WeTried Translations

Translator: ZERO_SUGAR

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

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

Chapter 378

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The Receiver IX

[The Librarian of the Great Library] will be left behind as a bona-fide Constellation.

The goal is singular.

Go Yuri, who only managed to seize a clue worthy of the name after reaching the 999th run, a being whose real name remains an enigma.

All of this is to pass information about her down to the next ‘me’.

“How do you like it, Master?”

Admin of the Infinite Metagame, the very person who came up with the operation, flashed a self-assured smile.

“Please humbly admit that the only strategist in your party is no longer just that blasted puppet-master behind the scenes.”

“…I get that Dok-seo is your priestess, but do you really have to hate Yohwa that much too?”

“Oh my, you are absolutely right, Master! After all, you only got handed [Mind Reading] by her, twisted my century-long master plan in a single stroke, ruined the most promising priestess worse than anyone, and even made me sign a humiliating instrument of surrender—but sure, there isn’t a single reason in the world for me to bear a grudge, is there?”

“...”

Leaving the blazing-with-rage Admin of the Infinite Metagame aside for the moment, I ran the numbers on the operation’s success rate in my head.

‘Not bad.’

No—better than merely ‘not bad.’

There were, however, several side effects and loopholes that could be foreseen once the plan was set in motion, and I rolled each of them across my tongue in turn.

“Very well, Admin of the Infinite Metagame. Let’s assume, as you say, that [The Librarian of the Great Library] indeed ascends as the one-and-only authentic Constellation.”

“Yeees, sir.”

“In that case, she’ll have inherited not only the remnants of the Great Witch Hecate but the Saintess’s traces as well. If we leave her be, won’t she become ridiculously strong down the road?”

“Hmm. You’re worried about a rebellion, aren’t you? Then the constraints have to be strong—very strong.”

The Admin of the Infinite Metagame tilted her chin, as if she had expected such objections and was nonetheless happy to play the red team in our thought experiment.

“From what I’ve heard from the other Constellations, you’ve already gathered the fragments, Master.”

“Ah, you mean these?”

“Um, Master, sorry to say, but could you please not play so casually with an anomaly’s main body?”

She paled when she saw the Constellation fragments I’d just fished out of my pocket.

No one had ever pointed it out, so I hadn’t noticed, but apparently even touching these shards counted as the outrageous misconduct of a monster in her book.

“Haa... Well, perhaps it’s for the best. The pieces that end up in your grasp are, so to speak, the Constellation’s core—the very essence.”

“Ho-oh.”

“In other words... by using these fragments you can design the Constellation’s ‘settings’ however you like.”

“For example, something like [Must Never Be Hostile Toward Humanity]?”

“Exactly. You can impose as many rules as you fancy, right down to something akin to the Three Laws of Robotics.”

The Admin of the Infinite Metagame grumbled from behind her fan.

“Honestly. The original plan was for me to tweak the settings with my authority, yet the already unfair gentleman disappears for a bit only to come back even more upgraded. The world really is, hopelessly, unfair.”

I ignored the complaint—it was beside the point.

‘So I’m entering the settings.’

I define the essence of the anomaly.

With my fingertips, I create an anomaly.

“...”

A pitch-black unease rose from below my navel, but I clenched my fist.

It was something that had to be done.

I could not abandon the strategy against Go Yuri like this. I could not squander the chance that had finally arrived in the 999th cycle.

“...Right. If I have no choice but to create this anomaly, I have to configure it so that it harms humanity as little as possible.”

“Hmm. Speaking as someone who already surrendered, I’ll warn you it won’t be easy. You’ll have to brace for some collateral damage.”

“No. There is a way.”

I looked straight ahead.

“I’m going to put you to use, Admin of the Infinite Metagame.”

“?”

From that day on, the days of writing the setting bible for [The Librarian of the Great Library] began.

[Eeeeeeeek!]

A high-fidelity soprano rang out of the laptop speakers—none other than Admin of the Infinite Metagame’s fury-stricken groan.

Only a short while ago she had enjoyed the freedom of the outside world; how had it come to this?

As if she’d changed jobs back into a VTuber, the avatar of a noble lady on the laptop screen was gnawing on a handkerchief.

[I finally thought I’d gotten a real body, and now—again! Again you shove me into this rice-grain-sized studio apartment! My goodness! Do you truly lack even a shred of human compassion?!]

Slurp.

I leisurely sipped the canned coffee I had salvaged from the Tower of Babel’s storeroom and looked down at the laptop.

“Every VTuber is either a reincarnate or a reincarnation candidate. You’re simply walking the path allotted to you.”

[Eeeek! T-talk about frightening out of nowhere.

“Enough. Get ready.”

I held the Constellation shards up to the laptop screen, beckoning for her to hurry up and eat them.

[Haa. So bull-headed, honestly…]

The Admin of the Infinite Metagame let out a sigh.

The moment the noble-lady avatar stretched out her arms, the fragments that had definitely been ‘outside’ the screen migrated to ‘inside’ it.

Piro-ro-ro-rong ♪

On the white desktop the shards were now lined up like icons, transformed into clumps of pixels.

“Is there any reason to sigh? This isn’t bad news for you either, it means a bit of your mark will remain in [The Librarian of the Great Library].”

[Yes, yes. That’s why I’m cooperating, otherwise I’d never have returned to this solitary-cell existence.]

“Hmm. Strictly speaking, you’ve sworn unconditional obedience to me, so when I give an order, you follow it first and complain later.”

[Could you perhaps share that wretched unpleasantness of yours not only with anomalies like me but with the humans around you as well?]

I cracked the knuckles of my interlaced fingers.

I clicked on a Notepad file.

“All right.”

[Yees.]

“Let’s get started.”

The fragments broke apart.

As the pixels shattered, black dots appeared.

The moment my fingers clacked on the keyboard, those black specks birthed from the shards were dragged along and turned into letters, like ink.

Just as I had rewritten Admin of the Infinite Metagame’s core in my own handwriting, I would now define the essence of [The Librarian of the Great Library] through typing.

The first line of the setting bible read as follows.

※ This work is a piece of fiction. Any institution names, work titles, personal names, or trademarks that appear are entirely fictitious.

Why did that feel so familiar?

Yes. The restriction that it was nothing more than ‘fiction.’

A way to ensure that, even if an anomaly-cum-constellation called [The Librarian of the Great Library] did come to life, it would inflict no damage on humanity or reality.

[Hmm. Your brain does work well.]

The Admin of the Infinite Metagame craned her neck to peer at the Notepad file. Her avatar hung from it like someone clinging to a wall.

[Seeing as I’m an Outer God who once ruled over ‘fiction,’ I’ve been pretty much completely neutralized already.]

[Therefore, now that [The Librarian of the Great Library]’s sphere of action is limited to fiction, she will never unleash unexpected explosive power.]

“Exactly.”

Only powerful anomalies had value, so I once thought.

Even a weak anomaly gained a fresh purpose by virtue of its weakness.

“To lock her inside ‘fiction’ I’ll need not only the fragments’ ink but your assistance as well.”

[Yes. In a sense... you could call her my daughter?]

The Admin of the Infinite Metagame made an odd face.

[Her original is that Saintess, her maker is you, and I am her helper. Three parents, how lucky the child is to have so many.]

“Let’s keep going.”

Even if I managed to save the world, this anomaly would probably persist somewhere in it, forever taking the form of a ‘creative work.’

The parameters for that entity continued.

1. [The Librarian of the Great Library] records every anomaly and every tale of the uncanny. The method of recording varies each time.

2. Every ghost story circulating through reality or cyberspace has either been authored by [The Librarian of the Great Library] or penned unwittingly by someone she has enchanted.

2-1. [The Librarian of the Great Library] cannot reveal these facts. She records the stories, nothing more, and must not be concerned with proving her own existence.

Juru-ru-ruk.

Every time another line was entered into the setting bible, ink seeped from the shards, and a white ichor trickled from Admin of the Infinite Metagame’s avatar.

From my fingertips as well.

“...”

The letters ‘Under’, ‘ta’, and ‘ker’ tumbled into the screen one after another.

‘In the past, even my eyes would never have been able to see such a sight.’

Just how did such a perspective suddenly open up to me?

I still lacked the answer, but what mattered now was that it was useful to me.

“When I think about it.”

Tap-tap-tap.

I muttered while hammering endlessly at the keys.

[Yes?]

“From the very start, [The Librarian of the Great Library] was defined as the Constellation presiding over the Library Society, whose leader is a character called the Duke of the Black Library—whose true identity is...”

[Master, that’s you, isn’t it?]

“Right.”

Tack, tack-tack.

“To pass off the strategy methods for anomalies to the Awakeners in a manner that sounded plausible, I used the façade of a ‘Library Society.’ The whole setup was my design from start to finish.”

Tack.

“I could have entrusted the imaginary Duke of the Black Library to someone else, like [The Dream Demon of the Grand Pleasure Palace] or [The Morning Star of the Second Coming].”

[And yet?]

“Why, then? I kept the hidden lore that ‘the Duke of the Black Library is actually the Undertaker.’ There was no need to, but unlike the other Constellations, [The Librarian of the Great Library] alone possessed my identity.”

[...]

“And now, [The Librarian of the Great Library] is literally being born at my hands.”

Tack.

“All of these coincidences...”

[Feel almost like inevitabilities.]

“Ahh.”

I smiled.

“How many failures must there have been before reaching this inevitable path? Imagining them makes me want to bless myself for having arrived at this moment.”

[Hmph.]

“Then your presence at my side now is hardly a mere coincidence either, Admin of the Infinite Metagame.”

[...]

“Because you demoted everything in this world to fiction, I could hand over the clues about Go Yuri in the form of a creative work. Perhaps you too were necessary—for me, for us.”

The keyboard clattered.

“A pity.”

[What’s a pity?]

“I’ve felt gratitude toward you for the first time in my life, yet once we pass on to the next cycle I’ll forget it forever, that’s the pity.”

[...]

“So oblivion was this frightening after all.”

Stare. On the screen, the Admin of the Infinite Metagame was gazing up at me.

That gaze no longer felt awkward.

“To remember every minute of one’s life, I had thought that was the punishment and curse laid upon me, but perhaps it wasn’t after all.”

[Whichever path we start on, every human ends up bearing their own heaven-ordained punishment.]

Admin of the Infinite Metagame’s voice murmured through the speakers, the quality now slightly degraded.

[If there had been no yearning or lament for worlds other than this one, an Outer God like me would never have been born.]

“So, round and round, you exist because of humanity’s incorrigible nature?”

[Yes. Cursed, isn’t it.]

The Admin of the Infinite Metagame looked up at the sky.

I suddenly wondered.

How did the world ‘outside the screen’ appear in Admin of the Infinite Metagame’s eyes?

[Which is why your author Hecate concluded that humanity’s nature had to be remodeled entirely. It seems she failed though—thanks to you, Master.]

“...”

[Since you’ll forget anyway, I’ll confess now: I didn’t surrender to you solely to survive.]

“Then why?”

[I wanted to watch.]

Hee-hee, a laugh laced with static.

[Your epilogue.]

“...”

[I acknowledge your effort. Yes, I concede defeat. But when it all ends, what will you obtain? A single human? Humanity? A world of billions, each harboring billions of curses?]

The defeated Outer God—now closer to human—smiled with her eyes.

[I’ve come to want to see it at any cost, even if I must discard all my authority, the moment you fall at the very end.]

“That will never happen.”

[And whom you’ll end up dating, and if you do, how many holes will get punched in your gut.]

“Please spare me that at least...”

[Oh my. I need some sort of spectator sport to add a bit of fun to a life fallen from godhood to servitude, don’t I?]

Kyaruruk.

It was a laugh that fit her form from long before, far more than the noble-lady guise she bore now.

Time passed.

The setting bible was enormous; I needed meticulous and subtle coding to ensure that under no circumstances could [The Librarian of the Great Library] evolve into a dangerous anomaly.

‘How much time has passed?’

It was hard to sense time.

As I said, every letter I wrote drained ‘something’ from my being.

In martial art terms, it was like innate true qi.

Just as the fragments that formed the core of the Constellations were being used as ink, something that formed the backbone of me, the regressor known as the Undertaker, was being consumed.

‘...But it doesn’t matter.’

It will all reset anyway.

‘I mustn’t write a document directly about Go Yuri, the chance she’ll notice is too high.’

Call a ghost and a ghost will come.

It was the most basic of spells.

‘Now I think I see why Go Yuri suddenly adopted the identity of a ‘tiger.’

There must have been several reasons.

Perhaps she needed the concept of dragon-tiger contention in order to oppose a dragon like Leviathan.

She might have borrowed the legend of the Jangsanbeom[1], which can mimic any face or voice, to express that trait.

Go Yuri.

A name permitted only to me.

‘...Everyone has their own way of calling Go Yuri. Ha-yul has her own term, Dok-seo has hers.’

Therefore I must not call her ‘Go Yuri.’

If I do, she’ll realize from ‘over there’ that it was none other than the Undertaker who summoned her.

The instant I call her, she perceives it.

‘What an absurd spell.’

A bitter laugh escaped me.

‘Therefore, when drafting the Library Society document, I must not mention the name Go Yuri.’

‘As if writing in cipher, so that only I can understand it.’

An epithet.

‘One that the next me, or even the me hundreds of cycles hence, will be compelled to click the moment I see it.’

I pondered.

‘...This is it.’

I hammered the keyboard.

‘With this, even if I lose my memory—even if I regard the flood of data in the Library Society as nothing more than rootless scraps of information whose source I can’t trace—’

‘—I’ll still take it seriously.’

‘Others will see nothing but a meaningless string of characters.’

‘But the Undertaker—that is, I the regressor—could never dismiss such characters as a joke.’

I wrote the document about Go Yuri.

I penned Go Yuri’s story without ever using the name Go Yuri.

It seemed a narrative style that suited her quite well.

With each character I typed, the fragments of the Constellation melted away, and in no time they were gone.

[...]

Even the avatar resembling a noble lady—

—had, at some point, fallen silent altogether, becoming a blurry mass of pixels.

But.

‘Finished.’

Tak.

I hit Enter.

The moment I wrapped up, a sudden wave of fatigue hit—no ordinary fatigue, but a sensation close to spiritual depletion.

Through dimming vision I could just make out the laptop with its screen now dark. Had the Admin of the Infinite Metagame also spent her soul to the very end?

If so, then this was the regressor’s will.

A guidebook for one solitary strategy.

‘I’m counting on you... the next me.’

I closed my eyes.

Footnotes:

[1] An urban legend about a mysterious creature resembling a tiger that appears in the mountains of Jangsan Mountain in Busan Metropolitan City in Korea.

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