The Regressor Wanders (10)
The Regressor Wanders (10)
"We are survivors of a world that perished without ever reaching the top of the Tower."
The old man said it as calmly as if he were talking about last night's dinner.
"And it's not just us... Most living beings, except the Angels, share our plight. They were people who stood at a crossroads: prolong their wretched lives as tools of the Tower on the brink of destruction, or crumble into a handful of ash."
Hearing that, I suddenly recalled the residents of Floor 2. They lived repetitive lives as tools for us players... and yet they never seemed particularly resentful. Even the dwarves of Floor 11 had been friendly to humanity—until the murders.
The goodwill they showed us... might not have been as simple as it seemed.
"...Ah. It seems I can't go further than this. Use your imagination for the rest."
By now, blood streamed not only from his nose but from his ears and eyes. He wiped his face once with his left hand, and the trails of blood vanished, but his already pale skin took on an unmistakable bluish cast.
"Now then... I'll try to tell a bit of my story. Tedious as it may be, I hope you'll take it as wise advice drawn from an old man's life and carve it into your memory."
Unsteady, he stood resolute and kept speaking.
"The worlds from Floor 11 to Floor 15... are all the world where I was born and raised. The only difference is the point in time."
"..."
I couldn't move, but I found his claim hard to believe. Floor 11 was a forest. Floor 12 was a modern research lab. Floor 13 was a wasteland. Floor 14 was another forest, and this Floor 15 looked almost like outer space.
"Ha, you must think it makes no sense. Let me explain step by step. First, our world... is something close to the 'fantasy' worlds you imagine. A world with an Emperor ruling an empire, goblins and orcs, and magic and swords."
As if reading the doubt in my eyes, the old man nodded and began his explanation.
"I was a genius. The continent's greatest mage, greatest swordsman, greatest inventor. People hailed me as a God-given talent meant to save the world."
He was the greatest in his world—no further explanation was needed. Fueled by innate talent and excellent traits, he climbed the Tower at breakneck speed, monopolizing every reward and growing ever stronger.
The old man's goal was singular: to become as strong as possible, to clear the Tower, and thereby save everyone.
"I had such an abundance of talents, but there's a limit to what one can do at any given moment. So I thought: what if I had puppets that could embody my talents?"
People called the old man a Puppeteer. No matter how many traits he gained or how many items he acquired, he could fully utilize them all. Items—he handed them to his puppets. Traits—each puppet wielded them on his behalf.
By the time he had conquered roughly three-quarters of the Tower, the old man had transcended the bounds of a single individual. He deserved to be called a one-man army—no, a legion.
"I never used my strength to oppress others. On the contrary, I led the defense of my world, which was growing destitute under the Tower's influence. Our world had always been home to monsters, but they grew far more ferocious after the Tower's influence reached us."
In those turbulent times, the man's puppet legion was an immense help. He guarded the entire world from where he sat, and people hailed him as a hero.
Yet that overwhelming support turned toxic.
"I truly... never even dreamed of it."
The other climbers were envious and jealous of the old man for monopolizing the rewards. And the Emperor feared his influence would grow too vast once he cleared the Tower. They... resolved to eliminate him before he could become any stronger.
And so, an entire world threw itself at the old man to kill him.
"But they underestimated me so terribly."
All of them were subdued by the old man. His power, endlessly growing from monopolizing the Tower's rewards, had already touched the heavens—and he had also prepared perfect counters against the so-called elite abilities of the other climbers.
"Curse abilities? I reflected them with an item. Air manipulation? Unraveled it with a trait. Mental-type abilities were the trickiest... but I overcame those through sheer mental strength."
He triumphed over the world. His innate talent, effort, and the accumulated rewards of the Tower had transformed him into an untouchable monster. The other climbers could not defeat him.
"However... I, too, underestimated the other climbers."
The already half-shattered army gave up. Most of the fallen, writhing climbers abandoned the fight as well. They had felt it firsthand when they clashed with him: that monster could not be beaten, no matter what.
But one climber—a man the old man habitually dismissed as "trash with a good trait who never tries his hardest to climb"—was consumed by spite and made the worst possible choice.
"That bastard... wiped out every last bit of air on our planet."
He wore an item that amplified his power, possessed a trait that allowed him to temporarily wield immense strength under a restriction, and was ready to die. Even with all that, the fact that he erased an entire planet's atmosphere... could only be called talent.
The genius who could have saved the world put a final period on its destiny.
"Those hidden in magically shielded shelters survived. I survived too, thanks to a respiration trait. But... the vast majority of life perished."
Most living things suffocated, including the top-ranked players who had exhausted their power battling the old man.
The old man gazed bitterly up at the black sky.
"That... is also why the sky ended up this way."
Clenching and unclenching his hands, he looked back at me and went on.
"Nevertheless, thanks to the items and traits our world had obtained, hope remained. Using the dwarves' technology, we built underground cities and training facilities for Tower warriors."
The old man was strong enough already. What he needed was a single partner to climb alongside him. The floor he was stuck on required a group, and he was absolutely convinced that with just one partner, he could reach the Tower's end.
The underground city expanded at a tremendous pace.
The facilities were stocked with goods modeled after otherworldly products normally seen only inside the Tower, and custom puppets made by the old man himself were stationed throughout. They hadn't given up. They still dreamed of the day they'd conquer the Tower and return to the blue surface.
Fifteen years of subterranean life passed like that.
The drastically reduced population failed to produce anyone who could rival the old man.
"A meteorite... fell to the surface."
The ground was overturned, and the world was swallowed by red magma.
"...Later, mages explained that the atmosphere is supposed to block meteorites falling from the sky."
The hearts of the last remaining survivors crumbled. The surface they could return to was gone. Their hero was aging day by day. There was no hope.
"One day, the leader came to find me and said..."
Prostrated on the floor, the leader asked: couldn't they all simply die together? Life underground was too painful. Could the old man personally end their lives?
It was a betrayal of the old man who had devoted himself to the world. It dismissed the effort he had poured his life into.
"I intended to slaughter everyone who betrayed me and then end my own life. Until the Tower made me an offer."
The old man, staggering badly, collapsed to the floor. His complexion, once white, then blue, now verged on black. Yet his eyes remained infinitely clear.
"I hated the world. I hated the foolish Emperor who went after my life for his own gain. I hated the selfish climbers blinded by greed. I wanted that insane bastard who erased the atmosphere out of an inferiority complex toward me dead. Floor 11 through Floor 15... are floors I designed during that venomous period of my life."
The old man's eyes blazed bright as he spoke.
"But a long time has passed... and looking back, I realize I had faults too. I rejected communication, hoarded all the rewards for myself, and acted selfishly under the pretense of saving the world. Some of the climbers who attacked me genuinely believed I intended to swallow the world whole. Had I truly stood with them, our world would not have perished."
"..."
"Jun-ho. I hope you won't make the same mistakes I did. Find comrades you can trust. Share the rewards. Devote yourself to your world, but do not make enemies in the process. And above all else... kill those who need killing in advance, thoroughly. If you hesitate, you'll end up like me."
Trembling, the old man rose to his feet and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Just listen. You are now face-to-face with my main body. And I intend to erase my main body's memories—more precisely, to overload the soul and reset it."
With his other hand, the old man brought his index and middle fingers to his own forehead.
"One last piece of advice..."
"..."
"That power of yours. If an Archangel, or something greater, is nearby, you'd best not use it. Perhaps because the sources of power are similar, it's been affecting you, little by little. I suppose you could call it... causing confusion in your memory."
Looking away from me, the old man gazed toward the shining sun.
"I'll be rooting for your long journey. I believe your way is the right one."
A pure-white flash of light began at the tips of his fingers and swallowed the world.
[You have taken damage.]
[Regressing to the moment you first entered Floor 15.]