Chapter 73 - Genetic Factors I

1

To pull all my stories together for a moment: I was the one who gave Dang Seorin both material and moral support so she could become the Korean Peninsula’s greatest idol. I was the one who founded the National Road Management Corps, which controls logistics by monopolizing the nation’s roads. I was the one who created SG Net and seized the power of public opinion and information. I was the one who debuted the constellation called the Librarian of the Great Library. And the one who established the front organization known as the Library Society—yes. That was me, too.

Among the readers who have heard this much, perhaps a few admirers have started thinking of me as an infinitely omniscient, omnipotent mastermind.

But that’s a misunderstanding. As I’ve said time and again, my stories are closer to tales of failure than success. Naturally, I’ve done plenty of spectacularly stupid shit, too.

Of all those wasted efforts, I think I’ll introduce one particularly memorable episode.

BWOOOOOOM!

Now, everyone.

This may seem a little out of the blue, but do you like The Lord of the Rings?

By The Lord of the Rings, I don’t mean the novels Tolkien himself wrote, but the film trilogy later directed by Peter Jackson.

My favorite of the trilogy is, naturally, the final installment, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003).

And my absolute favorite part is the battle scene where the human kingdom’s cavalry makes its heroic charge at the orcs... the scene commonly known as the Charge of the Rohirrim.

Before the humans and orcs clash, the film shows both sides steeling themselves for battle.

["Form ranks, you maggots. Form ranks! Pikes in front! Archers behind!"]

["Ride forth! And fear no darkness! Arise! Arise, riders of Théo■en!"]

["Death!"]

["Ride forth, descendants of E■rl!"]

Ah, needless to say, the parts marked with ‘■’ are there out of respect for the copyrights of the terrifying Tolkien Estate. I, the Undertaker, am a man who strictly observes copyright, despite appearances.

Anyway, when the human cavalry finally begins its charge, a horn rings out across the Pelennor Fields with a bwooooom...

Good grief. Onomatopoeia always has its limitations, but that horn is utterly impossible to convey in writing.

A crude little collection of letters like ‘bwoom’ can’t capture even 0.01% of that magnificent sound effect.

I only got around to watching the film long after its heyday. Before I began life as a regressor, I hadn’t been particularly interested in cultural pursuits in general.

But then Sim Aryeon subjected me to this criticism:

"G-good heavens, Guild Leader... You’ve never even seen the Lord of the Rings movies? I-I don’t understand the point. What I mean is, well, why are you even alive? Why bother pointlessly continuing your life...?"

So I somehow tracked down the Blu-rays and watched them in my home theater.

BWOOOOOOM!

And I... was hooked.

You could say my eyes had finally been opened to the intoxicating thrill of cavalry. As the cavalry’s hooves mercilessly trampled the orcs, they trampled my heart right along with them.

It was run 380.

This happened during yet another ‘vacation run.’

2

"Cavalry."

"... Pardon?"

"Let’s raise a cavalry force."

Silence briefly settled over the conference room.

With a clack, Noh Doha, commander of the National Road Management Corps, set down her cup. Her lips had been occupied with a café mocha until then. (She drinks whatever coffee she’s given, regardless of the beans or variety.)

"What the fuck are you talking about...?"

"I’m saying we should raise a cavalry force. Cars and motorcycles don’t run in this world anyway, so how long are we going to cling to obsolete forms of transportation? Isn’t it high time we found a next-generation ride that runs perfectly well on weeds instead of petroleum fuel?"

"If anything, horses seem considerably more obsolete than cars...?"

"The times change with the environment."

For the record, whenever I argued for something in the Regression Alliance, I never relied on words alone. I handed out the audiovisual materials and statistics I had prepared beforehand.

"As you can see, thanks to the National Road Management Corps’ growth, goods are moving more and more actively between cities and between guilds. But each city’s stockpiles of petroleum fuel are also rapidly dwindling. It’s obvious that all our reserves will run out within two years. Commander Noh Doha, we need to start preparing countermeasures now."

"If the memories lodged in my brain are correct, a plan to use gremlins to power cars emerged from your very own mouth not long ago, Awakened Undertaker...?"

"Gremlins are still anomalies, appearances notwithstanding. No matter how careful we are, accidents can happen at any time. We therefore need a plan B so we can switch policies whenever necessary."

"How strange. What you’re saying sounds correct at first, so why does your face look so fucking smug...?"

That was because the Buddha sees only the Buddha, and Noh Doha’s eyes see only Noh Doha.

"Well. I’ll admit it’s a reasonably plausible plan B, but even if we raise cavalry, how do you intend to raise the horses...? We can’t afford to expand our pastureland now..."

"Don’t worry. I have no intention of asking the already busy Sword Marquis to tread through weed fields, too."

"...? Then how do you intend to raise them?"

Noh Doha’s puzzled tilt of the head was entirely justified. This was a world blanketed in void. Even wild mountain greens that looked perfectly normal could spell disaster if you picked and ate them carelessly.

What happened if you ate just anything? Whether human, animal, or plant, living organisms could experience the miracle of their genes changing in real time.

Having more and more white hairs appear on your scalp, only for teeth to start growing instead of hair at some point, was certainly a novel experience. Had Darwin—or even Lamarck—been reborn in this age, he would probably have looked troubled and said, ‘No, I didn’t want my theory to be this correct...’

"Commander Noh Doha. We need to free ourselves from our preconceived notion of a horse."

"Pardon? ... Ah, wait. Please wait a moment. That feeling I get every time you spout bullshit while pretending to be scholarly is starting to creep over me..."

"What is a horse? What is its essence, its Idea? Isn’t it simply an animal a person can ride at a gallop?"

"Oh, fuck."

"I don’t want a mere imitation of a horse. I want a true horse. The horse-in-itself, which humanity has never once witnessed. A horse that won’t be frightened even when enemies form a pike square and thrust their spearpoints at it. One with explosive acceleration that can also gallop for extended periods, carry heavy loads for me, and be kind and gentle—but only to me, while showing enemies no mercy. One that doesn’t shit or piss much, and will happily eat anything."

"Oh, fuck..."

"And I will use the void to bring this horse into existence. What do you think of my perfect plan? Doesn’t it make your heart race?"

"My heart certainly is racing. It’s angina brought on by you. Unfortunately, the Korea Medical Dispute Mediation and Arbitration Agency has collapsed, so I can’t file a complaint... Hmm. Excuse me, Saintess? Could you perhaps stop this man...?"

The Saintess, who had been quietly sipping instant coffee from a sachet, spoke with an expressionless face.

"Last week, Mr. Undertaker consulted me about how wonderful it would be to have a mobile steampunk fortress like Howl’s Moving Castle."

"..."

"Compared with a mobile steampunk fortress, a horse-Idea is relatively tolerable. Workshop Master Noh Doha, I recommend giving up."

A long, mournful sigh filled the conference room.

"Oh, fuuuck..."

I took that as a signal meaning, ‘This business proposal is fantastic! Let’s get started right away.’

The very next day, I established a horse ranch on the plains around Daesan-myeon, north of Changwon in South Gyeongsang Province.

"The modern trend is returning to farming... No, returning to ranching."

Wearing a straw hat, I surveyed the plains with a suitably solemn air. I had chosen it myself, but this was a spectacular piece of land.

With Junam Reservoir nearby, it was prime territory for pastureland. The location was excellent, too. It was practically a stone’s throw from Busan, home to the headquarters of the National Road Management Corps and Three Thousand Worlds.

‘After all those regressions spent roaming the eight provinces, my eye for land could put Master Muhak to shame.’

My shoulders lifted with pride all on their own.

Before civilization collapsed, it had mostly been farmland. Now, with most of the residents gone, weeds and scrub trees had taken over.

Of course, genetics and biology were wondrous things in this age, so the species called ‘anomaly’ was officially included among those weeds and scrub trees.

GOBBLE GOBBLE.

SLIME SLIME.

There were two main types of anomaly that had made their habitat around Daesan-myeon.

‘Sligoblins’ looked like goblins but had bodies made of liquid slime, while ‘goblimes’ looked like slimes but had goblin skin. Both had threat levels below village-class according to the Library Society’s classification system.

Don’t bother asking me how those hybrids came into being, because I don’t know either. Perhaps, hmm. One day, some Goblin A had found a slime’s ass irresistible... Or perhaps some Slime B had looked at a goblin’s asshole and thought it seemed cozy. Either way, the resulting abomination was equally evil.

GOOOBBLE!

SLIIIIIME!

Without a moment’s hesitation, I exterminated both rare species within two days. Fortunately, this was perfectly legal, since the term ‘biodiversity’ had been deleted from dictionaries worldwide immediately after the apocalypse.

While I was roaming Changwon, I also tidied up the scrub trees with a few swipes of aura.

NEEEEIGH! NEIGH!

Next came an entirely legal and peaceful transport operation. I crossed over to Jeju Island, caught horses frolicking and grazing in the fields, and shoved them into the ship’s hold.

Then I rowed back and forth between Jeju and the mainland.

Fuel? That stuff was a luxury.

Noh Doha had declared, ["I don’t have even one liter of fuel to spare for the real-life DLC of your Animal Crossing edition..."] and handed me pitch-black heavy fuel oil in a beaker with a capacity of precisely 500 ml.

But what sort of man was I, the Undertaker? Churning the sea with aura-wrapped oars, I successfully transported no fewer than two hundred horses over the course of a full fifteen days.

And that wasn’t all. I even crossed over to Japan, struck a deal with the Magical Girl Council, and brought back four superior racehorses. Having done business with me several times before, they readily agreed.

Of course, the Magical Girl Council didn’t provide a ship as well, so I had to cross the East Sea with my bare hands—no, with oars.

["Why on earth would you go this far..."]

I occasionally heard the Saintess mutter that, but I ignored her.

Now, I really do respect the Saintess, but after my persistent evangelizing finally persuaded her to read Romance of the Three Kingdoms last week, she finished it and offered this review:

["... Since Sima Yi won in the end, isn’t it a story without any moral or lesson?"]

Good heavens. Not a Shu fan (orthodox), not a Wei fan (heretical), not even a member of that lunatic collection of Wu fans, but a Jin fan? Was she really the same Homo sapiens as the rest of us? The Saintess knew nothing of the human heart.

["No, I’m not saying I like the Sima family. It’s just that the ending of the story... Never mind. I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please keep raising your horses."]

Hmph.

The horses grew strong on a regressor’s love and support, and above all, on generous helpings of genetic mutation from the void.

In a normal world, breeding horses to produce foals and raising those foals to adulthood would have taken at least two or three years. But what kind of world was ours? A world that went into fits and convulsions at Newton’s proposed concepts of absolute space and absolute time.

Thanks to this world-scale mental illness, foals at my ranch—which I named ‘Idea Ranch’—sometimes grew into adults in a single night.

That was a rather extreme case, of course. Most grew in irregular spurts over six months.

NEEEEIGH! NEIGH, NEIGH!

GRRRRR...

Under my care, the horses awakened to the mysteries of evolution. I named this entire process ‘genetic factor farming’... or ‘factor farming’ for short.

Toward an ever stronger horse!

Toward an ever faster horse!

Toward an ever better horse!

In a sense, evolution resembled a regressor’s life of filtering out the optimal route. If so, couldn’t I, the Undertaker, be called an expert in factor farming?

And so, six eagerly awaited months later.

"You’ve already gotten results...?"

"That’s right, Commander Noh Doha. I’m formally inviting you to my [Idea Ranch]. Come inspect it and have a look around."

"Wow. It’s been a long time since I’ve been invited somewhere I wanted to visit this little..."

"Still, this is the plan B I formally submitted at an alliance meeting. As the person in charge of the meetings, shouldn’t you check it out? Besides, staying in Busan all the time isn’t good for you. Everyone needs to get out now and then."

"..."

"You’ll come, right?"

"..."

I had even prepared a safari truck for the occasion.

Along with Noh Doha, I invited Seo Gyu, Sim Aryeon, and the other members of our guild. They get a little hurt when I have fun without them.

"Ah...! Y-you’re always bragging about your ranch, Guild Leader, so I really wanted to see it! I-it’s okay if I draw it and post on SG Net to show it off, right...?"

"You keep going on about how it’s a paradise and a utopia, Boss, so I got curious, too. Well, if it’s a ranch you built from beginning to end, it’s bound to be something amazing, isn’t it?"

Aryeon and Seo Gyu climbed into the safari truck’s rear seats and chattered excitedly.

The apocalypse was fundamentally an age with little entertainment. Humanity had rediscovered the virtue of appreciating every little invitation like this.

By contrast, Noh Doha in the passenger seat wore a face like death itself, befitting a relic of the old age.

As soon as she got into the truck, she fastened her seat belt, then whispered quietly to me.

"Awakened Undertaker..."

"Hm?"

"Why isn’t the Saintess here...?"

"Oh, I invited her, but wouldn’t you know it, she came down with a sore throat. Unfortunately, she said she’d come another time when she was free."

"..."

Noh Doha’s face grew a little paler.

I even put a cassette tape into the rather old safari truck and turned on some music. The driver’s inspired selection set the back seat buzzing.

"Now, let us begin the first safari tour of the Undertaker’s Idea Ranch, opened to the general public for the very first time."

"W-wooow..."

"Ooooooh!"

VRRRROOOM!

The safari truck roared, belching exhaust. I gave the horn a hearty blast as well, and it played the horn call I had programmed in advance.

BWOOOOOOM!

Perfect.

As the horn call that had once rung out across that continent for humanity’s final desperate battle was magnificently recreated, a quiet murmur drifted from Noh Doha in the passenger seat, just loud enough for me alone to hear.

"Oh, fuck..."