311 - Regression Is Too Much

311 – The Battle of the Regressor (30) Time marched on relentlessly. Cheonma had only witnessed such a phenomenon once before. ‘…When the world was integrated into the tower.’ When a shattered world was assimilated into the tower, that world on the brink of apocalypse reverted to its prior, thriving civilization. At that moment, the soul of the Heavenly Demon was drawn into it. It was... nothing short of a 'miracle of God.' Thereafter, the Heavenly Demon was defeated by the Supreme Angel. This event further fueled his disdain towards the weak. A world could be obliterated with the mere gesture of a transcendent being. A world could be extinguished in an instant, like an insect flying in the air. Now that they realized their own sphere lay at the end of someone’s blade, the weak who squandered their lives heedlessly seemed utterly pitiful. ‘… You.’ "I... I..." "Do you not remember?" "I don’t know… I’m Guntar… I’m Guntar…" "… That doesn’t seem like acting." Of course, just because this was an ‘incident I had experienced before’ didn’t make it any easier to adapt or remain calm. To begin with, the act of ‘rewinding time’ was unfathomable. Only beings beyond reason could enact the unreasonable. The mere fact that the breath of such a being brushed against Cheonma was deeply unsettling. It seemed to suggest, 'you are not the absolute.' ‘There are many possibilities.’ The unsettling disappointment gnawed at him. Cheonma’s mind began to churn intensely. Why had he returned to the past? What was the reason? No, the critical point wasn’t the fact that time had reversed. The crucial matter was that he was aware of it. Time had indeed turned back? That could very well be. It wasn’t the first time he found himself caught in a vast whirlpool. The important thing was discerning why he retained this memory, yet the fake Guntar was completely oblivious. ‘No, perhaps he alone does not know.’ The soul of this being was a counterfeit, implanted by the angels. It was plausible he didn’t recall the past because of that. This suggested a high likelihood that this was a 'special case.' In this bizarre scenario, Cheonma... ‘…’ resolved to do nothing. If everyone other than the fake Guntar realized time had reset, any unnecessary move would be poisonous. But if only the Thousand Horses realized this… it surely had to be the angels' doing. He didn’t know their intentions, but rash actions were to be avoided. So many questions loomed, so much he yearned to uncover, so much needed verification. He waited, knowing partly that the fake Guntar wouldn’t cooperate, and partly due to the understanding that caution was paramount. Three days later. ‘Come out, you wretched slaughter horse!!!’ “Bring that bastard here!!!” “Give me back Guntar!!!” Voices echoed from outside the room, filled with anger, hatred, and a sense of righteousness. These voices were identical to those in Tianma's memories, sending shivers down his spine. "…Come out." "Not you, not you. I will check it myself." Guntar staggered to his feet. As he stepped out of the room, he encountered a scene that seemed vaguely familiar. People throwing trash. A human scowling with disgust. An android pretending to stop them, yet somehow lacking resolve. ‘…’ "Damn it, damn it..." "He swore!!!" "Guntar swore!!!" Cheonma restrained himself. No, he tried to hold himself back. Until finally, the trash struck his ear and bounced off. Even though he was aware the angels might be watching, it was hard to quell the burning hatred. Those disgusting bastards. How dare they. After that... it was all the same. Beastmen rushed towards him carrying ropes. Guntar felt threatened. The bodies were interchangeable. "…" Perhaps it was merely a coincidence. Cheonma moved exactly as he had before time reversed. It was the most efficient course of action and the optimal solution he'd devised. "Crack…!" "Hah..." "Aah…!" A minor injury. With just a small wound on his right arm, he subdued seven beastmen. It was a maneuver that bordered on miraculous, one an ordinary person could not hope to replicate, and it was the 'correct answer' embodying the essence of the combat Cheonma had honed over his lifetime. It was the most perfect response he could offer given his current physical condition. "…!" Again, his head spun. His consciousness began to wane. The pain in his right arm flared up, and a mysterious light flickered before his eyes. And... and... *** "I... am the real Guntar..." Once again, he found himself in a dark room. Why? Again? It felt strange. The sensation of being manipulated like a puppet in someone else's hands. Except for his childhood and the destruction of the world, Cheonma had always been the one in control. It was his enemies who danced to Cheonma's plans, and he who looked down upon everything with amusement. The situation had changed. Now he was the puppet dancing on a stage called time, and the unknown transcendent being must surely be enjoying the show. Truly... strange. Once more, time advanced. Cheonma resolved to act a bit differently. He aimed to move first and gather information. He wished to analyze the cause behind his current predicament. "Come out..." ‘Move.’ "I used to say that I was not on this face." If you worked on not believing in it, you'd be able to make him realize he is... "Run!!!" "Catch me!!!" Instead of responding immediately, he took a step back. This was a significant acknowledgment for Cheonma. There was a reason why Cheonma, full of arrogance, allowed for leniency. That dark room was his domain, and the water spirits he dragged in were swiftly subdued. Necks slashed, joints dislocated, bones fractured—half of them died while the other half were left unable to fight. “Hmm.” The only difference was that Cheonma did not suffer any setbacks. What was different? Why did he return to the past, yet this time he remained still? There was no time to ponder. More water spirits swarmed in. “Trapped rat!” “Nowhere left to run! Surround him!” “Be careful, don’t attack each other!” About twenty water spirits closed in, wielding ropes and electric prods. This was the reason he hadn’t fled to that room earlier. In the long run, it meant he didn't have much space to run. “You filthy scum. How dare you.” Of course, Cheonma had no intention of losing. It might take some time, but losing was not an option. A “perfect victory” was impossible. There were too many enemies, and he couldn't properly utilize his magic. He might get injured once or twice. Yet, this body was not the fragile frame of a human; it was the robust body of a beastman. Not only were the muscle fibers of excellent quality, but its resilience was remarkable too. Minor wounds healed within seconds. Judging from their birth alone, beastmen were the kind that made humans appear ‘like this.’ “… Hmm.” Minor wounds? Not a chance. No way. Cheonma, who had gathered his wits, was ready for battle. First, he would break through the beastmen ahead. He would feign breaking out of the encirclement to escape outside, then slay the beastmen charging at him with a single strike. The plan could be seen as somewhat reckless, but… – Crunch ! “Ow!” – Crack! “Ow…” Cheonma had the strength to carry out his audacious plan. He was accustomed to trampling the weak, and his understanding of combat was on an entirely different level from theirs. For an ordinary person, it would be arrogance and conceit, but for a genius, it was confidence. The twenty paddlers. They were all active in the arena. All were those who earned their keep eating rice and bread, but now they were all sprawled on the floor. Scar? There was one. A small cut on Cheonma’s waist. Originally, it was a wound left by the fishermen who tried to subdue him with ropes and swung their claws in frustration. It was an injury that would heal in mere seconds. Twenty people charged in, yet barely managed to leave a minor wound. No, the reason a wound was even possible was due to the absence of magical powers. He fought with his body and bare hands, his head unwavering. A truly remarkable victory. The majesty of the powerful. “…” Yet once again, his consciousness slowly faded away. Cheonma opened his eyes wide, struggling with all his might to resist. But he couldn't stop himself from blacking out. *** In the dark room. "I... am the real Guntar..." The fake Guntar murmured. The scene was all too familiar, albeit tiresome. This was the third reset. Once or twice could have been a coincidence. Three, four times, and beyond that, it became wholly improbable as mere chance. A commonality. Every phenomenon that had occurred thus far shared one common thread. A simple similarity, obvious even to a child. ‘… What do you want?’ Once more, Cheonma had to face the truth. Though the specifics or reasons eluded him, he had now become a body that would revert to the past each time he was wounded.