WeTried Translations

Translator: ZERO_SUGAR

Editor: LiteraryGirl

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◈ I'm an Infinite Regressor, But I've Got Stories to Tell

Chapter 293

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The Exile IV

Ji-soo lowered her head.

It wasn’t a gesture of surrender or acceptance, like so often seen in political dramas. No, here in the real, it was the most basic form of rejecting said world. If looking someone directly in the eye symbolized a fundamental proof of power, then averting one’s gaze symbolized the exact opposite.

“Ji-soo, do you remember?”

The interesting thing was that Ji-won was also lowering her head, drained of strength after enduring relentless torture.

The silver-haired matron and the black-haired maiden.

Both had lowered their chins, yet the meaning carried in the gesture differed drastically between them. For Ji-won, it was because she didn’t feel the need to “look at” her opponent. For Ji-soo, it was because the “meaning of looking” at her opponent had been stripped away.

Two forms of meaninglessness stirred and clawed at the air as Ji-won’s soft voice spilled forth.

“The story I told you a few days after I adopted you. The one about the massacring emperor... If you’ve forgotten, I’ll tell it again. Once upon a time, there was an emperor whose power was so immense it was almost impossible to surpass. This emperor burned down a poor mountain village.”

The village was obliterated. Did this massacre hold any meaning?

The ministers and soldiers were curious, but the emperor forbade any questions. Thus, he committed the massacre. Only after killing every man, woman, and child in the village did the emperor address his ministers.

“What do you think I have just done?” asked the king. One of the ministers, trembling with fear, answered.

“Your Majesty, you are the supreme ruler of all things, holding the power of life and death. Those villagers dared to defy your will, so they are traitors. You exercised your power over those insignificant beings.”

Of course, the village had done nothing wrong. They had worked, paid taxes, and fulfilled their military service—sometimes diligently, sometimes indolently. If this village were a hotbed of rebellion, then one could conclude the entire empire was consumed by treason.

Yet the minister praised the emperor’s righteousness. He flattered the ruler in order to survive.

“Power is when even evil deeds are praised.”

The minister’s desperate sycophancy, however, did not seem to satisfy the tyrant.

The emperor turned his head. “I ask you, Chief Chamberlain. What do you think I have done?”

The chief chamberlain answered without hesitation.

“This humble servant dares not judge Your Majesty’s actions.”

It was impossible to know if this village was rebellious.

Knowing was unnecessary. It was not permitted.

Unlike the ministers who had to attribute meaning to the emperor’s every move to assist in governing the empire, the chamberlain refrained from judgment entirely. He was consistent in his meaninglessness and had mastered the art of self-preservation.

“Power is when even the basic human ability to judge is stripped away.”

The chamberlain demonstrated why he was the closest to the tyrant.

But what happened next? If such an event truly occurred, it would have become a legendary tale. Something miraculous happened instead.

In the ruins of the burned village, a single survivor was found.

The survivor was barely over ten years old, their gender indiscernible. Severe burns disfigured their face.

The soldiers brought the lone survivor before the emperor, who, just as he had interrogated the minister and the chamberlain, asked the child for an answer as a form of amusement.

“What do you think I have just done?”

Through a hoarse throat burned by fire, the child answered.

“You burned our village and killed its people without any reason.”

The room fell silent.

The minister swallowed nervously, the soldiers’ hearts froze, and an eerie sound resonated in the stillness.

The emperor was laughing.

He bent down to the child’s eye level and spoke.

“Indeed.”

The emperor appointed the surviving child as his new chamberlain.

It was said that the “burn-scarred chamberlain” served the tyrant until they became an old man, staying by his side throughout the emperor’s long life.

“That’s the story. Do you remember now?”

In the forest darkened by twilight, night’s air arrived at the pine bark a step earlier than the sky. Ji-won gulped it down in deep breaths.

“Ji-soo, I asked you the same thing back then. Why did the emperor reject the minister’s and chamberlain’s answers but accept the child’s?”

No response.

“I can still remember clearly. You answered, ‘The emperor wanted to show that he could disregard the minister’s and chamberlain’s responses at will and choose a lowly child in their place, right in front of everyone.’”

A moment of silence.

That expressionless stillness was Ji-won’s smile.

“That’s correct. You remember well.”

The silver-haired psychopath spoke like a teacher praising a student for completing their homework.

“It was a good answer. A memorable wrong answer. If this were a subjective question, you’d score 60 points... A full 60 out of 100. While others hesitated or clung to outdated, canned phrases, you earnestly empathized with the situation and thought it through. You’ve always been diligent,” she complimented warmly.

Ji-won finally raised her head.

“I’ll ask again. After five years? Let’s say it’s a six-year review. Ji-soo, why do you think the emperor was satisfied with the child’s answer?”

Ji-soo stayed silent.

Listening from beyond the bushes, I instinctively knew the correct answer Ji-won had in mind. After all, she and I had been bound since the fifth cycle. I understood her way of thinking all too well.

However, whether Ji-soo, someone I only met for the first time in the 703rd cycle, could reach that answer was uncertain.

Ji-soo’s red lips parted.

“Because he was fine.”

A murmur.

“Hmm?” came the prompting hum.

“Even after doing such things—arson, massacres—he was fine.”

Ji-soo lifted her head.

“There was no need for him to justify his actions. Only those who need recognition from others seek justification. There was no need for him to avert his gaze from his deeds. Only those afraid of consequences try to erase what’s been done.”

“Hmm.”

“True power isn’t like that. Even after committing atrocities, being exposed for them, admitting they were meaningless massacres, revealing everything without concealment, and still facing no consequences for the emperor—that’s when his power becomes absolute. That’s why he spared the child, made them the chamberlain, even though the child burned with vengeance every day, cursing the tyrant. The survival and testimony of that child, their uselessness and irrelevance, proved the emperor’s power.”

“Correct,” Ji-won said. “90 out of 100 points. Well done, Ji-soo. As expected, people grow with time.”

A dagger struck the pine tree with a thunk, grazing Ji-won’s lips as if to silence her. A trail of blood trickled down her chin.

“Someone like you.”

Ji-soo’s dark green eyes burned vividly even in the dusky forest.

“You don’t get hurt. You could simply live satisfied with that, but you don’t. You crave someone else, anyone else, to prove that ‘I don’t get hurt’ because you think it’s proof of your strength!”

Monster.

Ji-soo’s teeth ground out the word.

“You’re a parasite... The Anomalies parasitize human emotions and intellect to survive. They exploit us. How are you any different? Why do you exist? Why are you alive?”

Steam seeped from Ji-soo’s mouth, the heat forged in her heart.

“At the very least, feel pain. Why are you unfazed? You lost an arm. Your neck was cut. Your flesh was torn. If you’re human, it should hurt!”

“I do feel pain. I lost consciousness sixteen times during today’s torture.”

“That’s not what I mean!” the girl screamed. “It’s different. You... You...”

A few ragged breaths.

“You’re not human... You’re an Anomaly. No, you’re worse than a monster. Ji-won, I will hate you forever.”

The forest held its breath.

Somehow, night split open, spilling starlight, and Ji-won extended her arm. The ropes binding her unraveled as if they had only ever been for show.

She had used her Aura.

“Perfect score.” Ji-won grasped Ji-soo’s shoulders. “That’s exactly it, Ji-soo... You are the survivor of the village. You are my chamberlain. That’s precisely why I raised you carefully and kept you by my side.”

“Ah.”

Ji-soo’s mouth fell open. She was in despair.

In contrast, Ji-won, gripping both of Ji-soo’s arms firmly, was exulting within her stoic expression.

“Torturing me is meaningless. But even meaninglessness has meaning. Think about it. Humans endure arduous lives to prove that something is meaningless.

“Only those who amass extreme wealth can declare, ‘Money holds no meaning in life.’ Only those who devote everything to academia can assert, ‘Knowledge holds no meaning in life.’ Ji-soo, I need you. Someone like you.

“You seem tired today, so go back and rest. From tomorrow, the days of missions will resume. Intense training. Flexible operations. Proper nutrition and rest. All of these must come together for a healthy lifestyle.”

Ji-won stroked Ji-soo’s hair, brushing it behind her ear. Ji-soo stared blankly, not even flinching at the touch.

“I genuinely think of you as a daughter in my heart.”

Silence.

“I’ll leave first. The wind is getting cold, so return quickly.”

Then, the sound of leaves crunched underfoot faded away.

Ji-soo was left alone.

Well, counting me hiding in the bushes, there were two of us.

At that moment, I was pondering.

My first concern was, of course, the weight of my life. It wasn’t a decision made lightly when I decided to involve myself with Ji-won but one made after careful, deep contemplation. Nevertheless, taking responsibility for the mistakes of the 703rd cycle wasn’t easy.

My second concern was—

“What do you plan to do with that rope?”

“Huh?” Ji-soo looked at me with a glare. “Were you watching?”

“Yes.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything.”

“Coward.”

That stung.

Listening to the dying words of someone so much younger than me never ceased to be unsettling. For a mere hedgehog’s quill, the winter this girl endured was far too cruel.

“Don’t kill yourself.”

Ji-soo flinched, stiffening awkwardly. Just before the dark swamp could belch out its sticky bubbles, I spoke first.

“If you die by your own hand, Ji-won will certainly be hurt. She’ll grieve. For a day. Two days. Perhaps a week or two.”

“If that’s the case—”

“And then she’ll overcome it... You already know what kind of person Ji-won is.”

Silence.

“I respect your choice. But reconsider gifting Ji-won with even the opportunity to ‘heal from life’s wounds.’” When she didn’t answer, I added, “You can decide afterward. It won’t be too late.”

At that moment, Ji-soo’s hardened expression crumbled.

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