Chapter 71
Chapter 71
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 71
Chapter Title: Designer I
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Shin Noah
1
By the way, the group known as the "Library Society" has already come up several times by now, but I never really got a chance to explain it properly to you all.
The reason this popped into my head all of a sudden was because O Dok-seo had once asked me this very question back in the 562nd round.
"Uncle, Uncle. How do you join the Library Society?"
"Hm? Why the Library Society?"
"Why...? Because it's cool, duh."
O Dok-seo would occasionally latch onto something out of nowhere like this.
You could tell just by looking at her—cap backwards like some rapper, jacket slung over her shoulders, jeans with three holes that looked ready to slide right off her hips like molten wax, chomping away on bubblegum (fake, of course). But no, O Dok-seo was smack in the middle of a severe case of eighth-grader syndrome. Terminal stage, even.
She proudly called herself a literary girl, and like all chuuni types who did, she suffered from the same affliction: an inexplicable, perverse ecstasy at words like "library," "society," and "librarian."
According to a paper from the Korean Psychiatric Association, it was unfortunately incurable, with the only known treatment being for the patient to actually enroll in a university literature or archival studies program. How terrifying is that?
"Uncle's a regressor who's been through hundreds of rounds, so of course you're buddies with the top brass of the Library Society, right? Right?"
"Uh......"
I made a complicated expression.
"Well, I do know them, but......"
"Then introduce me! No, first tell me what the Library Society is even like. They do post on the anomaly encyclopedia on SG Net, but otherwise it's this total mystery shrouded in secrecy."
"...You really want to know?"
"Yeah? What's with the sudden attitude? Don't be stingy—tell me everything you can."
"You might regret it...... Whatever, fine."
If that's what you want, I'll tell you.
-Zzzt, today's music for you all is Mozart......
Next to the table where we sat, a wooden vintage radio was playing softly.
I took a sip of my café au lait, pouring engine fuel down my scarlet tongue.
Then I opened my mouth toward the petite seer in front of me.
2
The Library Society.
Its nickname: The Great Library.
No one knows exactly when it was founded, but it's an incredibly old organization—a secret society, no less.
Naturally, its existence was thoroughly concealed from the public. Even if the name slipped out by mistake, people would just go, "Huh? That sounds like something that could actually exist in real life," and brush it off. That set it worlds apart from pathetic exposure fetishists like the Freemasons or the Illuminati, who yapped endlessly about secrecy while plastering it everywhere.
"Ooh...... Now that's a secret society."
O Dok-seo's eyes sparkled.
Even for O Dok-seo, whose default mode was cynical side-eye at everything thanks to her neurons being hardwired that way year-round, romance apparently still existed somewhere.
I thought to myself, *This is bad*, but kept explaining.
The exact location of the society's headquarters was unknown. Rumors placed it somewhere in North America, though.
Its branches were scattered across the globe. The Korean branch's hideout was tucked away somewhere in Cheorwon.
"Cheorwon? Why Cheorwon of all places?"
"More precisely, near Geonnam-myeon in Cheorwon. Not many residents around there. It's to avoid drawing attention, as befits a secret society."
"Ooh......"
The "Library Society" had been aware of anomalies' existence even before the gate incident blew up—possibly for hundreds or even thousands of years.
They collected information on anomalies, compiled攻略 guides and manuals, and secretly trained "librarians" in the shadows.
Librarians were all specialists in anti-anomaly warfare. They'd sworn to dedicate their lives to exterminating or collecting them, ethics and morality be damned.
Librarians strictly followed a hierarchy of command.
The rank structure, as far as was known, went: Knight → Baron → Viscount → Earl → Marquis → Duke.
Of them, there was only one Duke: the pinnacle of all librarians, the Library Duke, also known as the "Black Archive." Nothing was known about their true identity. Not even if they were human.
"Hang on. So how do you address librarians with their ranks? Like, 'Baron-class librarian'?"
"Eh, something like that. From Earl rank up, they get special nicknames too. For example, an Earl who specializes in pseudobiblia might be called the 'Pseudobook Tower' Earl. You know, like that."
"So cool......?"
"By the way, the suffix at the end of the nickname changes by rank too. Barons get 'Gate' (關), Viscounts get 'House' (家), Earls get 'Tower' (樓), Marquises get 'Pavilion' (閣). For instance, the Marquis overseeing the forbidden book division is known as 'Thousand Sea Pavilion.'"
"Totally cool......?"
O Dok-seo's gaze grew dreamier by the second.
Legend had it that in the deepest abyss of the Great Library headquarters lay something called the "Black Empty Ledger," a sort of prophetic tome.
The Black Empty Ledger was said to be inscribed with prophecies of disasters to befall humanity and world-ending anomalies, written in bizarre languages and scripts.
To avert the day of final doom, to preserve humanity, to carry history forward—the librarians of the Library Society still lurked in the shadows to this day.
"—And all of that's complete bullshit."
Blink.
O Dok-seo blinked, clutching the espresso I'd brewed for her in one hand.
"Huh?"
Nice reaction.
I flashed a gentle smile.
"Kiddo, there's no such thing as the Library Society. Sure, you'd find tons of groups with similar names if you dug around, but there's no ancient cabal that's been operating from humanity's shadows since thousands of years ago to counter anomalies."
"Huh? Wh-what? Why? How come......?"
"Because."
I slowly rose to my feet.
"I'm the Undertaker—the master of the Great Library, founder of the Library Society, the one and only Duke, the Black Archive Duke."
"......"
What? Why the shock?
I grinned wickedly at the eighth-grader syndrome bubblegum girl flapping her lips like a crucian carp, channeling the sleazy smirk of a veteran brothel thief.
You think the fake organizations I've spun up over a thousand-plus regressions number just one or two?
Playing the mastermind is always fresh and thrilling. I was an SSS-rank regressor, primed to respond to any incident with "Ah, that was my plan," "That was me too," "Yep, my doing as well."
But even a regressor can't create something from nothing. That was proven long ago by that demon Parmenides back in 500 BCE.
Even I had drawn inspiration—nay, been forcibly prodded—into founding the Library Society.
There was an original source, in other words.
It all started in the 46th round, from what was presumed to be a radio broadcast originating from the Land of the Free in North America, USA.
3
Since civilization's collapse, humanity—fresh off its video era heyday—had regressed to the radio age in terms of culture.
And from early in my regressions, I'd been quite adept at handling radio. I'd even set up a full broadcast station myself to support Dang Seo-rin's idol activities.
Bragging a bit here... Channels like "Nymphocalypse" and the "Ravenclaw Busan Branch"—which boasted listeners not just across the peninsula but even across the sea to the Japanese archipelago—couldn't have broken ground without my help, the Undertaker.
This wasn't mere boasting; it was objective fact. The hosts themselves often let it slip.
-Ah, is that our benefactor speaking? Wow. Your help was *huge* in getting this channel off the ground and keeping it running! Just five years ago, I didn't even know how to run one!
-Our patron? Hm. I've mentioned it on air a few times already, but we're truly grateful. Whenever we need rare materials or equipment to keep the channel going, a quick request to our patron and poof—they appear like magic.
All those "benefactors" and "patrons" pointed straight to me. I'd contributed handsomely to preserving East Asian culture post-apocalypse, thank you very much.
The annual event where major radio channels teamed up for a 24-hour Christmas relay broadcast—"Radio Festival"—was my brainchild too.
Be grateful to me always, you culture vultures of the Far East.
Which is why one wall of my hideout was always lined with radios on display.
An impressive lineup: Korea's first vacuum-tube radio, the Goldstar A-501; Sony's CF-580 and CF-3800; Germany's Grundig Party-Boy 210; China's TECSUN PL-680, and so on.
Among them was a Zenith model K731.
No need to know what it is. Just know it's a 1950s antique made of maple wood—a real vintage piece.
Like those wooden wardrobes in old folks' houses? This radio had that same glossy, polished sheen.
-Zzzt, this is... CP Foundation. Current situation... *zzzt*.
One winter morning, that very antique whispered something in English, ever so slyly.
"Hm?"
Back then, like any other morning, I'd just mixed up some café au lait for my daily dose of romance. Still groggy from sleep, I stared blankly at the radio.
*Did I... leave it on last night?*
And that's where it becomes clear I'm utterly unsuited to be a horror movie protagonist. I'm the owner of perfect memory ability, so I never pull that "Eh, must be my imagination" or "Memory's fuzzy~" crap that infuriates audiences.
*...I definitely didn't turn it on.*
My eyes snapped wide open. I cranked up the volume right away. The classic radio static surged.
-Zzzt, Sector 7 has fallen. Repeat, Sector 7 has fallen. Nuclear warhead deployed per protocol, but no effect.
Nuclear warhead?
I fiddled to clear the static and listen. The voice seemed to belong to an old man, speaking in classic Californian English.
-Ooh, the evil dragon...... The evil dragon's loose. It's all over now. *Zzzt*. Can you see it? The evil dragon's massive shadow looming through the mushroom cloud. We're done for. The Foundation's finished. The world's finished.
I twisted the dial every which way. But no matter how I tuned it, the static crackled on, and the old man's voice kept droning without break.
The conclusion was obvious.
"...This thing's turned into an anomaly."
I clicked my tongue.
Contamination.
Ever since the world started crumbling, electronic devices getting hijacked by anomalies was routine. I'd named the phenomenon "contamination" or "infection."
Especially vulnerable were CCTVs, phones, old cell phones (the older, the worse), computers, GPS navs, radars, televisions. They went haywire at high rates.
In truth, what delivered the killing blow to human civilization wasn't physical threats like the Ten Tribes, but these "contamination" events.
Early on, world leaders trying to nuke anomalies got a rude surprise: "Huh? Why's the missile heading *this* way instead?" And poof—mushroom cloud merger.
Radios weren't exempt.
I'd run rigorous exorcisms on my collection, so I thought they were safe......
-This is Sector 7. This is Martin Russell, Sector 7 Chief Director. Immediately upon confirming the final bulkhead protocol's failure, I relocated to Bunker 24 and am now attempting external comms.
"Hm."
-CCTV shows inside and outside the sector, but most are down. The rest won't last long. If a rescue team is formed, please dispatch quickly so I can coordinate from inside. Survivors visible on remaining CCTVs in the sector: including me, 3, 4, 5...... 6. I'm alone in Bunker 24; the other five are scattered.
-Radar shows escapees from containment aren't dispersing worldwide but concentrating in North America. What? What's drawing them?
The broadcast content was oddly compelling, though.
Normally, anomaly-contaminated radios just wailed "Hiiiieee" like ghosts or spewed nonsensical mind attacks.
-Foundation personnel already know this, but...... Sector 7 is located on Molokai Island, Hawaii.
-In the unlikely event civilians hear this, ignore everything. And run—get as far from North America as possible. Or just enjoy a last supper with family.
But this anomaly—what it called itself a member of some "Foundation"—was mimicking a human scarily well.
As if a real person was broadcasting from the other side.
As if someone trapped somewhere was desperately, frantically sending out signals.
Which is why, in the 46th round, I felt intrigued—and couldn't help but wonder one thing.
-The entities are indiscriminately destroying Foundation sectors. *Zzzt*. Oh God! May mercy be granted to humanity......
If this was real.
If the old man was really in some "Sector 24," the "Foundation" existed, and the escaped entities were real.
Then what in the world was happening in North America right now?