The First Death

The touch of history and intellect envelops me. So this is what it feels like to become human! Clothes make the man. Truer words were never spoken. From ancient times, concept and look-deok have always been the way to fill oneself. The process of clothes becoming oneself—that's exactly it. Take, for example, the gangsters of that island nation where the sun never sets. Why do you think they became gentry the moment they put on suits? They're all ruled by their clothes. The clothes become their very selves. Here, at least, I wasn't just an immortal. I was something that had become like a person!

In that sense, the outfit I'd acquired by emptying my wallet of every last Luden was exactly to my taste. Even though I didn't have a single jeni left to my name!

“Krr, the sensibility of a 19th-century beast hunter.”

A duster coat that reminded me of the descendants of wolves, a vest with buckles, and a tricorn hat. I felt like I should be out slaughtering beasts right this second. Krr. Wasn't this the romantic era of hunting beasts (human nature) to fill oneself with intellect and reason? Hah. I know because I've actually done it. There was nothing more thrilling or fucking doglike. I felt like I could get drunk on the concept right then and there.

But if I wanted to do that, I first had to finish registering as a Corridor Walker.

-Clack!

“I'm here to do the gallery!”

“?!”

When I returned straight to the counter I'd been kicked out of, the employee's expression was a sight to behold. It hurt my heart to see her face rotting with contempt and distrust, but it also got me strangely excited.

“...Welcome to the Archive. Are you here to register as a Corridor Walker?”

“Yessir.”

Look at that. Clothes really do make the man! And it wasn't just for me, the one wearing them. Clothes are both what sees and what is seen. Social animals can never be free from the surface. We wear authority and paint over perception. Concept and look-deok really are everything! If the me from just moments ago had been a half-naked wild animal to the counter employee, now I was a guest who deserved proper treatment.

“Do you have any proof or a recommendation from another Corridor Walker required for registration?”

“Proof and recommendation?”

This was new information. So they didn't just let any random mutt or cow become a Corridor Walker? To fill the gaps in my ignorance, the counter employee spoke clearly and slowly.

“To register as a Corridor Walker, you need proof that you've eliminated an ‘Contaminant.’ Alternatively, a recommendation from another Corridor Walker is required.”

“What exactly is a Contaminant?”

“...Contaminants refer to invaders that cross over from barriers or closed Dioramas. This is extremely basic information—do you really not know?”

“Nope.”

I must have reeked of complete ignorance about the world. A strange suspicion flickered in the employee's eyes. I shrugged. I really hadn't come from anywhere. Or rather, I didn't know. I'd simply opened my eyes and been here. From the perspective of existence and perception, I'd started as a single point.

“In any case, you can register if you have proof of eliminating a Contaminant or a recommendation from a Corridor Walker of 7th rank or higher.”

Aha. So they don't give registration to complete small fry? I understood immediately. It was basically saying go measure yourself somewhere, and if the estimate looks decent, come back—or get lost.

“By any chance, which Diorama did you come from, sir? And is this your first time in the Corridor City?”

“I don't know about any Diorama. I just opened my eyes and I was in the Corridor City?”

“It's not entirely unheard of. Still, procedurally, we need to verify your Diorama. If you can tell me the name of an era or location you lived in before, I can identify the Diorama for you.”

I racked my brain. The jumbled memories. What had I been doing among those ruined nations and desolation? I pulled out the clearest memory I had.

“The capital city, Spirahine.”

“Spira. One moment while I check.”

Tap tap!

The counter employee typed away at a terminal that looked like a typewriter with tired eyes. How long had I been leaning on the counter waiting? The employee spoke in a businesslike tone.

“I'm sorry. It doesn't appear in the Archive. Do you have any other place names or names?”

“Hmm. Aven. Rutadil. Anam...”

Even as I randomly spat out every name and place I vaguely remembered, the employee's expression gradually hardened. Was it that woman? The employee responding to me snapped with irritation.

“Are you just making up names that don't exist?”

“Ha, come on. I told you they exist? Aren't they just not showing up?”

“Any Diorama not in the Archive does not exist. It seems you've either made a mistake or you're an unidentified individual. If that's the case, your Corridor Walker registration may be delayed or become impossible. And without registration, you won't be able to browse or use the Gallery either.”

Then what the hell were amnesiacs or acquired orphans like me supposed to do? At her firm answer, I tilted my head slightly. But what had the employee just said? You can't browse the Gallery without Corridor Walker registration? Didn't I originally have the right to look into the Corridor in the first place?

“Um, then doesn't that mean I'm already a Corridor Walker? I can look into the Gallery, but I can't use it?”

“Excuse me?”

“They said it was some kind of error. When I tried to write something in the Gallery, the system told me to receive my True Name or whatever first. It stopped right there and wouldn't proceed.”

“That's impossible. The Gallery can only be used after completing Corridor Walker registration. If you've used someone else's terminal to access the Gallery, the Archive ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠will impose sanctions.”

“Huh.”

I was so frustrated I almost wanted to recite the latest posts in the Gallery right then and there. I paused. Then suddenly, a certain feeling caught me. Alienation. A sense of disparity. And the touch that tormented immortals. This detached sensation. Would saying it cause problems? After all, I could look into the Corridor without any specific ‘terminal.’ I knew this feeling of being separated from the world all too well. It was the kind of atmosphere where if you tried to scrape off a scab, you'd just get rejected instead?

“...Let me suggest a simpler method.”

-Tap.

There was a refreshing sound that broke through my 고민. The employee, looking exhausted, placed something before me. It was a stone tablet shaped like a palm.

“This is a Root Stone. It's a magical tool that allows the Archive to query the subject's information with the user's consent.”

“Oh, so this thing can investigate every inch of me?”

“It will gather the minimum amount of information. If you consent, please place your hand on it.”

At that answer, I looked down at the Root Stone. A stone tablet with an ominous magical circuit spreading across it. What would happen if I touched it? Would it hurt? Would something happen to me? But the world doesn't change if you don't try. And wasn't this the perfect opportunity to check whether the world would reject me?

Thump!

Without hesitation, I placed my hand on it. Hah! Come at me, world!

“Eh.”

“Huh?”

The fragility was enough to make both me and the employee freeze. I tilted my head as I looked at the Root Stone now split into several pieces.

“Hmm. Is this thing normally this fragile?”

“The Root Formula broke? That can't be... What did you do?”

“I just put my hand on it. I didn't mean to break it.”

The employee lifted the Root Stone with a grave expression. Her pupils shook as she held the broken half. She was probably going to have to write an incident report or something. Offering my sincerest condolences, I asked.

“For now, can't we just leave the Diorama field blank?”

“...Understood for now.”

The employee set down the shattered tablet. Then she typed on the keyboard and spoke.

“Please bring the Contaminant proof or recommendation I mentioned earlier. If it's your first purification job, try heading to D-Sector in the Lower District of the Corridor City.”

“Ooh!”

I didn't know where that was, but it sounded like the kind of place where entry barriers and grinders ran rampant. The counter employee asked one final question.

“What is your name?”

At those words, I thought. The name that had pointed to myself. What was it again? It had been too long since I'd recalled it, and no one had asked for my name either. I glanced sideways at the Immortal Gallery and spoke.

“Lumen Lux.”

“Lumen Lux. I've registered you in the Archive for now.”

The employee gave a businesslike greeting.

“Welcome to the Corridor City, Mr. Lumen.”

At that greeting, my heart stirred inwardly. I had a goal now. That's right. I'd become a Corridor Walker and do the gallery! Let's fucking go! Then I should head out! Adventure and the final death await ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me!

...

“So it's you. The one who left a stain on the Root.”

“Huh?”

Exactly thirty seconds after stepping out of the Archive's tower, I came face to face with an existence that reeked of death. Pure white clothes. White bandages covering both eyes. And long, long white hair that dragged across the floor and practically flooded it. The contrast was so stark it looked like she'd been peeled out of a black-and-white comic. Even in the Corridor City, she was an unreal being. No—she was a woman who didn't need to fit in with the world at all. And my first impression upon seeing her was that she was beautiful. Hmm, would she be even prettier without the blindfold?

“How disappointing. I thought something more dangerous would come.”

“I am pretty dangerous, you know.”

“Indeed.”

-Swish.

The monochrome woman kindly played along with my wordplay and raised her hand.

-Gurgle.

A pitch-black world like Vantablack gathered above her palm. A black, black orb. An orb that seemed like it would blacken me too if it touched me. The woman flicked it as if releasing a butterfly.

“Sorry. No hard feelings. It's just business.”

A hint of apology. At the same time, the world I saw was dyed as vividly as her monochrome appearance. Crunch—

“What?”

It painted everything red. With that sound, many things vanished. My vision. My thoughts. My sound. And my immortality did the same. An annihilation that couldn't even disappear into light and dust. When I looked back at my world where existence had been erased in an instant, I realized something.

Huh. I've become half a person?

Two-thirds of my torso had been blown away, and my feet stood alone like discarded shoes. Moreover, from my chin to my left ear. It had been devoured by a space that swallowed anything. No, it would be more accurate to say it had been annihilated. Splat. Blood finally began to seep out. But there was no hand to stop it, no leg to support me. With nothing left to claw at the world, I collapsed. A powerless, powerless death.

Thud!

What the hell? What did I get hit by?

The moment my one remaining knee touched the ground, my heart began to pound. This was different. It was somehow different from everything before.

“Keurgh!”

Blood spurted from my mouth. Was I really being annihilated? Was this something that left behind not even a soul, with no continuation whatsoever? The sensation of nonexistence. A nonexistence where even sensation didn't exist. Ten seconds until death. There was no resonance of ether, no light to pull him from death. As the great madman had said, a perfect fall with no descending motion for the sake of ascent. At that feeling, I slightly twisted my face.

Haha. With half my jaw missing, it was a strange expression. But I think I probably laughed a little.

Tilt.

“Hmm?”

The death that looked at me tilted her head. As if she'd seen something strange. No, it was absurd for her, whose eyes were covered, to see anything. Whatever the case, my impression of the being that had brought me death was that she was beautiful. Furthermore, it was a truly beautiful death. The final image. As I took in that death with my eyes—

I died.

.

.

.

Okay. I heard the voice clearly, and I opened my eyes from an overhead perspective. And the first emotion I felt as my mind awakened was displeasure.

“What the hell. I didn't die?”

When the nonsense slipped from my mouth, I was once again in the unmarked graveyard. The familiar stone coffin. An unfamiliar death. And with a familiar death came the return to the starting point. Just as I was about to straighten my back with a very confused feeling—

“H-hiik!? You're alive—?!”

It was a rabbit. The rabbit that had been looting me the moment I woke up. That fluffy pink rabbit that could talk and got scared ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like a person. When the hell had she come back? And this was the second time? What a greedy and shameless rabbit. Hmph. She probably had twice the sexual desire too. Seeing her try to pull my pants off again, I said one thing.

“Hey, spawn killing is a bit against basic etiquette—”

When I firmly grabbed my pants, the rabbit was sent flying.

“W-what the—fuck!?”

Watching the rabbit scamper away, I was left in a daze. Hmm. ‘The rabbit really is a rabbit, not missing a single letter.’

“Oh, that's a pretty good pun. I should write that in the gallery.”

It was right when I opened the Corridor to jot down something to think about while the displeasure lasted.

Like a magnet, I clicked on one post.

I narrowed my eyes and scrolled down through the post. And I realized something.

-Swish.

I rose from the unmarked graveyard. I walked in the direction the rabbit had fled. My legs moved on autopilot. And I'd completely forgotten what it meant to follow a rabbit.

Following a rabbit into its burrow meant being dragged into a non-daily life and unreality different from everything before. No, it was at least a clear piece of foreshadowing with that implication. That was why. The guide that leads to unreality is always best as a rabbit.

Light grew brighter. At the same time, I blinked and accepted the world.

—Dooooooong!

The strange warning sound from an airship drove away the footsteps of those passing by. People with wings. Or witches sitting sideways on broomsticks. It was now a typical, recognized landscape. And what caught my eye most of all was, of course, the pillars. The massive pillars that turned visitors in this Corridor City into blind dwarves and bottom-dwellers. The place where such pillars stretched endlessly.

It was once again the Corridor City.

“......”

It would be nice if stopping my mouth also stopped my thoughts, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but it didn't work that way. My head was still cluttered, and my body was overflowing with words I wanted to vomit out. The body is the will to power created when various organs and senses claw at each other. When they fight, who is the winner and what do they desire? What rose its head from there was the familiar laziness inside me.

“It was a regression story after all.”

When I spat it out, the organ called my mind started working again. It kneaded my brain and made the current reality useful. To the point where the question ‘What can I do with this, and what should I do?’ didn't even arise. I simply accepted it.

“Oh my?”

Just then, my eyes met with a witch flying past the cliff. The witch slowed down for a moment and chuckled. She looked over my body, which was only wearing pants. Should I twist my body again here so she'd throw me a Luden? My mind, which had been seeking interest and thought, complained of fatigue. I really wasn't in the mood. I glanced at the witch and descended the cliff. Like the question-and-answer that the puppet, filled with the madness of an ancient philosopher, always repeated.

My—Lumen's—descent had begun.