Chapter 54
Chapter 54
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 54
Chapter Title: Ruler I
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Shin Noah
1
I was thinking of talking about Dang Seo-rin, the leader of the Three Thousand Worlds Guild, today.
But before that, let me take a brief detour into some rambling. Living life as a regressor makes certain things stand out more clearly, changes that feel more detailed than they do to others.
Like the wrinkles forming between No Do-ha’s brows as the years pass—kidding.
Take “changes in language,” for example.
If you’ve been following my tales this far, you’re probably familiar with shifts in language already.
A prime example is “monster.” Those bizarre lifeforms—or sometimes not even lifeforms—started getting called “anomalies” instead of the English term.
Everyone knows “gates” became “voids.”
Up until now, I’ve kept it hidden to avoid confusing you all, but the term “awakener” has gone through quite a colorful evolution too.
Some called them “hunters,” then “transcenders” became popular. Later on, “ascenders” crept into common use.
The closer we got to the latter, the stronger the taint of that ridiculous ideology dubbed “awakener supremacy.” People who wanted to distance themselves from that cultish eugenics nonsense preferred the more neutral “awakener.”
Why?
“Because No Do-ha calls me ‘Awakener Undertaker…’”
It wasn’t a respectful title like “sir” or “teacher.” It was closer to “I don’t see you as some transcriber or ascender.”
Not my speculation—I straight-up asked her in one of my cycles, and that’s what she said. So very No Do-ha, that prickly attitude.
Anyway.
Amid all this linguistic upheaval, one word stood unchanging, nobly holding its ground no matter how much time passed.
That word was “guild.”
2
No idea who first started calling groups of awakeners “guilds.”
It was like some collective unconscious among Koreans declared, “From now on, that’s what we’re calling it,” and the name just stuck naturally.
Most awakeners joined guilds without a second thought. Even that lunatic Sword Marquis founded his own one-man guild called Yuldo Nation, right? (It briefly had two members in the 108th cycle.)
So, some of you might be wondering.
What exactly do guilds do?
Do you go to an adventurer’s guild like in RPGs, pick up quests, and rank up from B-grade, A-grade, S-grade, or bronze-silver-gold-platinum tiers based on performance?
Sadly, no. That’s just the insane East Asian habit—ingrained since ancient bureaucratic systems—of imposing official hierarchies even in private spheres.
I can answer what a guild is very simply.
It’s just a gang.
“Guild Leader.”
“Yeah?”
Take the 6th cycle, for instance, when I’d joined Three Thousand Worlds and was acting as Dang Seo-rin’s right-hand man. Something like this went down.
“Word is, Blue Sea Guild awakeners hit every bar in Nam-gu last night.”
“What?”
Dang Seo-rin, who’d been lounging listlessly, sat up.
“Those punks should stick to scraping seaweed off rocks on their island. What makes them think they can crawl inland? Evidence?”
“They’re gathering it all up on the way back. Told Deputy Yoo to activate minimap. Give the order to move out anytime.”
“This is why I love having a deputy guild leader.”
“You going personally?”
“Yeah. Obviously. Let’s smash ’em.”
Remember when I mentioned I might’ve shared only the glowing stories about Dang Seo-rin? If you do, sorry—not anymore.
If any fans of hers are reading this, tough luck. Conversations like the one above were everyday fare in the Three Thousand Worlds office (train car).
The “Korea’s greatest output-star awakener great witch idol Dang Seo-rin” you all know is just a fabricated product of massive historical revisionism years later.
I know, because I spent decades rolling in a manager-like role for that idol.
-Ding ding ding ding!
The bell rang, and guild members poured out of the train.
Over two hundred members, and astonishingly, every single one wore a conical hat. Not just that—they all clutched broomsticks too.
In a world gone mad, this was prime evidence our guild was even madder.
Dang Seo-rin climbed onto the train roof, like a principal at a podium. She gazed fondly at the sight of everyone in their conical hats.
“Hey, kids.”
“Yes, Great Witch!”
“Those Blue Sea Guild brats lording it over Yeongdo had a party last night at one of the bars we protect. They’ve got money to burn—went all the way to the 16th round. Life must be good in Yeongdo these days. But they didn’t even tell us neighbors. How rude is that?”
“Kill them all!”
Someone shouted. Yoo Ji-won, my adjutant and Korea’s top hype man.
Dang Seo-rin blinked, as if struck by an unexpected insight.
“Hmm… Never thought that way myself, but hearing you all, it’s like enlightenment dawns. Yeah, great idea. Let’s kill them.”
“Oooooh!”
The Three Thousand Worlds members, uniformed in black conical hats and black cloaks, marched through the city streets.
Grown adults, aren’t you embarrassed? Sure, a few kids don’t count, but yeah, it was embarrassing. Say that to Dang Seo-rin’s face, though, and you’re dead.
The enemy guild members, hit with a full assault out of nowhere, freaked out.
“Fuck! It’s the witch cult!”
“Three Thousand Worlds.”
“The witch cult’s attacking! The crazy witch is here!”
“Three Thousand Worlds, I said! Wanna die?”
No one listened to Dang Seo-rin. Almost nobody remembered the guild name Three Thousand Worlds anyway. They were just the Busan witch cult.
And the witch cult’s specialty was witch hunts. In this era, the civilized advance over medieval barbarism meant witches weren’t the hunted—they were the hunters. Latest trend.
“P-please… spare me…”
Three hours after combat began, Blue Sea Guild, based in Busan’s Yeongdo, was annihilated.
Tap tap. Dang Seo-rin prodded the enemy guild leader’s head with the end of her broom, face grim.
“Hey.”
The broom’s stiff bristles jabbed his eye.
“Ow… Aaaagh…”
“Why would someone who’d beg after a day terrorize honest merchants’ wallets? We don’t wanna fight you guys either. But when shopkeepers beg us for help, what can we do? Can’t just ignore our neighbors’ pleas. Why make it tough for us?”
“Sorry… I’m sorry… Please just let me live…”
“Let’s play witch trial. Dunk you in water—sink, you’re innocent; float, guilty. Got it?”
“You fucking psycho lunatic! You call yourself human?”
“Kids, what’re you waiting for? He wants to go in.”
I echoed.
“Into the water.”
“Glub?!”
Let me say it again: modern times are more advanced than the Middle Ages. Unlike old inquisitors tying rocks or iron to ankles, we introduced cutting-edge “concrete mountaineering boots.”
Seafloor mountains—turns out there are plenty under the sea. Concrete shoes: the invention letting humanity conquer them.
Moments later, bubbles rose from the sea off Busan.
I nodded.
“Not floating, Guild Leader.”
“Innocent, then.”
Dang Seo-rin lifted her conical hat and pressed it to her chest.
Then, eyebrows drooping sadly, she bowed her head.
“Another tragedy of these chaotic times. Let’s all observe a moment of silence.”
“All together, silent prayer.”
Following Dang Seo-rin, all two hundred guild members observed silence.
Our guild didn’t stick to water magic alone. Fire magic to savor the scent of burning logs, time magic to make every second of a wasted day hit home, healing magic via hot-stone paths for foot reflexology…
As befitted Dang Seo-rin’s guild, masters of all magic, Three Thousand Worlds discriminated against neither white nor black magic, loving the four elements equally.
Prime proof we—and especially Dang Seo-rin—were madder than the mad world.
There.
This little anecdote should make clear why I flatly call guilds “gangs.”
I picked a slightly provocative episode on purpose, but guilds’ main revenue was protection money. From merchants, workers, refugees—meticulously collected.
No choice. No fairy-tale drops of gold coins from monsters.
No dream superconductor “magic stones” replacing oil either.
The only useful monster drops? Meat, maybe. But running a butcher shop? Insufficient. People didn’t like monster meat, plus occasional radiation seasoning.
Guilds had no choice but to extort “protection” from people. This held true for every guild in Korea—no, worldwide.
The real differences came next. How you interpreted “protection.”
“The world is a war of all against all, and humans are the fiercest beasts. Protecting people from people is humanity’s top priority now.”
Humanists who adopted that sat guarding their turf. The ideology of choice for most macho men.
“Aren’t monsters scarier than humans?”
The timid 4% thought differently.
“Humans matter, but smash monsters first.”
“Nothing drops from them anyway.”
“Why not? Busan drops into our laps.”
Dang Seo-rin set the 1st of every month as protection money due date. Come month-end, she’d lead guild members to clear voids outside Busan, then return.
Not just hunting. She’d film monsters dying, capture at least one alive, drag it back.
Then prove before Busan citizens that the great witch’s magic worked on monsters too.
-Greeeeek!
The monster, tasting fire, water, time, and healing magic in order, thanked them with limbs bound tight.
“Torture it more! More! More!”
“As expected of Three Thousand Worlds’ leader. Knows how to have fun.”
The magic show’s popularity turned it into Busan’s pride and landmark.
Collect protection fees the next day or the day after, and payment rates jumped meaningfully. Citizens’ vibe: “Fun show—gotta pay the entry fee.” Even back when Korea’s tax office ran fine, compliance wasn’t this high.
“Guild Leader… are you a genius?”
“Yeah. Praise more.”
“If not for the conical hats, you’d be in history books.”
“Wanna die?”
As Dang Seo-rin predicted, Busan soon nestled naturally into Three Thousand Worlds’ embrace.
The weird shift forced even some humanists to rethink their philosophy.
“On second thought, monsters might be scarier than humans.”
“Yeah. You can talk to people—monsters? No negotiation.”
“To think we missed such obvious truth! I pity myself!”
Early adopters as they were, Korea’s guild leaders eagerly copied Dang Seo-rin.
Patriotism, power lust—whatever. Leaders switched to hunter roles. Failures naturally weeded out.
But none matched Dang Seo-rin’s “magic show.”
Who else severs a monster’s limbs (more than four, really), levitates them, then reattaches?
“Our town’s executions are so boring.”
“Down in Busan, they’ve got fire and water magic.”
“Sigh, no copy beats the original.”
With internet and theaters gone, monster executions were irresistible. More civilians moved to Busan daily.
Dang Seo-rin’s reasonable protection rates fueled the migration boom too.
And right around then.
Our great witch Dang Seo-rin started harboring strange thoughts—stranger than her usual weirdness.