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.

    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.

    – – – End of Chapter – – -

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