Chapter 43
Chapter 43
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: The One Who Was the Watcher V
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Shin Noah
7
Crash—
The sound of glass shattering echoed from all directions. Just moments ago, it hadn't registered in my eyes, but it was proof that the Saintess's aura had activated.
The bullets charging toward me like a school of sharks shattered all at once. The hand axes rolled across the ground. The sight of thousands of bullets crumbling into powder and scattering amid the snowflakes was truly spectacular.
“……”
The culprit behind this miraculous scene—the Saintess, or the one whom my future self would name the "Executor" after her fall—stood staring at me in a daze.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Her tone sounded ordinary at first glance. But I had spent countless years with her, and I would spend countless more. It was hard to completely hide emotions from someone bound to you by thousands of years of fate.
The Saintess was flustered.
'As expected.'
I nodded.
A fight couldn't even be established from the start.
The Saintess had no real intention of killing me. Her goal was merely to subdue me.
I couldn't yet know what picture she was painting in her mind. Unfortunately, I wouldn't master mind-reading until the 554th regression, and this was still only the 107th.
Still, there were clues for speculation.
"Saintess."
"Yes."
"Please stop using time stop. Send back the Awakeners you summoned as well. If not, I will kill myself immediately, without any grace period."
“……”
The Saintess peered into my eyes. For an instant. Or perhaps for eternity. Or maybe gazing at herself through my eyes. Eyes formed within eyes.
Thud.
The axe slipped from her hand and buried itself in the snowdrift. Sleet continued to fall from the sky. Snowflakes settled over the thousands, tens of thousands of footprints imprinted in the snow.
Time passed.
"It's stopped."
That was how the Saintess phrased it.
I suddenly felt an emotion I could hardly bear. In terms of living through distorted flows of time, she and I were kin.
Commonly, those who live in familiar spaces are called fellow countrymen, and those in unknown spaces are foreigners. What about time, then? To ordinary people, weren't both of us helpless outsiders?
Snow fell. I thought this place was an exile isolated from any world, a forsaken corner where the world had washed its hands.
Coincidentally, "exile" originally derived from "return home." Returning to one's homeland had become a punishment at some point.
In that case, the cracks in this world were our true homeland.
"…Very well. You don't wish for my death anyway, Saintess, and I don't desire yours. So we can talk."
"I agree."
The distance between us was about six meters.
"Then let's first settle our demands. I want you not to restrict my freedom, Saintess."
“…I feel the same. I hope you won't interfere with my executions, Undertaker."
The Saintess spoke.
"If another regression happens like this and the 108th world begins, you'll surely try to stop me from becoming 'like this.'"
“……”
"You won't want me to become a murderer. You'll want to keep me in a position that's always righteous and beyond reproach. But this—wanting to inflict pain directly on those sinners with my own hands—is a conclusion I've reached myself."
"So you tried to subdue me for that?"
"Yes. I planned to confine you until I found a way to selectively erase specific memories. The world is vast, and there are many Awakeners, so there must be abilities to control memories somewhere. In the worst case, I could rely on Go Yo-ri."
Go Yo-ri wouldn't work.
"Speaking of which, you mentioned summoning Go Yo-ri earlier. Is she on her way here by any chance?"
"It was a lie."
The Saintess said it expressionlessly, as if it were nothing.
"Summoning other Awakeners in the name of the constellations was a lie too. It was a ploy to make you anxious and force a mistake. No one else is coming here besides us."
“…I see."
Good grief. A complete bluff. I really couldn't let my guard down around her.
I steadied my breath. Then sheathed my sword and spoke.
"Saintess. I promise that in the next regression, and the one after, no matter how many regressions repeat, I will never hide from you the fact that you reached this conclusion of punishing villains yourself."
“……”
"I promise. So please ease your anxious heart, Saintess."
“……”
"Even if you burn the world to ashes, I'm on your side."
Silence flowed.
Each time a snowflake landed on the Saintess's shoulder, a faint crack—like glass fracturing—echoed softly. Only the quiet sounds of falling snow and shattering glass filled the world.
"It's frustrating."
Her voice seeped in like a shadow amid the white, transparent sounds.
"That I won't remember this memory, this conversation, in the next regression. That the memories of sixteen years with you will all melt away like snow."
“…I'll remember."
"Yes."
The Saintess subtly lowered her eyes.
"That's why it's even more regrettable."
“……”
"It's nothing but sorry. You'll be sadder than me, Undertaker. But I couldn't bear it. The thought that everything—events, memories, the meaning of someone's death—might vanish. …And the fact that it all has to rest on one person's shoulders."
"It's fine. I can endure it. You exist, after all, Saintess."
Snow fell.
Crack. Her lips parted with the sound.
"When an Awakener's power reaches its peak, they become no different from monsters."
This was the first time in my regressions.
And the first in human history that the phenomenon of "corruption" was defined from one person's mouth.
"Pardon?"
"From some point, I could move freely even in a stopped world. Not just my own voice, but every sound I remember—I could reproduce them via telepathy."
The Saintess was utterly serious. She assembled her words at a pace my understanding could follow.
"At first, I thought it was just my ability evolving. A natural inference. But as time passed, another hypothesis, another possibility lingered in my mind."
"What possibility?"
"That rather than growing, I'm losing myself in the opposite way—perhaps."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Telepathy originally conveyed only 'my' voice. But what if I transcend my own flesh? If I drift further from humanity? Then, couldn't I reproduce not just human voices, but countless sounds?"
"Uh… Logically possible. But couldn't the phenomenon you describe simply be your scope—or the breadth of your self—expanding?"
"Yes. But they're not so different."
The Saintess shook her head slightly.
“…Explaining this feeling to others is incredibly difficult. But it's too vivid to dismiss as mere psychological unease."
"Symptoms?"
"Transparent aura."
For some reason, the moment those words left her lips, an ominous chill gripped me.
As if an invisible tongue licked my spine from nape to pelvis.
The Saintess stared straight at me.
"The auras Awakeners manifest all have distinct colors. You saw my aura colorless and interpreted it as 'transparent-colored aura,' Undertaker."
“…Correct."
"But what if it wasn't aura?"
She murmured. A problem she'd likely pondered endlessly in stopped time.
"Effects mimicking aura reinforcement, but not aura. You've surely witnessed such phenomena countless times, Undertaker."
"Monsters…?"
"Yes. Monsters."
The Ten Tribes don't use aura.
Their flesh is simply inherently reinforced like aura from birth.
My heart pounded. Matching my beats, cracking noises endlessly resounded from her entire body.
"I'm gradually being eroded by void poison."
“……”
"And that's not all."
Snap.
She snapped her fingers.
In that instant, my vision flipped.
“…?"
No, precisely, it wasn't flipped.
It was as if I were out-of-body—looking 'down' at my own flesh.
My first-person view had switched to third-person.
"Saintess?"
My lips moved. I saw my lips moving.
It was an utterly bizarre sensation.
I looked down at my own back. If I did strength training in this state, I could hit weights with perfect precision. But the third-person world didn't offer only advantages.
"What is this…?"
Floating sensation.
A person's self is ultimately tethered to the body.
The body is the most direct objectivity. If the body loses that directness and is placed 'alongside' other objects, the moment it becomes just one among many objects, the self loses its anchor and drifts like waves on an endless sea.
"That's the world I see, Undertaker."
Rustle.
The Saintess approached me, stepping on snow. I was helpless, like a newborn who hadn't learned to control its body.
"Before, this view only unfolded when using clairvoyance. But it grew familiar… Now, I can't distinguish my own view from the third-person one."
She took my hand.
The cold touch from the snowflakes felt vividly clear. Yet somehow, it felt 'distant.'
Like the tactile sense felt like a color? It should be felt closest on my skin, yet there was a sense of distance.
Just as she said, an indescribable sensation to others.
Eerie.
Uncanny.
Monstrous.
"I think about half of my existence has already become a monster."
“……”
"When you discovered my secret, I thought it was over. But looking back now, it's fortunate it happened now. If a little more time had passed… I'd have lost the most important part of myself."
She whispered right before my nose/from afar, monologuing.
The Saintess gathered the faint body heat left in her with both hands and wrapped mine/the Executor assumed a posture as if praying to the heavens.
"If it reached that point, I might have been able to stop time to prevent your regression. No—I'm certain."
“……”
"Losing my color, my vision, my form, even time, becoming something that merely overlooks everything. Such a monster."
Steam rose from the Saintess's mouth/in the snow-covered world center, a wisp of fragile human warmth rose.
"Please remember, Undertaker. This fight, the challenge to save the world—it's no game with infinite time. The opportunities are infinite, but once you enter the stage, there's a 'time limit.'"
"Time limit…"
"Probably 15 to 20 years. Beyond familiarizing with their powers, when Awakeners are devoured by them, they'll approach monstrosity like me. Understand? An Awakener's power isn't pure blessing. It's a double-edged sword."
Crack—
Somewhere, right before my eyes, perhaps very far, the sound of glass fracturing rang out.
Only now did I realize it might not be glass. A transparent membrane enveloping the Saintess—the human called Saintess.
"This time, you focused on my growth, so I corrupted first… But it could differ in other regressions. My intuition says those with powerful abilities are at higher risk. For example… Dang Seo-rin of Three Thousand Worlds isn't exempt."
“……”
"20 years. Ideally before 15. Restore the world to its original form. Please remember, Undertaker. The time limit…"
The shattering grew clearer.
I grasped her intent. So I pulled her hand and embraced her back. Controlling the body in third-person was tricky; I might have used too much force.
The Saintess's eyes widened.
“…Ah."
"You're going to kill me. Trigger the regression before you fully change. But that's greed—shouldering it alone."
A small breath/laugh escaped.
"You really know me well, Undertaker."
"Let's go together."
“……”
"I just didn't say it, but I'm a pro at mental management. I traveled nationwide for three regressions once, even worked as a convenience store owner."
"Convenience store owner?"
"Yes. You need to learn to let go a bit too, Saintess."
I drew up aura throughout my body.
The cracking glass membrane began shattering in earnest. Crash—crash. As my aura enveloped us, countless bursting sounds echoed.
Snow fell. Glass shattered. Even as snow kept falling, the two shadows etched in the white snowfield didn't bury.
“…Warm."
The Saintess closed her eyes.
"Why do people… kill people…? We're people."
Crash.
The world quietly stopped snowing.
That was the Saintess's final words.
8
There's an epilogue.
This epilogue isn't limited to a specific regression.
109th, 110th, 111th… In regressions where I blood-oathed the Saintess, this scene invariably replayed.
"That's what happened."
“……”
After hearing everything, the Saintess rested her chin, deep in thought. She occasionally tilted her head curiously, all by herself.
"It's my story, but it doesn't feel like me."
"Is that so?"
"Yes."
The Saintess looked at my face. Deadly serious.
"Wandering around outside so diligently? That's not like me."
“……”
That aspect, huh.
The Saintess stood and fed her fish tank.
Fish she'd diligently collected before the world became like this swarmed at their owner's gesture. Red. White. Yellow. Blue. Vibrant colors swam.
"No matter how cornered emotionally, anonymously punishing villains is hard to understand. Elevating oneself to divine status to instill fear is effective strategy, but it's the idea of someone who doesn't trust others. If she was diligent enough to roam outside, why not publicize her existence and abilities, form a government directly?"
"Hmm. Maybe she wasn't that diligent?"
"Indeed. Half-hearted. Choosing seclusion because she hates being half-hearted."
The Saintess's fingertips gently brushed the water surface.
To the fish, the world's boundary—the water's skin—rippled lightly. She seemed to savor the sensation.
"Above all, the 107th me described it as if corruption automatically follows ability awakening. But that's flawed analysis. Obvious counterevidence exists."
"Counterevidence…?"
"You, Undertaker."
The Saintess said.
"You've regressed countless years, continually developing your abilities. If my theory held, you'd have corrupted first. Since you haven't, corruption is likely just a mental issue."
Just a mental issue.
Still strict with herself.
"But I get the meaning of those last words."
"What meaning?"
"That a person kills a person. Kills despite being human. That's always painful. And…"
"And?"
“……”
The Saintess glanced back.
I blinked. Like a crab in the tank clacking claws and fluttering its eyes.
Then, a rare event occurred.
The Saintess smiled faintly.
"It's a secret."
- The One Who Was the Watcher. End.