WeTried Translations

Translator: ZERO_SUGAR

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Regression is Too Much

Chapter 002

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Regression is too weak (2)

“…Mm, does anyone feel like making a frank statement? Or maybe offering some constructive feedback? If you speak up now, I am willing to give it positive consideration.”

The fairy was chattering right above my head.

But I simply could not concentrate on anything it said.

‘I regressed because I took damage, that is what the message said.’

[You have taken damage.]

[Returning to the moment of first entry on Floor 0.]

That was the notice I had seen a heartbeat before the rewind.

The word that mattered was “damage.”

Before the regression, the only damage I had suffered was a hair-thin cut from a blade of grass, just enough for a bead of blood.

In game terms, it was a single point of damage, barely a scratch.

Yet the System counted it as “damage,” and I was yanked back to the instant I first entered the Tower.

Of course, it might have been a coincidence. I needed to test it.

“…”

Glancing at the fairy, I snapped my middle finger hard against my palm.

Tak!

It stung a bit, but no regression came.

“Hm…”

So pain at this level does not register as damage.

Thud!

Next I punched my own forearm as hard as I could.

A dull ache spread through the arm, and the skin was starting to redden when,

[You have taken damage.]

[Returning to the moment of first entry on Floor 0.]

“Fuck! Where the hell is this place!”

With the bald uncle’s familiar shout ringing out, I slowly pushed myself up from the soil again.

Ordinary impact, unless someone really winds up and hits me, will not trigger the rewind.

That is a small mercy. At least I will not regress just because a stranger bumps my shoulder on the road.

But the experiment was not finished yet.

I pinched the back of my hand with my thumbnail, hard.

“…No rewind this time either.”

I had squeezed hard enough to leave an angry red mark, yet nothing happened.

I jumped to my feet and plucked a broad blade of grass from the dense growth nearby.

“…”

Just imagining cutting myself with it sent a shiver down my spine.

That creepy sensation of a paper cut from reading a book.

Every instinct screamed no, but I had to know.

Sssrk.

I drew the grass blade slowly across the back of my hand.

“Ugh, fuck.”

The feeling was as nasty as I feared, and tiny beads of blood welled up.

[You have taken damage.]

[Returning to the moment of first entry on Floor 0.]

“Fuck! Where the hell is this place!”

I understand the conditions now. Blunt force needs to be fairly strong before it counts, but any cut, no matter how small, triggers an immediate regression, even if the weapon is only grass.

“I am so screwed.”

No matter how I turned it over, that was the only conclusion.

The threshold for rewinding was far too low.

This was not something I could laugh off with, “Isn’t frequent regression a good thing?”

Compare it to ordinary death regression.

Those regressors usually feel no regret when they rewind, because they were dead anyway, so another run is pure profit.

My case is different.

Even when things are going well, a tiny slip could forcibly drag me back.

If death regression is like riding a well-trained racehorse, I have mounted a wild stallion on an endless plain.

“Greetings, lowly humans who are squandering your lives! Lovely to see you again!”

While I wrestled with my thoughts, the tutorial fairy popped back into view.

“I will stick to the bare-minimum briefing and move on. I hate it too, but procedure is procedure.”

I let its familiar speech go in one ear and out the other.

“Sta-tus-winnndooooow!”

“Status window!”

“Sta-tus win-dow!”

People all over the clearing were shouting for their panels.

This was exactly the moment I had regressed from before, when I had gotten excited at seeing Regression in my window, raced out, and sliced my ankle on grass.

A fantastically stupid rewind, even in hindsight.

After the brief frenzy of status-window chanting subsided, the clearing lulled again.

My choice now was to watch and wait.

Information is priceless to a regressor.

Instead of stepping forward, I wanted to gather as much as possible.

From what I observed, people fell into three broad groups.

First, those comforting their anxiety by clustering and talking.

“Mom must be worried sick…”

“I was in the middle of cooking… what if the house catches fire…”

Some talked about everyday life as though avoiding the Tower would make it go away.

“Um, what trait did you get?”

“…I did not get any trait.”

“…Oh, is that so?”

A few probed others with sly questions.

Second, a group hovered near the pile of weapons in the center.

“Hm, I would like a sword.”

“You know that only happens in novels, right? In real combat a spear is everything—a spear.”

They picked up weapons, hefting them this way and that.

“Whoa, why is this so heavy?”

“One wrong swing and my back is gone.”

Modern people never get to practice with weapons, so their stances were laughably sloppy, but at least they were preparing to fight. They clearly grasped that this place was a Tower.

The third, and last, were each up to something of their own.

Thud, thud.

One man with a shovel, taken from the weapon heap, was furiously digging into the ground.

Whoosh, whoosh.

A woman repeated the motion of chopping downward with a practice sword.

“Hm… hmm…”

Another man rummaged through the pile like he was hunting for something special.

All of them were burning strength on bizarre antics.

Curiosity won out and I approached the man digging.

He looked like an office worker in his forties, or rather had looked like one. His suit pants had been ripped into knee-length shorts, and his jacket lay half-buried in dirt.

Thud, thud.

Sleeves rolled, he kept shoveling.

“Excuse me.”

I tried speaking to him.

He paused, wiped sweat from his brow, and glanced at me.

“…What.”

His tone was curt, but I did not mind.

“Why are you digging?”

“None of your business.”

He was clearly on guard.

“…All right.”

I backed off, but I could guess his train of thought.

They were looking for hidden pieces.

The third group must have read too many web novels, because they were hunting for hidden loot from the first minute.

Treasure buried under the starting point, or a skill granted if you swing a sword a hundred thousand times, or a legendary weapon concealed in an ordinary pile.

It looked foolish, but I had no reason to stop them.

If they actually found something, I could always rewind and steal it.

I settled beside the cluster of talkers again.

The fairy had mentioned the “System.”

I decided to wait until something happened.

Without a clock I could not tell the exact duration, but it felt like ten minutes passed.

<Announcement. Tutorial Stage rules are now in effect.>

A translucent message popped up before my eyes.

“What, what is that?”

“…An announcement?”

Judging by the reactions, I was not the only one who could see it.

I focused on the words.

-Clear Condition 1: If you swallow a Golden Marble hidden somewhere in the forest, you may proceed to the next stage. Only fifty Golden Marbles exist.

-Clear Condition 2: If you defeat the boss, the Goblin Shaman, a portal to the next stage will appear.

“Hm…”

Even at a glance there were well over fifty people here, so the Tower was forcing a choice.

Would everyone join forces to bring down the Goblin Shaman, or would they abandon the rest and go hunting for marbles?

In stories someone usually steps up and says, “Let us all team up and beat the boss together!” but…

no such altruist emerged here.

“…Shall we travel together?”

“You look strong. Team up with me, yes?”

Too scared to face the Shaman alone yet desperate for marbles, people began recruiting partners to supply the courage they lacked.

“Um… if you are still solo…”

A few invitations came my way too, but

“…Sorry.”

I had to refuse.

I still could not even leave the clearing thanks to the grass.

In the end, the middle-aged folk who denied the System’s reality, the cowards who lacked the nerve to fight, and a handful of eccentrics stayed behind, while the rest set off in search of their own survival.

“…”

Whoosh, whoosh.

Only then did I pick up a sword and slip next to the woman still chopping at empty air.

I had earlier seen her scare off a man’s party offer by brandishing her blade, so idle chatter would only worsen things.

“…”

She cast me a single glance, then ignored me and kept swinging.

Her black ponytail, tied with a simple cord, suited her sharply defined features. Of course, her looks meant nothing to me.

Whoosh!

“Urgh…”

I mustered my resolve and swung. With my form so bad, it felt like my shoulder would pop.

A real sword is much heavier than I imagined, and guiding the edge is no small task.

But I had to master it.

If I did not grow stronger, I would be stuck rewinding inside the tutorial forever.

The Towers I know do not let the weak live.

The flesh keeps rewinding, but my mind must grow comfortable with the sword.

Whoosh, whoosh.

I will become a hero.

No matter what.

I did not know how much time had passed. Judging by the sun about to set, it had been quite a while.

“Phew.”

I swung until my hands shook. I stopped only because my palms might blister and force a regression.

Whoosh, whoosh.

The pony-tailed woman kept swinging, tireless.

“Wow.”

Up close she was truly beautiful, a high nose, that alluring mole under her eye…

Glare.

Maybe she felt my gaze tracing her face, because she turned and shot me a look.

“…”

A regressor always needs a goal.

I had just chosen my first milestone.

Get friendly with her and learn the sword.

Growing stronger is the main reward, the eye candy is a bonus, truly killing two birds with one stone.

Thud, thud.

Whoosh, whoosh.

Using the sounds of digging and sword practice as unintended ASMR, I planned my path when,

“Gyaaaaaaah!”

A human scream ripped the distance.

That voice was unforgettable, the bald uncle who cursed every time we regressed.

“…Fuck.”

Someone had just died.

Footnotes:

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