Chapter 388: Regressionists (3)
Chapter 388: Regressionists (3)
I hadn't been roaming the base for long, but the Regressionist Terrorist Group was already effectively crushed.
Well, it was only natural.
Given the nature of their ideology, it was impossible for Regressionists to recruit Heroes to their side. Even if they could, most were just low-level villains disguised as civilians.
A low-rank villain—like Han A-bin before her training—could easily pass as a slightly stronger-than-average person.
The only other case would be if a Hero was truly insane and joined a Regressionist group to be used as a weapon… but this lot? They were just a bunch of ordinary people, plain and simple, with no special qualities whatsoever.
I couldn't fathom where they got the nerve to think they could flip the world upside down.
One of the immediate proofs of their amateurism was that this base lacked something vital for a terrorist headquarters: a way to escape and live to fight another day if their hideout was compromised.
Regressionists are usually a bit unhinged and detached from reality, but this group was particularly delusional.
Honestly, I should have known from the moment they showed up for their "terrorist attack" looking like a community baseball team heading out for a drinking session. They hadn't been trained by any organization; they were just civilians.
The big-name Regressionist groups usually have uniforms and play soldier with their own internal ranks. These guys were just thugs who’d done some drugs and stabbed a few people.
“…What the hell are they thinking?”
I couldn't understand why they were acting so bold.
To be blunt, you could find people like this in the back alleys of any country. I hadn't bothered looking, but there were plenty of them in Nanjido, too. It’s common for those pushed to the fringes of society to gather in their malice, hating the world and acting like punks.
But those people are usually just that—punks. To take the next step and become terrorists, they need a catalyst.
They need to become true fanatics who follow Regressionism from the depths of their souls, not just as a fashion statement. They need the belief that they possess the power—whether through technology, money, or numbers—to actually carry out an attack. Or perhaps a chance clash with the Management Bureau leaves them thinking they might as well do something real since they’re going to be punished anyway.
There are many other possible triggers, but the point is, they need something.
Yet, I felt none of that from these people.
Their hatred for me wasn't particularly strong, nor did they seem to follow any unified set of rules. I saw people who looked like office workers, middle-aged men who looked like they’d spend all day scratching their bellies at home, typical thugs, and even a woman who looked like she’d just started university.
It was a group that seemed to be made of ordinary civilians.
And yet, they reeked of blood.
I’m not talking about them defeating the Defense Force or their terrorist acts. I mean that, quite apart from that, these people were clearly accustomed to murder. They killed each other, they killed civilians, and they killed the blind subordinates associated with the Management Bureau.
Regressionist terrorist groups are never normal, but this one was uniquely twisted.
For example, there are some quite large Regressionist groups operating near South America. One group based in the Amazon frequently attacks the Great Barrier.
Those guys are surprisingly balanced. They occasionally plunder civilians, but they seem to have a shred of conscience, trading for goods at about half their market value. They might attack Management Bureau buildings, but they don't target individual employees or threaten their families. They don't cause mass civilian casualties, and they don't attack without stating their demands. They even police their own extremist members and hand them over to the Bureau, and if an Awakened appears in their territory, they quietly contact the authorities.
I’m not saying they’re "good."
In the end, they only act that way to solidify their rule in places where the United Nations' power doesn't reach. The Management Bureau has more than enough power to crush them, but for now, the benefit of letting them exist outweighs the benefit of destroying them, so their interests align. Because they exist, Regressionists from all over the world flock to that area, they take care of the extremists themselves, and they cause far less trouble than other lunatics.
In short, they’re like Nanjido—a place where you can just herd them all together and ignore them.
But these guys had no such brakes.
the moment I discovered the execution ground inside the base, I knew this group was fundamentally broken.
It was a place where they hung wooden planks around people's necks listing their "crimes," shot them until their bodies were unrecognizable, and then just left the corpses to rot. Such a place sat openly on one side of the base, not even hidden.
And the "crimes" written on the planks were absurd.
Denying Regressionism. Failing to sympathize with the Great Cause. Refusing to pay tribute.
…What are these people, really?
Why do people flock to such a mad group? How do they have the connections to secure the funds and weapons for a base this size? Why did an underground scientist join them?
Based on what the AO Institute Director said, I expected the scientist to be the main attraction and the Regressionists to be just a side-show.
But since arriving at the base, the sense of wrongness had only grown.
People who would execute their own comrades just for questioning Regressionism were working with villains?
Does that mean Regressionism is just an excuse for them? Do they just want to wield power? Is the terrorism itself not about achieving a goal, but simply being drunk on violence?
If so, the bizarre structure of this base finally made sense. The questions I’d had since I first scanned the layout began to click together like gears.
For a terrorist group, they had decorated the base excessively and provided no escape routes. Usually, if terrorists had that kind of money, they’d spend it on more bombs.
These people had poured far too much money into this base. As if they planned to stay here for a thousand years. As if they had no intention of using sustained terrorism to convey their message to society. As if they had never truly been hit by the Management Bureau.
They didn't seem to realize that no matter how much they decorated, a single bunker-buster could end it all. They didn't realize that the arrival of someone like me meant the end.
If that was true, this group was dangerous.
Calling them a terrorist group was far too charitable. For some reason, this was a gathering of madmen who lacked any internal brakes regarding murder and violence.
I was glad I found them now. The only reason a major catastrophe hadn't happened yet was that this base was all they had. If they ever got their hands on a strategic weapon capable of mass slaughter, they were the type to fire it without a second thought.
The moment that thought crossed my mind, I stopped in my tracks.
…Wait.
They do have a strategic weapon.
The AO Director's Room-Temperature Fusion Reactor.
Why haven't I seen it used here even once?
I’d been so focused on the plasma weapons when I broke in that I’d completely forgotten, but thinking about it now, there was no reason not to use it for defense. So why was it only used during the terrorist attacks?
As I stood there, mulling over the endless suspicions surrounding this group and walking forward without paying much attention to my surroundings—
Beep.
With a small electronic sound, the world changed.
“…What… is this?”
An overwhelming sense of weakness pierced my body. The world began to shake. My chest felt tight. I couldn't breathe properly.
It wasn't that the air had vanished into a vacuum or anything like that. I only used breathing as a metaphor; in reality, I was suddenly deprived of something essential to my existence.
Like a fish pulled out of the water.
“Gah…”
Pain began to flare through my entire body. My vision and senses narrowed. The world I perceived grew smaller. For no apparent reason, the strength drained from my limbs.
A total deprivation of everything.
Just as I thought I had felt this somewhere before, my knees buckled.
Clang.
The sound of metal echoed.
“Hahaha! Look at that pathetic state.”
“I heard the stories, but he really is just a brat, isn't he?”
“He can't be a real kid. Look outside. He’s the one who did all that. He probably sold his soul to Satan for eternal youth.”
Enemies holding guns stepped out from a secret door in the hallway. It was a mixed group of about twenty men and women. They approached me step by step, tossing crude jokes back and forth.
As if they were completely unaffected while I suffered from this total deprivation.
…What is this?
It wasn't magic, an esper power, or any special ability being activated.
Think, Lee Ha-ram.
I have definitely experienced this phenomenon before. Remember when and where I felt this sensation. And how they are different from me.
Even as I knelt there, enduring the pain—
“Shouldn't we just hang this brat’s corpse and take it to the lab?”
“Good idea. It’s the perfect way to drag those shut-ins out.”
“Then a clean shot would be best, right?”
“We only need the face, so why don't we just riddle his arms and legs with holes?”
They laughed and babbled about their cruel murder plans right in front of me. I ignored them, searching through my memories.
“Hey. You. Awakened. Give us a reaction.”
“Maybe he just can't move?”
“Ah, is that it? Could be.”
“We can just go check.”
“Then you go.”
At some point, they kept their distance and simply aimed their muzzles at me. As if they mocked Heroes but were well aware of the fear they inspired.
As their conversation continued—
“So we just aim for the limbs and fire, right?”
“Don't hit the head.”
“I got it.”
They finally seemed to have reached a conclusion on how to handle me. With those final words, they placed their fingers on the triggers.
Even in that moment, I continued my contemplation of the situation.
It hurt. And following that pain—
Bang.
I heard the sound. Because my perception had dulled, I only realized the gun had been fired after the pain arrived.
“Direct hit!”
“Hey, why aren't the rest of you shooting?”
“I thought it’d be more fun to take turns one by one?”
“When did we decide that?”
“Just now, when I was talking to you?”
As those voices echoed in my ears, the pain acted as a trigger. I remembered what this situation was.
Yes, I knew this.
The complete erasure of Otherworldly Power.
The Containment Zone that had been beneath the Geneva Branch. This was a more malicious version of that. It didn't stop at erasing Otherworldly Power; it used a Reality Anchor to continuously distort the laws of reality. The modified law being: 'Within this space, the laws of the Otherworld are nullified.'
The wording might not be exact, but the content was the same.
I had experienced this twice. Once, in the basement. Once, to test my pure physical strength.
The moment I finally remembered—
“Heh.”
I laughed.
“What? Why is he suddenly laughing?”
“Maybe he’s gone crazy.”
“A few more bullets will fix that.”
Bang.
Even as I laughed, The Enemy pumped another bullet into my body. The resulting pain raced through me, but I didn't stop laughing.
“Hahahaha.”
What the hell, I got scared for nothing.
Thinking that, I forced my shot-up leg to stand. Pain and deprivation surged through me, but my body moved.
“…!”
Startled by my movement, the enemies began to shout. They said something, but I didn't care. I simply took a step forward.
Thud.
Compared to my usual self, it was a light dash. But how did it look to them? They probably felt like a wild beast was charging them.
This, too, was only natural.
These bastards were just sacrifices. Sacrifices to buy time.
The ones who installed this must be the scientists the AO Director mentioned. And if it was them, they knew exactly what kind of abilities I could show in here. Because they would have seen it in the basement.
The Magical Girl who stands at the pinnacle of physical force.
That doesn't just refer to magical physical reinforcement.
“The fun part is over, you shits.”
Saying that, I lashed out with light punches at their bodies. They were far slower and much lighter than my usual strikes.
However, unlike my usual self, who controlled my immense power to destroy only what needed to be destroyed, I currently lacked the capacity to exert that control.
Therefore, the pure, uncontrolled strength of my physical body slammed into the enemies.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Like balloons, their limbs burst apart.
“…!”
Cruel screams erupted. Hot blood sprayed over me. Unlike usual, flesh that couldn't even maintain its shape scattered everywhere.
It was only natural. My body itself was essentially a weapon.
Mutants are considered physically weak compared to monsters. I’m not saying we’re Mutants, but we are categorized as humanoids, aren't we? Thus, Heroes are bound to be physically inferior to monsters or beasts, and they usually compensate for that with special abilities or other means.
But I am the exception.
Even with nothing else, my body is at least equivalent to an A-Rank monster. Except for the fact that I have soft skin. I have to have such a body just to withstand my own power.
“You pathetic shits….”
Did you think you could win if I got weaker?
It’s the opposite, you idiots. It was because I was strong that I could afford to go easy on you.
But now that I’ve been weakened like this…
“I have no choice but to beat you to death for real, do I?”
I’ll try my best not to kill you, but… you brought this on yourselves, so don't resent me.
With that thought, I hurled my heavy body toward the enemies on the other side.
Along with their screams, blood splattered in every direction.