I Remembered My Past Life

Shunk —

I drove my sword into the Demon King's heart.

Her trembling gaze swept over me.

"H-how…"

Her eyes burned with pure, bottomless injustice. And fair enough — she had every right to feel that way. In the party, I was nothing more than a porter. For a lowly pack mule to suddenly lunge forward and bury a blade in the Demon King's own heart… yeah, that would throw anyone.

"Acting."

"…What?"

"I was acting. To fool you."

"A… acting?"

"Yeah. Around the nine-hundredth regression, I figured it out — you've got a habit of ignoring the porter."

That was the only weakness I'd ever found in her.

"B-but they—! They never treated you like a porter at all!"

The Demon King pointed at my party members, her voice thick with grievance.

"Yeah. They think I'm a porter too."

"What?"

"I joined the party as a porter from the start."

The Demon King, whose eyes could pierce the abyss itself. The performance I'd staged to deceive her was finally drawing to a close.

"You became a porter just to deceive me?! Even if you cut me down, no one will ever acknowledge you! That is simply the nature of humankind!"

"I don't care."

"What?"

"I said I don't care. As long as I can end this goddamn regression."

I had poured my entire life into this. So I wouldn't have to watch my precious characters die anymore. So I could finally see the end of this wretched dark fantasy. Being treated like a porter for a single run?

"That means nothing."

I can finally cut you down. At the end of nine hundred and ninety-nine regressions. At last.

I tightened my grip on the sword.

Crrrk —

As the blade twisted clockwise, the Demon King finally coughed up a gout of pitch-black blood.

And then —

"Get away from her, porter!"

A rough hand yanked my shoulder. A heavy impact slammed into my backside, and by the time I came to my senses, I was sprawled on the ground.

Splat —

I hit the mud hard. The filthy sludge soaking my body splattered across the red hair of the woman who'd pulled me free.

"Tsk…"

She clicked her long tongue. Vertical slit pupils swept over me from within mysterious green irises. A towering frame. A crushing presence.

Dragonkin. Kiadrice Sol.

The only recruitable dragon in the entire game — one of the characters I'd invested in the most.

Kiadrice looked down at me where she'd thrown me.

"…How. How did a mere porter manage to stab the Demon King?"

"Quit yapping and finish her off."

I didn't even have the strength to stand. Gasping for breath, I looked around and found the heroes staring in shock.

Blonde hair woven from pure sunlight, ruby eyes refined from blood into gemstones. Imperial Princess Ayra Vermouth was staring at me, not even wiping the blood streaming down her forehead.

A girl with tousled cherry-blossom hair that somehow still looked soft, the genius mage Judith Belvoir. She clutched her oversized staff with violently trembling hands as it kept slipping, her eyes blown wide.

And Roxina — who under normal circumstances wouldn't even register in your field of vision. The fact that I could see the black hair and long ears of one of the continent's finest assassins needed no explanation for how exhausted and stunned she was.

"Everyone, get it together."

A cracked sound scraped out of my throat. It didn't matter.

Tales of Legend.

This dark fantasy game of insane difficulty didn't tolerate even the slightest lapse. The moment you thought you'd made it, an arm went flying. The moment you let yourself relax, a companion died. And now, inside that game, I was one step away from ending the Demon King's life.

"Kill her. Now."

The Demon King. The one I'd had to regress nine hundred and ninety-nine times to save every last one of you. Please, just take her life. That was the only ending I'd ever wanted — the ending I'd dreamed of while doing every ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠menial chore and every bit of mental caretaking as the party's porter.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Looking at the Demon King clutching her chest and coughing blood, my heart pounded. Look at that. Her posture's wide open. Just take her head, or drive another blade through her heart. Either works.

"Kiadrice. Ayra. Judith. Roxina."

Let's see the ending already.

I was about to smile at them and speak when —

— Beeeeeep

My vision flooded black. A sudden ringing filled my ears.

"…What."

By the time I registered that my own muttering sounded muffled, like an echo underwater — amid the faintly reaching screams — a cold voice cut through.

A voice like a paper's edge slicing a fingertip. My vision went dark.

.

.

.

Kim Ian, who'd been reviewing his old playthrough records, tore his eyes from the monitor with a deep sigh.

"Ugh. What's the point of watching this again."

He mashed the back button, and the game's title screen loaded once more.

Or ToL for short. A dark fantasy game that had been popular about ten years ago, infamous for its deranged difficulty. The kind of game that looked fairly peaceful on the surface — until, past a certain point, absurdly brutal hardships came pouring down.

Its biggest draw had been letting players interact with character AIs directly through a microphone, and it had exploded into something close to a sensation.

Yeah. Past tense. Because ToL had crashed and burned fast.

The insane difficulty was one problem, but the real worst part was something else entirely. The monetization system.

At first, everyone called it a generous god-tier game.

"They designed it so you could get heroes from the start just by putting in the effort."

Heroes that would cost real money in any other gacha game could be collected in ToL through pure grind. Raising them was manageable too — just invest a little more time instead of cash. Days so peaceful and enjoyable you could hardly believe it was a dark fantasy. As if that fun and happiness would last forever.

…And then.

Disaster struck. Under the name of the main scenario. Monsters poured in. Aberrations ran rampant. People died. No exceptions — not even the heroes you'd raised yourself, talking to them face to face.

The cash shop window made its pitch. Want to buy back your dead heroes' lives? Want to buy back the time you invested and the affection you gave them — with a little bit of money?

"…What a garbage game."

You curse it out, and you buy it anyway. You have to. Otherwise the images of your dead heroes never leave your head.

A deranged monetization scheme that sold trauma. Get you attached to the characters during the peaceful prologue, then drown them in catastrophe and kill everything you worked so hard to raise. A pay structure that forced you to spend real money if you wanted to save them — it was the worst of the worst.

Characters are just a pretty arrangement of ones and zeros? Mere digital scraps? Who cares about any of that. The kids I'd grown attached to were dying.

I'd spent like a man possessed, and gone broke like a man possessed. Blew through my entire savings, and later even took side jobs just to keep spending…

"If I hadn't quit, I really would've ruined my life."

I can't quite bring myself to praise the decisiveness of seven-years-ago me for dropping it cold after tens of thousands of hours. Because even quitting ToL — the game I'd poured my life into — was because of ToL.

The 999th run, where I got spectacularly betrayed right on the verge of killing the Demon King. I scraped together every last won I had, started the 1,000th run, and came face to face with reality. Heroes who, as always, remembered nothing from before the regression. And the cash purchases they demanded.

Every regression, I had to pour money into the cast — and even scraping together the funds was hard.

They had no memory that I'd regressed. Fail to take care of them right now, and their hearts drifted away too.

In that moment, the exhaustion hit me all at once. The endless sponsorship. Figuring out which one of them was the traitor. Raising the characters all over again while carrying that suspicion. Tens of thousands of hours of grinding to keep everyone alive, and it all felt like it had become worthless in a single stroke.

And so I quit ToL.

"What a sucker."

Looking back now, seven years after quitting, past me was definitely an idiot. No matter how hard I'd projected onto those characters, dumping that much time and money — does that even make sense? Does it?

I'd quit the game, but deleting it felt like a waste.

But today, even that was goodbye. To me now, ToL was just a game eating up useless space — on my device, and in my head.

"…Still, since I'm already here, might as well check the lobby."

I moved the cursor and headed to the lobby. For someone who'd dropped thirty million won, the lobby that greeted me was bleakly empty. A half-open window. Tables and chairs cracked from worn durability. The place that should have been filled with the heroes I'd raised was conspicuously, thoroughly vacant.

Well. Seven years since I'd quit. If anyone were still here, that wouldn't be loyalty — it'd mean that hero was an idiot. Even my last moments before quitting had been full of their complaints, so of course no one would stick around.

"What was I even hoping for."

The corner of my mouth ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠twitched up, but the laugh tasted bitter.

I hit Y without hesitation, paying my respects. The deletion progress bar began to fill.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Goodbye, ToL. I have regrets, but it was fun.

…I was still rolling that beautiful farewell line around in my head when —

"…Why isn't it progressing?"

The deletion bar sat frozen at 0%, not budging an inch. Then an illustration appeared in the deletion window.

"What?"

I was briefly thrown, then understood. A common pattern. When you try to delete a game, the characters pop up and pitifully ask if you're really going to erase them. But wasn't this a little too blunt?

The next dialogue box ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠appeared after I mashed Y without thinking.

"…?"

What is this trash game. Couldn't even code a proper deletion window?

I was still processing the little skit playing out on the other side of the screen when a dialogue box with a completely different tone appeared.

Ian. My name, and my ToL character name. I pressed Y, and a dialogue box that seemed to be crying answered from the other side.

A pretty sympathy-baiting line. Enough to make you feel like a monster if you wiped the game right then and there. But I'd been tempered past the point of breaking. I mashed Y without a thought. Just delete it already.

Ah. So that's the concept. Unfortunately, I wasn't getting emotionally invested. No illustration, so I couldn't even tell who it was, and there was zero chance it was a character I'd raised. They were the ones who'd gotten disappointed and chewed me out over failing to sponsor some tiny item.

"No way anyone stuck around."

That was why the empty lobby hadn't disappointed me. Just delete it already.

Ignoring the increasingly pathetic dialogue boxes, I held down the confirm key.

The percentage climbed fast. Thousands of dollars and tens of thousands of hours vanished that easily.

No. They had to vanish.

— Crash!

Ian Darkest tumbled out of bed and awakened to his past life.

The fact that he — a bastard son of the family, treated like cold leftovers — was actually a modern person, and the one who'd been possessed into a dark fantasy game.

"…What the fuck."