The Regressor Gets in Trouble (3)
The Regressor Gets in Trouble (3)
The Overseer.
The word 'Overseer' carries a certain weight.
An Overseer looks down from above—supervising, constantly evaluating others, judging whether they're fulfilling their roles properly.
As a result, an Overseer's qualifications are always under suspicion. The moment someone thinks, 'What makes him qualified to be an Overseer?', his authority plummets. That's why Overseers usually go out of their way to keep a strict, solemn demeanor.
"Whoa, whoa... hey...!"
So it was hard to believe that this shabby, beggarly man devouring dumplings was the 'Overseer.' What the hell does he oversee, anyway? Could probably use some overseeing of his own condition first, damn.
"Thank you. Since fate has brought us together, how about we exchange names? I am called Jang Mo."
After devouring half the plate of dumplings, Mr. Jang bowed his head deeply. His roughly tied hair slapped against the table.
"...I am called Kim Mo."
"Then, Brother Kim. I ate well, thanks to you."
"When did we get close enough for you to call me brother?"
"I was so unbearably hungry during my training that I committed a discourtesy... yet you graciously forgave me. Thank you."
"..."
Mr. Jang completely ignored my words and thanked me again. With his round eyes, large ears, and circular face, he had a very likeable look. He didn't seem very old—probably somewhere in his twenties or thirties.
Well, what's lost is lost. Money here means nothing to me anyway. What matters is clearing Floor 18 itself. Right now, the key—the 'Overseer'—has rolled right into my lap.
<Floor 18>
- On Floor 18, all climbers' physical abilities are fixed equally.
- Submit a reward that exceeds the Overseer's standard.
I don't know what the role of the 'Overseer' is, nor do I know what a 'reward that exceeds the standard' means. But it's a fact that this man is the key. I need to build some rapport.
"Training, you say. You've worked hard. Ah, one more plate of dumplings here, please."
And to build rapport, you start with the small things. Small talk is the standard way to begin. I casually struck up a conversation and ordered another plate of dumplings. I might end up sleeping on the streets tonight if I keep spending like this, but I'm not about to miss this opportunity.
"I don't know much about it, but I hear there are different kinds of training. What kind of training is yours?"
"Ah, I am a practitioner of Daoism."
"...Daoism?"
I definitely studied something about Daoism back in middle school. I don't remember the details... but I think it was a philosophy that pursued asceticism.
"...But if you're a Daoist, aren't you supposed to avoid meat?"
"What's impossible about it?"
"...?"
"Moderation. Balance in all things is important. Problems arise when you lean to one extreme."
Mr. Jang speared a dumpling with his chopsticks and said it nonchalantly. Come to think of it, his fluttering robes did look like typical Daoist attire. Okay. I've roughly figured him out. He feels like a renegade monk who eats meat, or an eccentric unbound by common sense.
Originally, I planned to get close to him step by step and then subtly probe his inner thoughts. But since he's such a laid-back type, I figure I can jump straight to the point.
"May I ask you something?"
Beating around the bush or being direct. People of his sort likely prefer the latter.
"Do you happen to know what an 'Overseer' is?"
Alright, how will this man react if I'm this straightforward? Other people showed no sign of knowing this place was inside the Tower. They're just living their lives faithfully.
What about this man? Does the Overseer know this is inside the Tower?
"I do know what it means... but isn't it usually a position used on construction sites?"
The answer was no. The man clearly didn't realize he himself was the 'Overseer,' let alone know about the Tower.
"Hmmm..."
This complicates things a bit more. If he knew that he was the Overseer, he'd have some specific 'reward' in mind. Submit this, you pass; submit that, you fail.
But if he had no idea he was the Overseer? Then there's a high chance there isn't a set standard for the 'reward.' No, it could be an act. I'll have to observe a little longer.
"Is there any gift you want? Or perhaps a goal?"
"A gift, you ask? These dumplings are more than enough for me. Greed for too many things inevitably leads to trouble."
"Is there nothing I can do to help you? Please, say anything that comes to mind."
"...I apologize. This is a bit sudden."
Mr. Jang showed reluctance and leaned back. Oops. I might have come on too strong. Come to think of it, we've only just met, and I'm just a strange outsider who bought him some dumplings.
"Well, that is..."
Just as I realized my mistake and was about to apologize to him.
"But if you're curious, I'll tell you. Have you ever heard the saying: Softness Overcomes Hardness?"
Suddenly straightening his back and looking me directly in the eye, Mr. Jang exuded an uncontainable aura of wisdom that even his shabby clothes couldn't hide.
"...I've heard of Softness Overcomes Hardness."
That the soft can overcome the strong. It's a concept I've skimmed past in martial arts novels before. But why is he bringing it up now?
"If asked to name the most effortlessly flowing thing in the world, most would point to water. Because it is soft, cool, and clear."
"...Right?"
"But water dripping from eaves bores holes in foundation stones, and raging storms uproot giant trees. The softest water overcomes the hardest stone."
Mr. Jang picked up his water cup and let a few drops fall onto the table. Plink. Plunk.
"Even though water is soft, striking it hard with your palm only hurts your hand. Yet the water itself isn't injured or wounded. Softness Overcomes Hardness. I wish to replicate this through the power of internal energy. That is my goal."
"..."
"However, with just a human body, it was difficult. The amount of internal energy is absurdly insufficient. I wonder if it would work if I just gobbled up some precious spiritual medicine."
Mr. Jang, who had been nodding bitterly, suddenly caught himself and quickly added, "It was a joke." He'd unintentionally revealed his true feelings.
"Thank you once again. I am in your debt. Well then, I'll be off."
After finishing the dumplings, Mr. Jang disappeared off somewhere. I knew it would be pointless to stop him, so I let him go. Yeah, a challenge like this is what makes it worthy of being called a 'task.'
Spiritual medicine. Spiritual medicine, he says. It won't be easy to obtain.
Let me say it again: the martial artists of this place are weak. There are no martial arts clans here, and the idea of Court-Murim Noninterference does not even exist to them. They are almost like wild animals, wandering like water weeds.
Therefore, even if something like spiritual medicine exists, it doesn't belong to martial artists. It's usually offered up to the imperial court or sold for huge sums to powerful and wealthy families. This is common knowledge I've picked up even in just two weeks here.
If that's the task needed to clear Floor 18, I'll bring it to him, no matter what it takes.
**
All sorts of spiritual medicine appear in martial arts novels.
Ten-thousand-year-old Polygonum multiflorum. The Fire Core, where the heat of a volcano is held within a stone. The Ice Core, where the cold of a glacier is condensed. Wild ginseng types endowed with miraculous energy, like spirit ginseng, snow ginseng, and thousand-year ginseng.
As if this world were no different, extremely rare spiritual medicines circulated. Naturally, they were so expensive an ordinary person wouldn't dare dream of them.
Pills like the Shaolin Temple's Great Rejuvenation Pill or the Mount Hua Sect's Plum Blossom Pill are unobtainable. Since there are no sects to begin with, there's no way there are people who can make such pills.
In the end, my primary objective became 'finding the spiritual medicine myself.'
And shortly after, I realized it intuitively: finding it directly was hard. No, it was practically impossible.
"You! Who the hell gave you permission to mess around here?"
"Get out! Get out, I said!"
Every time I searched a mountain, herbalists showed up and threw a fit. The mere existence of spiritual medicine—able to change a man's life if found—had driven hordes of desperate men into the mountains, creating turf wars.
Naturally, herbalists with organized backing had secured the larger territories, making it impossible for newcomers like me to even scope out a mountain rumored to be blessed.
"This is our territory!"
"Yeah! Hand over what you've got right now and get lost!"
The bandits infesting every mountain were another headache. Wherever honest people tried to find spiritual medicine, bandits were bound to be lurking, ready to rob whoever found it. From my position, they were a huge problem.
Did I lose the fights? No. I won.
If I was sufficiently focused, wiping out a head-on fight was a breeze, and I could dodge those using bows or poison darts as long as I perceived them. Even though we all had the physical abilities of normal people, I had far more combat experience and could even use a little bit of mana.
"Is that him?"
"Yes, boss!"
But as is typical with thugs, catching one brought the whole chain of higher-ups down on me. After that repeated about three times, an unstoppable horde of bandits came charging in. So what if I could fight well? Even in the movies, you can't take on thirty people surrounding you without getting hit once.
The only way to solve this was to either never encounter bandits in the first place, or to slaughter every single bandit I met to silence them for good. Since both options were impossible for me, I gave up on the method of personally scouring the mountains for spiritual medicine.
Instead, I decided to pick a more 'Regressor'-like approach.
A method only a Regressor could use. A method that could succeed through repeated regressions.
"...Let's earn money."
The plan is to buy the spiritual medicine with money.