeated trips abroad, I could never have found a captain amid the chaos at Incheon Port.

“Ohhh.”

China, reached at the end of untold hardships.

The Sword Marquis's eyes reddened.

“So this is... the Central Plains...! Behold! I have returned to rise again!”

He sounded as though the journey was already over.

But I was an infinite regressor. Though I operated mostly at home, I had once called myself an Internationalist, and had traveled through China several times. Beijing, in particular, I had visited until I was thoroughly sick of it.

And so I knew very well that the real hardship was only beginning.

6

Have you ever read Greco-Roman or Norse mythology?

Perhaps, while reading other countries' myths, you found yourself lamenting:

'Why have so few coherent mythologies survived in our country?'

I could discuss that at great length, but my intention here is not to have an academic debate.

Rather, I want to tell you this:

'Thank fucking goodness they didn't survive.'

There is a reason I'm suddenly bringing up mythology.

Ever since the void arrived, “characters” from mythology began crossing over into reality.

They didn't even appear exactly as described in their myths. They arrived with updates that made them less intelligent, more Cthulhu-like, and consequently even more hostile to humanity.

Now you can probably guess why I singled out India and Japan as the most dangerous destinations for overseas travel.

Of course, India and Japan aren't the only Asian countries with myths to boast of. Thailand and other Asian nations are no slouches when it comes to the dignity of being ghost-possessing powers.

All I'm saying is that their situations were probably better than Japan's, where all eight million gods descended into the mortal world, solving the low birthrate and aging population problems in one stroke.

As for regions where Hinduism is widespread, like India and Nepal, uh... Let's leave those out of the discussion.

Have you ever seen the Ganges and the Himalayas dyed red? It's quite a spectacle, but not one I ever want to see again.

Truly the end times.

With the whole world getting fucked together in perfect harmony, there was no chance China would be left out. China, too, possessed a splendid enough roster of strange powers and unruly spirits to shout, “Me too! I want to play too!”

You know how fancy Italian restaurants have dazzling wine lists? In the same fashion, China boasted menus such as the Classic of Mountains and Seas, Records of Gleanings, Records of Diverse Things, and Classic of Divine Marvels.

It was a transitional period, with martial-arts fiction moving from the old school to the new school, and from the new school to immortal-cultivation fantasy. Supernatural creatures and monsters, which had felt somewhat out of place in traditional martial-arts fiction, were now considered youthful and trendy in immortal-cultivation stories.

Naturally, China's interior—the very birthplace of martial-arts fiction—was leading this trend.

And so, as the leader of this expedition, I offered an eminently rational judgment.

“Let's stop in Chang'an instead of heading straight to Mount Hua.”

“Hmm? Why? Wouldn't that be an unnecessary detour?”

“There are some extremely troublesome monsters nearby. We need to move around them.”

Avoidance. Avoidance at all costs.

If asked to name China's most difficult anomalies to deal with, every awakened would have their own preferences, but personally, I would point to exactly two.

“Chaos” and “Greed.”

As far as I knew, those two alone had slaughtered tens of thousands of China's awakened. And by tens of thousands, I meant a figure closer to a hundred thousand than twenty thousand. If even the awakened suffered that much, the number of civilian casualties was beyond counting.

A fine example of the tragedy that unfolds when the world's genre changes to immortal-cultivation fantasy, yet no human has actually reached the realm of immortals.

“It would be different if we had a proper fighting force, but challenging those creatures in our present state is not the wisest course.”

“Mmm. If you say so, brother...”

One must always maintain courtesy and distance toward unfamiliar genres. My genre was firmly modern fantasy, so how could I not exercise caution around martial-arts fiction?

I planned our route to avoid Chaos and Greed altogether.

We frequently encountered other supernatural beasts instead, but I easily disposed of all the small fry myself.

The Sword Marquis watched my swordplay from behind, his hands clasped behind his back, occasionally exclaiming in admiration.

“Your attainment is truly astonishing, brother! You equal or even surpass me in my prime!”

“...”

Something like volcanic lava rose from deep within my chest, but I held it in.

“... Thank you. Your younger brother still has many shortcomings. I hope you will guide me well.”

“Ha ha. With that attitude, you will soon reach an even higher realm. Keep striving.”

When traveling, it was wise to assign everyone their own responsibilities. You look into hotels, I look for restaurants—that sort of thing.

Any trip becomes exhausting in no time if the division of labor isn't handled properly. Anyone who has traveled a long distance with someone else, be it family or a romantic partner, will understand exactly what I mean.

I, the Undertaker, prided myself on being a master traveler, though I never showed it. Naturally, I understood the importance of dividing responsibilities.

And so, during our roughly two-month journey, my responsibilities were as follows:

Planning the route, covering travel expenses, procuring food, finding accommodation, recruiting locals to help, interpreting Chinese—the Mount Hua Sect's next leader did not speak Chinese—carrying luggage, standing night watch, and providing security.

What did the Sword Marquis handle, then? Uh... Booze?

Anyway. Among my duties, interpreting Chinese was especially important.

Infinite regressor or not, this was my first visit to Mount Hua, and I inevitably had to consult local guides. With even the main roads swallowed up by Chaos and Greed, we couldn't use the familiar routes.

Whenever we passed along a country road, the locals regarded us with curious eyes.

“You're Korean? What brings Koreans here?”

“We're traveling to Mount Hua.”

“Pardon?”

“This gentleman here is my grandfather. He says he simply must see Mount Hua with his own eyes before he passes on. Since I'm awakened and speak Chinese, I set out on this journey to grant his last wish.”

“My goodness!”

Even the locals who initially approached us with curiosity and suspicion grew misty-eyed after hearing my answer.

For the record, the Sword Marquis rode on my back throughout the journey. There was no helping it. Had I demanded he walk on his own two legs, the trip would have taken twenty-four times longer. That is neither a joke nor an exaggeration.

“What a rare filial son—no, grandson—you are!”

“Not at all. I lost my parents as a child, and my grandfather raised me alone. I consider this only natural repayment.”

“To think such a person exists in this troubled world! Here, I don't have much to give, but take some peanuts, at least. Our village's peanuts are delicious.”

Filial piety truly was a magical preseason pass accepted anywhere in East Asia.

Despite their own meager means, the country folk kept trying to give me something extra. I barely managed to stop the village grandmothers from scooping out whole dippers of peanuts. To thank them for their kindness, I cleared away the monsters near their villages as though cutting weeds. Now that was a win-win.

The Sword Marquis marveled from his perch on my back.

“I've heard so much talk lately about country folk becoming ungenerous, but it was all nonsense. Aren't they wonderfully kind?”

“Well. If I'd told them I was carrying an old man who thinks he's the leader of the Mount Hua Sect, ninety-nine percent of this kindness would have disappeared.”

“Hmm? What did you just say, brother?”

“I didn't say anything.”

Day sixty-two of our journey through China.

After countless twists and turns, after all manner of goddamn chaos—including running into a typhoon along the way and barely finding shelter—we finally arrived at Mount Hua.

“Ohhh, at last... Mount Hua...!”

The prospective 261st leader of the Mount Hua Sect cried out like a tourist seeing Mount Hua for the first time in his life.

Of course, I didn't point that out. I was an understanding younger brother. I merely asked a polite question.

“It has been a truly exhausting journey. I, too, am eager to behold the grandeur of the sect where you trained. Where are its buildings?”

“Unfortunately, our sect was devastated by an attack from the Heavenly Demon forty-five years ago.”

The old man deftly evaded the question's hidden meaning: Wasn't your sect a lie? There aren't even any buildings, are there? As expected, a master who had devoted his life to cosplaying a martial artist was immune to such a pathetic killing move.

“As all my fellow disciples were slaughtered, I had no choice but to flee as well. By now, even the ruins will be difficult to find.”

“It's not that you don't know where it is?”

“What peaceful terrain. Truly a magnificent mountain.”

My attack failed to put even a scratch on the Sword Marquis's psyche.

I shook my head and continued climbing.

A renowned mountain does not flaunt its scenery from the outset, but keeps it hidden. Mount Hua, too, was one of the world's great mountains. Its layers upon layers of rocky terrain revealed their true beauty only when I ventured into them on my own feet. With every step, the view expanded like an unfolding screen.

I surveyed the ridge.

“The people have all left, but the buildings are still relatively intact.”

Oh, by buildings, I obviously didn't mean anything belonging to the Mount Hua Sect. I simply meant the various visitor facilities: shelters, stairs, shops, and so forth.

Even the cable car, presumably used by hikers before the void arrived, still looked clean from the outside. There was a rest stop near the cable car's upper station, and it looked just right for a base camp.

I searched the storeroom just in case, but as expected, there was no food left.

Well, my traveling companion was a living farm that produced food simply by being alive and breathing. I probably didn't need to worry.

“Brother. I'll establish our base here.”

“Do as you wish.”

I set down my backpack, then the Sword Marquis as well. (Naturally, he had used my piggyback delivery service for the climb, too.)

He collapsed facedown on the rest stop's floor with an expression of sheer relief.

“Oh, my aching bones. Coming back after all these decades, I find I can scarcely get around anymore.”

Anyone listening would think he'd climbed the mountain on his own feet.

I took bottled water, a portable stove, and instant noodles out of my backpack and started cooking.

I believe that single line of description should suffice to convey just how fucking hard I'd worked on this journey. Yes. I had crossed China with the Sword Marquis on my back and a meter-long backpack clutched against my chest.

“Brother. The noodles are ready.”

“Mm.”

The old man, who had been sprawled on the floor, sprang up like a ghost and took up his chopsticks.

The Sword Marquis blew on the noodles, slurped them up, and gazed at the rest stop's ceiling.

“Ah. I say this time and again, but the noodles you cook are truly exquisite, brother. I have met countless masters of noodles in my life, but none equal you.”

“You flatter me.”

“No, I mean it. I simply cannot fathom how you produce such a marvelous flavor...”

Well, anyone could reach this level if they spent hundreds of years cooking instant noodles.

I had even become a chef in my forty-fifth run. I might not have been the greatest chef on Earth, but when it came to cooking with ingredients from the void, I could dare contend for the top spot. Such was the experience of an infinite regressor.

“...”

Utterly useless experience.

“Burp. That was a fine meal.”

I shifted my train of thought. What mattered now wasn't my instant-noodle cooking skill, but how the Sword Marquis would react from here on.

Until now, the Sword Marquis had always muttered, “If I could visit Mount Hua, I'd have nothing left to wish for.” In the previous run, and the run before that, he had always wished to go to Mount Hua.

A wish that remained unchanged regardless of time.

It demonstrated the strength of his heart. It signified conviction.

From my perspective as a regressor, few things were as fascinating as the human heart.

'And I have granted his lifelong wish.'

Now that the wish had been fulfilled, curiosity alone remained.

Only a regressor's utterly trivial, private curiosity.

And for that very reason, a curiosity more important than anything else in this world.

'How will you react, Sword Marquis?'

Would he say that, having checked off his bucket list, it was time to return to the Korean Peninsula? Or would he erect buildings for the Mount Hua Sect to make his delusion a reality? Which would it be?

I watched the Sword Marquis quietly. He patted his well-filled belly, then stood up and stretched fully.

“Now that I've eaten my fill, it's time to get to work.”

Let me say in advance that all my predictions were wrong.