The Psycho Oldbie's Obsession with the Newbie: Geomseong

When Geomseong first appeared in the Gallery, no one paid her much mind. Her nickname was cliché, her speech even more so, and her weapon choice was the cliche of cliches.

A sword. Choosing a sword as your first weapon in the Backrooms was basically declaring you wanted to die.

Most floaters mocked her. At first, it was just seen as some outdated roleplay. Just another stubborn loner user added to the mix.

In the eyes of the Gallery floaters, Geomseong was nothing more than yet another over-immersed player, a dusty old loner.

Yeah... that's how it was at first. For sure.

But one day, Geomseong posted a verification thread in the Gallery.

She even entered the so-called "Suicide Room" on the 47th floor—a death zone no one dared touch—alone, and came out alone.

And at the end of the verification post, a short phrase.

The mockery vanished, and she became known as a sword maniac.

Nickname: Geomseong. Sword master and sovereign.

But people called her this:

Sword fetishist. Sword psycho. Boomer hardhead.

Her real name was Seol Unbi.

Geomseong was a she, not a he—but the Gallery folks didn't know her gender.

Her speech alone made it impossible to imagine her as a young woman. Maybe an elderly white-haired geezer.

Born the eldest daughter of the prestigious martial Seolmun family, famed for archery that pierced foes from a hundred paces away.

Precision, efficiency, speed. That was the Seolmun philosophy, their way.

Swords to them were romantic relics, outdated junk. Heavy, close-range, wasteful with all that blood.

In such a family, Seol Unbi picked up a sword.

At first, mere curiosity. But curiosity turned to craving, and craving to conviction.

"You psycho bitch. Picking up a sword in this family? Might as well say you want an arrow in your skull!"

"Want me to grab the heirloom bow and pin one to your forehead?"

"Reincarnate as an arrowhead next life, you worthless girl."

She got beaten black and blue, of course. Sword in hand? Beaten. Picked it up again? Beat harder.

Caught with a secret wooden sword? Lashed. Stolen sword manuals from the outer library torn to shreds one by one.

Watching the fragments scatter in the wind, she bit her lip silently.

And on the day she resolved herself, she left home with a sword on her back.

No hesitation. It wasn't running away. It was choosing her own path.

Then she opened her eyes—to another world. The Backrooms.

No omens. No mysterious figure, glowing ritual, fancy effects.

Just like waking from a dream—one day, she was dropped into a place called the Backrooms.

Light without sky, air without wind, people without martial arts.

Having lost everything, she clung only to her sword.

And started over.

"At first, nothing worked."

Techniques dulled, stance sloppy, wrists snapping, stamina bottoming out fast.

But she didn't back down. Adjusted her breathing, relearned weight on her toes, drew, thrust, slashed, sheathed the blade dozens of times a day.

No manuals, no master. She dissected and reassembled swordsmanship using her own body as the textbook.

Creating her own Sword Hand Record.

So the blade never wavered, in any situation, any stance.

A martial art not quite worthy of the name. But because of that, a practical way no one could imitate.

Seolun Swordsmanship. A battle-honed sword art she wrote alone, without master or manual.

And one day, she realized it.

No one on normal floors could match her anymore.

From that moment, time passed, but her skills stagnated.

A clear limit.

The mountain she'd built herself felt like an unclimbable wall.

The instant she felt the limit, she found her own way.

Teaching someone meant retracing your own path. Reviewing faded, reimprinting forgotten basics.

That would be training, growth, the only way to break the wall.

Under that belief, she began teaching countless Gallery users.

Finding disciples wasn't hard. She was already a renowned powerhouse in the Gallery.

But why? Despite her sincere teachings, they all died.

Did they have talent for the sword but not for learning? Or had her own skills advanced too far?

"Whether I'm too exceptional, or they're too ordinary... even I can't tell anymore."

It wasn't a people problem. She wasn't a bad teacher. Her skills were real, her teachings always sincere.

The problem was the environment.

Most Backrooms floors favored blunt weapons over blades. Narrow sightlines, irregular structures, endless obstacles, hordes of enemies charging in.

Here, fast-smashing clubs, hammers to crush in tight spaces, impact-focused bludgeons were far better for survival.

Swords were sharp, sure—but too sharp for this place. Blades snapped, bitten before they could slash, and sword users died without exception.

In the end, she shut her mouth.

Teachings stopped, fruitless training repeated.

Days without growth piled up.

She gave up seeking disciples.

By then, her feats and goodwill in the Gallery had twisted into infamy.

As she pondered endlessly, a newbie appeared after a long time.

Kim Hogu. Obviously clumsy, obviously nice, obviously not long for this world.

That's why her eyes went to him.

"...Kim Hogu. Iron tiger's maw, is it...? Odd name."

First, she laughed. Then, she wanted to save him.

So she recommended the sword's path—but foolishly, he didn't listen.

It had been her first big push in ages, so his rejection hit hard.

She raged, then apologized.

Honestly, she was ready to let it go.

But unexpectedly, opportunity knocked.

Kim Hogu got infected by zombies.

She immediately got to work.

A bit guilty, but timely antidote would fix it.

"Cure's pointless. They'd recover quick and ditch the sword for a club anyway."

No malice, so no issue. Plus side effects.

She thought that way.

"......"

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Felt like my last moment of self-awareness.

Thankfully, my body didn't turn zombie. Still fine after a minute.

Protruding veins subsided, gut pain flared then calmed.

Geomseong's three pills worked, apparently.

"...Hoo, lived."

Downing three at once boosted the effect, probably.

Status window showed [Normal] like the infection never happened.

Clean. Washed right through.

I left a comment thanking Geomseong.

Geomseong seemed pleased to save one soul.

She started laughing, uncharacteristically.

I got chills for some reason.

Unexpected proposal.

What!

? What the hell?

Five Death Chain Pills? Parasite drug? Witchcraft?

Now... what did you say? This psycho bastard.

Real sword fetishist.

Speech still soft. But inside? No master, no benefactor, no humanity.

Just a monster scheming everything to force a sword on him.

As the Gallery laughed, Geomseong spoke mercifully.

I received her gift. White pill this time.

"...Fucking insane bastard."

She vanished after that.

I didn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠take the antidote. Too sketchy to touch.

Plus, contrary to her words, I was fine. No gut twisting, no pain.

Why no pain? Half-doubting, I checked status.

Clean as ever.

Maybe the parasite doesn't show up.

Mulling it over, new info appeared in status.

"......?"

Suddenly an ability under Combat Protocol's armament slot.

Digestion Ability? What's this? Why now?

Ah, no way.

To confirm, I posted.

"Haa..."

Now I get why no pain despite Geomseong's threats.

Digestion Ability. Must be this.

Looks like it. Gut twisted right after zombie poison cured. That's when it digested the parasites.

Thought to tell truth, lied instead.

Good, seems legit. They bought the lie.

Anyway, digestion ability...

Not bad on second thought.

"Can probably digest expired food too."

Since it nullified Geomseong's parasites, versatile.

But why'd zombie poison work then? Ah, digestion ability.

Zombie poison entered via arm bite wound, unrelated to digestion.

"So it's like a steel stomach."

I patted my belly.