Regression Is Too Much Chapter 123

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Chapter 123

To be honest, I haven’t really felt like my abilities were lacking recently. Sure, I’m not on par with the top players, but my basic stats have always been impressive.

Objectively speaking, I was strong.

“Huff, huff…”

But now, I’m feeling the sting of inadequacy in my abilities. No, to be precise, I’m realizing just how insufficient my swordsmanship really is.

While Choi Ji-won’s swordsmanship follows a balanced path of both offense and defense, mine is focused solely on attacking, emphasizing swift and precise elimination of the enemy. It’s a skill honed by defeating the relentless monsters on the 4th floor, so in a way, it’s only natural.

Because of this, I aim to infuse every strike with killing intent, aiming to take down the opponent in a single blow. If I fail to subdue them in one strike, they counterattack, and then, there’s a high chance I’ll be forced into regression. In martial arts, my sword style could be considered of Gang* philosophy — a powerful, forceful technique.

However, my clone’s sword is of Yu* philosophy. His blade is light, fast, and without a tangible form—like ‘Infinite Change.’ His sword style is unpredictable. Though it looks like he’s swinging without any set form, every strike is deadly. Even with my reflexes sharpened on the 3rd floor, it’s almost impossible to dodge him.

The reason my clone’s and my swordsmanship differ so greatly is simple. I trained my swordsmanship against monsters on the 4th floor, while my clone trained his against me on the 5th floor. His style was honed solely to defeat me.

“Damn…”

Even now, I’ve regressed because my shoulder got slashed. It’s not a deep wound. Just a scratch — the kind that, with a bandage, even an ordinary person would laugh off. But for a regressor like me, even a light wound is fatal.

“He doesn’t give me a single opening…”

Our battles always follow the same pattern. I try to turn the fight into a test of strength by meeting his sword head-on, while he avoids direct confrontation, focusing on landing quick strikes on me. It’s a battle of ‘Gang’ vs. ‘Yu.’ And so far, my clone has won every time. Or rather, maybe I won before, but it’s all been reset.

“Hey, how do you do that thing? The mid-air sword bend?”

“…”

“I tried it too, but my wrist ligaments were killing me. I feel like I could manage it, but my wrist would snap, and I’d end up regressing.”

“…”

“You’re using mana, aren’t you? Right?”

Just as my clone has figured me out over time, I’ve also come to understand him.

It was clear that my clone had figured out how to use mana through repeated regressions. When he rapidly circulated the mana that lay dormant within his body, it altered his perception of the world, as if colors themselves changed. During those moments, I noticed the color around his wrist would shift. Unlike me, who merely circulated mana to enhance physical abilities, he had devised his own unique way to harness it.

“But if you can do it, so can I.”

After all, we’re the same person. If my clone can do it, I can too. The moment I realized he was manipulating mana, I began studying how to direct mana to precise locations in my body. It wasn’t easy, but after repeated attempts, I was able to mimic him—clumsily at first, but it worked.

“Well, look at that. It actually works.”

I abandoned my old sword style. I let go of my lethal, single-strike-focused technique and, like my clone, began adapting to a fluid and versatile style. It was more advantageous in battles with a regressor.

Eventually, I managed to learn the “mid-air sword bend” and, breaking free from my previous attack-centered style, I could now incorporate a diverse range of techniques.

“…Huh?”

But then, my clone surpassed me again.

This time, his once-slow sword would suddenly speed up, and his once-fast sword would abruptly slow down. He controlled the rhythm with precise timing, exploiting psychological openings. Using mana, he defied physical limits in feats that were mind-bending. Unprepared for his new technique, I could do nothing but regress helplessly.

“…I can do it too.”

And so, once again, regressions began, with me chasing after the clone who had pulled ahead.

***

“…”

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve regressed. A hundred? Easily. A thousand? Maybe. Ten thousand? With no way to keep track, I can only rely on a vague sense of time.

At first, I tried to keep things light, exchanging words with my clone. But now, I’ve run out of things to say. When will that guy finally fall? Was my will always this strong?

“…”

I’ve let go of any idle thoughts about reality or what I’d do once I leave the fifth floor. All that matters now is how to grow stronger, even if only by a fraction. To keep improving, pushing forward to stretch my clone’s regression count as much as possible. That’s my sole focus.

But this battle is one where “victory” in the true sense is impossible. The only indication of success is feeling the clone’s gradual growth, which implies a sort of indirect victory. In other words, my mental state is fraying at an alarming speed.

“…”

Looking into the reflection on my sword, I can see I now resemble the clone I first encountered on the fifth floor. My eyes have lost their luster, and there’s a hollow look about me. If a friend saw me like this, they’d probably ask, “Are you okay?”

Of course, my clone looks even worse. He stares at his own sword, muttering faster and faster. If a friend saw him like that, they’d be dialing the nearest mental hospital without hesitation.

“Don’t go around looking like that with my face…”

It’s unsettling to see my face looking like that in the mirror. If Choi Ji-won’s memories hadn’t returned, if I had climbed alone, regressing over and over to the 20th, 30th, 40th floors… I’d probably look just like that. Climbing the tower expressionlessly, more machine than human.

I can’t help but realize how lucky I am.

Of course, realizing that doesn’t mean the fight is over. As my clone grows stronger, so do I. And just when I catch up to him, he gets even stronger.

Regression. Regression. Regression. The endless cycle repeats over and over—enough to drive anyone to madness.

“Fellow climbers, what do you think is humanity’s greatest strength? Of course, there could be many answers, but I believe there’s only one,” I muttered at the same time as Rapheal’s hologram.

“Fellow climbers, what do you think is humanity’s greatest strength? Of course, there could be many answers, but I believe there’s only one.”

By now, I’ve memorized every word of Raphael’s speech. The cadence, the accents, even the pauses for breath—unintentionally, it’s all engraved in my mind.

I really hope he gives up soon. I just want to rest.

***

“Ah.”

Once again, I lost.

I thought I’d grown accustomed to these repeated defeats, but getting used to something means it happening again and again. So, I was thoroughly marinated in the bitterness and despair of failure.

“…”

Slowly, dark thoughts began to rise to the surface of my mind. What if the clone never falls? What if I break down before him? What if Raphael has somehow intervened, shielding the clone’s mind? What if I’m trapped here on the fifth floor, never able to leave? What if I eventually lose my mind, lying on the floor, endlessly repeating this cycle, suffering an unending punishment?

A regressor can’t even die.

Realizing this sent a chill down my spine, compelling me to fight even harder. Of course, I still lost.

I’m starting to forget Choi Ji-won’s face. In the relentless waves of this harsh reality, precious memories are eroding like stones on a beach. There’s a growing sense of alarm. If this fight drags on much longer, I might lose my sanity.

Of course, there’s no clear solution. All I can do is keep fighting, praying my opponent tires and falls before I do.

“…Damn it.”

Yet, as I glance at my approaching clone, his expression is the brightest I’ve ever seen. His eyes are still hazy, and he’s muttering to himself as usual, but a faint smile is on his lips.

Has he finally gone mad? But why does he look so content? I want this to end. Please, just fall already.

I grip my sword, tilting it slightly, ready to face him as he approaches. Whatever’s happening, I know my role: struggle with everything I have.

“…”

-Tap.

“…?”

But instead of advancing, my clone stands still. It’s an unfamiliar pattern, one I’ve never seen, so I brace myself, my guard fully up.

Did he come up with a new technique? Did he grow even stronger? How many more regressions will it take for me to win? Was I always this talented?

With frustration, competitive spirit, and despair all swirling within me, I grip my sword tightly. At that very moment—

[…Wait.]

“Huh?”

An eternity seems to have passed.

But then, the clone finally spoke to me.