Chapter 46
Chapter 46
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 46
Chapter Title: Returner III: Shin Noah 5
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True friendship knows no distinction of age—only the free exchange of souls.
That's what David Hume supposedly said.
From young friends, one learns vigor; from old friends, wisdom. Thus, one shouldn't choose friends based on age alone.
That's what Immanuel Kant supposedly said.
The most important point here is that neither of them actually said any of that.
But the nuance got across, didn't it? That should be enough.
My method of befriending the Sword Marquis and sharing brotherhood followed the same 'nuance.'
"Undertaker, my little brother!"
"Sword Marquis, my big brother!"
That very day, we polished off four bottles of makgeolli and became sworn brothers.
It was as if we'd recognized each other as kin with just a glance—no different from a reunion of long-lost family.
Even the Three Kingdom heroes would have been green with envy, gnashing their teeth in rage five hundred times over.
What the hell does that mean? Figure it out from the nuance.
Our 'makgeolli oath' didn't end as a one-night fling.
"Big brother, I have something to report."
"Ugh...?"
The next morning, I bowed deeply to the Sword Marquis.
For the record, he was sprawled out drunk, personally checking the temperature of the veranda floor with his left cheek.
"Report? Urp... What is it?"
"Last night, didn't you reveal to this little brother that you were the direct disciple of the Mount Hua Sect's sect leader?"
That had never happened, of course.
But the Sword Marquis nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Ah, right. I did."
"How could someone destined to become the Mount Hua Sect Leader seclude himself forever in this rundown thatched hut? Even if you seek peace in poverty, the world is in chaos—you can't chase personal comfort. Return to Mount Hua and set the sect's pillar straight."
"What?"
The Sword Marquis's mouth fell open.
I could feel his shock.
More precisely, I could feel the shock from his booze-ravaged stomach.
For a while, the Sword Marquis lay in the front yard, pumping morning air into his gut.
Or, to be exact, letting his gut sample the morning air.
I could describe this scene in vivid detail, but out of consideration for you readers, I won't provide any visual or auditory aids.
My kindness toward you is this gentle and infinite.
"Hoo."
Process skipped; only the result remained.
The Sword Marquis gulped down water from a plastic ladle—the kind you see at public fountains—then turned to me with a serious gaze.
"Undertaker, little brother."
He seemed to be trying to exude profound inner energy.
My personal take? He was exuding something, alright—but it was closer to morning breath than qi.
"Are you saying you'll accompany me on the road back to Mount Hua?"
"Exactly."
"Your sentiment is deeply appreciated, but these days, the martial world is a playground for the vile Demonic Cult bastards. The Way is severed, Righteousness has crumbled. Chivalry is just a hilt worn by villains for show. What makes you so bold as to promise safe passage through the jianghu?"
"I'll navigate this chaotic world with nothing but benevolence."
"......!"
Get it? I sure don't.
But the nuance existed, and that was enough—the Sword Marquis's eyes widened as if he'd grasped everything.
He slapped his knee.
"Indeed! If I can't do it alone, then with my brother, I shall! After years of seclusion, I'd even forgotten this simple truth!"
"Will you trust this little brother?"
"Returning to Mount Hua has been my lifelong dream. A friendship bartered for gain is fragile, but one built on shared dreams is solid. I trust only you, little brother."
What followed was lightning-fast.
We left the island right away.
He'd supposedly lived his whole life on Ulleungdo, yet his belongings were minimal.
So sparse that within forty minutes of deciding on the journey, everything was packed and ready.
The standout item in the Sword Marquis's outfit was the pouch at his waist.
"Big brother, what's that?"
He stroked his beard with a hearty chuckle.
"The essence of Mount Hua Sect."
Same old nonsense as always.
I shrugged and climbed aboard the boat to the mainland.
"Uwaaaagh—"
Oh, right—for the record, on the ferry to the mainland, the Sword Marquis shared his gut's bouquet with the East Sea as well.
Dying the heavens, earth, and ocean in his personal hue all at once—truly the grace of a transcendent realm master.
But wasn't this guy a native of Ulleungdo?
Even after a bit of makgeolli, seasick? Shame on an islander.
"Ughhh..."
On every leg—from Ulleungdo to Gangneung, Incheon to Shanghai—he clung to the rail and professed his thick friendship.
Thanks to that, I got promoted to full-time back-rubber.
The Sword Marquis made an awkward excuse.
"This Seat's... dantian took damage, so my stomach and duodenum got hit too. Heh heh. Never used to be like this. Embarrassing."
The dantian was connected to the stomach? Mind-blowing anatomy.
On par with scholarly inquiries into unicorn horn composition.
Side note: Securing that Shanghai-bound ship was a miracle in itself—my achievement.
As you know, when the Gate incident hit (by now, you're all familiar, so 'Void incident' or 'advent of the Void' works fine),
Seoul south of the Han River vanished in one go.
Incheon couldn't have fared much better.
As many fled by land as by sea.
Without my veteran traveler's savvy from countless overseas trips, I'd never have found a captain in that chaotic Incheon Port.
"Ooh."
After trials and tribulations, we reached China.
The Sword Marquis's eyes reddened.
"This is... the Central Plains...! Behold! This Seat has returned to reclaim the land!"
He sounded like the trip was already over.
But as an infinite regressor—mostly domestic, but once a self-proclaimed internationalist—I've traveled China plenty.
Beijing alone? Sick of it.
So I knew full well the real ordeal started now.
6
Ever read Greek-Roman myths or Norse sagas?
You might've sighed over foreign myths:
'Why don't we have any systematic myths left?'
I could rant forever, but that's not my point.
What I really want to say is:
'Thank fuck we don't.'
There's a reason I'm bringing up myths now.
Because with the Void's advent, the myths' 'cast' started crossing into reality.
Not even as described—updated more irrationally, more Cthulhuan, more misanthropic.
Now you see why I rank India and Japan as top danger zones for overseas travel.
Asia's myth boasts aren't limited to them, of course.
Thailand and others hold their own in ghost possession prestige.
But still—better than Japan, where eight million gods descended en masse, solving low birthrates and aging overnight.
Hindu zones like India and Nepal? Eh, let's skip those.
Ever seen the Ganges or Himalayas dyed red? Spectacular, but once was enough.
True apocalypse.
As the world collectively went to shit, China wasn't left out.
They boasted a stellar roster of divine freaks too.
Like a fancy Italian spot's wine list—China flaunted the Shan Hai Jing, Shi Yi Ji, Bo Wu Zhi, Shen Yi Jing menu.
The wuxia era was transitioning: classic to new, new to xianxia.
Demons and monsters, once outliers in classic tales, now got 'young and fresh' MZ vibes in xianxia.
Naturally, wuxia's homeland China led the trend.
So, as trip leader, I made the rational call.
"Let's detour to Chang'an before heading straight to Mount Hua."
"Hm? Why? That'd just make it a needless loop."
"There's a notoriously tough monster nearby. We need to steer clear."
Avoid. Always avoid.
China's trickiest fiends? Preferences vary by Awakener, but for me, two stand out.
'Chaos' and 'Greed.'
By my count, these two alone claimed tens of thousands of Chinese Awakeners—closer to a hundred thousand than twenty.
Civilians? Uncountable.
Perfect example: when the world's genre shifts to xianxia, but no human reaches immortal realm—what tragedies ensue.
"If we were at full strength, maybe—but charging them now isn't smart."
"Hmm. If you say so, little brother..."
Wise to respect unfamiliar genres.
Mine's modern fantasy, so why meddle in wuxia?
I plotted our route dodging Chaos and Greed religiously.
We bumped other yao spirits often, but I culled the small fry effortlessly.
The Sword Marquis watched my swordplay with hands clasped behind his back, occasionally gasping in admiration.
"Little brother's realm is astounding! Equal to—or surpassing—this Seat at his peak!"
"......"
Something like Mount Hua's lava bubbled in my chest, but I held it down.
"...Thank you. This little brother has much to learn. Please guide me well, big brother."
"Heh heh. With that attitude, higher realms await. Keep at it."
Smart travelers divvy roles.
You scout hotels; I find restaurants.
Poor division turns any trip hellish.
Ask anyone who's long-hauled with family or lovers.
Me? Undertaker. Secret travel master.
Knew role splits were key.
Over our two-month trek, mine were:
Route planning, funding, provisioning, lodging scout, local hires, Chinese translation (future Mount Hua Leader didn't speak it), luggage haul, night watch, bodyguard.
His? Uh... booze?
Anyway, translation was crucial.
First time to Mount Hua, even for an infinite regressor—locals were essential.
Major roads devoured by Chaos and Greed anyway.
Villagers eyed us curiously on backroads.
"Koreans? What brings you here?"
"Heading to Mount Hua for a trip."
"Pardon?"
"This gentleman is my grandfather. He wants to see Mount Hua with his own eyes before passing. As an Awakener fluent in Chinese, I'm fulfilling his final wish."
"Wow!"
Curious, suspicious locals teared up at my tale.
Note: Sword Marquis rode piggyback the whole way.
Unavoidable.
Demanding he walk would've stretched it 24-fold. No joke.
"What a rare filial grandson!"
"No, no. Lost my parents young; Grandpa raised me alone. Just repaying the debt."
"In this mad world, such people exist! Nothing to give, but take these peanuts. Our village's are the best."
Filial piety: East Asia's universal VIP pass.
Locals, poor as they were, piled extras on me.
Village grannies nearly ladled peanuts; I barely stopped them.
In thanks, I mowed nearby monsters like weeds. Win-win.
Sword Marquis, on my back, marveled.
"They say rural hospitality's gone sour these days—all lies. So kind!"
"Well, if I'd said I was hauling a geezer who thinks he's Mount Hua's head—99% of that kindness vanishes."
"Hm? What'd you say, little brother?"
"Nothing."
Day 62 of China odyssey.
After endless twists—typhoons dodged by the skin of our teeth—we finally reached Mount Hua.
"Ooh, at last... Mount Hua...!"
The 261st prospective Sect Leader gushed like a first-time tourist.
I didn't call it out.
Understanding little brother, after all.
Just politely asked.
"What a grueling journey. This little brother is eager to see the sect's grandeur you trained in. Where are the buildings?"
"Regrettably, the main hall was razed 45 years ago by the Heavenly Demon's raid."
('Your sect's fake? No buildings?') My pointed query?
The old man sidestepped masterfully.
Lived for martial cosplay—my amateur feint bounced off.
"Brothers slaughtered; I fled too. Debris gone now."
"Not that you don't know where?"
"The terrain's sublime—a true famed mountain."
No scratch on his mentality.
I shook my head and kept climbing.
Famed peaks hide their beauty, unveiling step by step.
Mount Hua, king of mountains, layered in rock—true face reveals only to those who tread.
Each step unfolded vistas like a screen painting.
I scanned the ridge.
"People gone, but facilities mostly intact."
Not sect buildings, mind—conveniences.
Shelters, stairs, shops.
Pre-Void cable car looked pristine.
Nearby lounge perfect base camp.
Checked storage—no food.
Whatever.
My live-stock companion produces rations breathing.
No sweat.
"Big brother, we'll base here."
"As you wish, little brother."
Dropped my pack, then him (used my back-delivery even hiking, naturally).
He flopped on the lounge floor, face like he'd survived.
"Ach, my poor back. After decades, can't even roam anymore."
As if he'd hiked himself.
I unpacked water, burner, ramen—cooked up.
That one line says it all about my suffering.
Yup—Grandpa on back, meter-pack hugged to chest, I crossed China.
"Big brother, ramen's ready."
"Mm."
Ghost-like, he rose from floor-star pose, chopsticks in hand.
Slurped noodles, gazed at ceiling.
"Heh. As I always say, your ramen's a delicacy. Met countless noodle masters in my life—none your equal."
"Too kind."
"No, serious. How does it taste this divine...?"
Boil ramen five hundred years, anyone reaches this.
Even played chef in regression 45.
Not Earth's top, but Void ingredients? Unrivaled.
Infinite regressor's seasoning.
"......"
Utterly useless seasoning.
"Burp. Good meal."
Shifted gears.
Key now: his reaction.
Always muttered 'Mount Hua, wish granted.'
Past regressions, same—consistent dream.
Timeless wish signals conviction.
As regressor, few things intrigue like human hearts.
'And I fulfilled his life's dream.'
Wish granted—curiosity remains.
Petty, private regressor's itch.
The world's most vital curiosity.
'What now, Sword Marquis?'
Bucket list done—home to Korea?
Or build the sect delusion?
Which?
I watched quietly.
He patted his full belly, stood, stretched.
"Stomach full—time to work."
All my predictions missed.
무한 회귀자인데 썰 푼다