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

The Self-Immolator II

Once a former major powerhouse falls to being a small fry, they generally choose one of two paths:

1. “Well, I’ve already basked in more than enough love and glory. Let’s just relax. I’ll still manage somehow.”

2. “You must respect me. I once conquered all of East Asia. Whenever I held a dharma assembly, tens of thousands gathered. Even the top guild leaders were terrified of me...”

Naturally, our small-fry renegade monk Seok-hwa belonged to the second category. He refused to abandon the glory of his prime (despite not actually remembering the previous cycles) and was willing to do anything to regain it.

There was one particular cycle, for example.

“Everyone! Our nation faces an unprecedented crisis. In such a time, how should we Buddhists across the land respond?”

“That’s right. Whenever calamity befell the country, we did not hide away in the mountains. Instead, we took up hatchets and rose to action!”

“Didn’t the Great Masters Seosan and Samyeong lead righteous monk armies to defend Joseon? This is the Buddha’s will, telling us to save humankind!”

“All ten million Buddhists of the Three Kingdoms—unite through faith! Let us gather into a monk army, aaaaaah!”

In short, Seok-hwa wanted the Imjin War: Season 2.[1] No drama starring monk-warriors before nor after came close to the era’s roaring success.

What Seok-hwa failed to consider, however, was that there was a far larger gap between a Joseon Dynasty-era monk and a modern-day monk than one might think.

For one thing, monks of the Joseon Dynasty often lived in mountain valleys. That wasn’t so different from present times, but in those days, those mountains had tigers (size XXXL) lurking around, the literal big cats.

On top of that, in the Joseon Dynasty, monks were regularly conscripted for forced labor whenever the government felt like it. This was partly because Buddhism had accumulated some negative history back in the Goryeo Dynasty, and the logic of not atoning for the sins of one’s forefathers didn’t really fly in Buddhist circles. They saw it as a form of karma.

Hence, Confucius’s quote that “a tyrannical government is more fearsome than a tiger” didn’t resonate much with Joseon monks. After all, those monks had to fight both the government and real tigers.

Because of that, they grew strong. Monks of that age lived by the principle that if one saw a fellow monk in the mountains of Joseon, just think, He has survived. Indeed, they had to walk the thin line between life and death every day of their lives.

Meanwhile, what of monks of the modern era?

For starters, the “dungeon” of the forest no longer had giant tigers in it. Most temples had paved roads and stairways leading right up to them. Sure, modern monks did get a bit more protein in their diets than Joseon monks did, but that alone doesn’t necessarily develop combat-ready muscle.

Like a popular meme featuring a certain Shiba Inu dog comparing the past to the present went, if the so-called great masters back in Joseon might have said, “Now that we have returned alive from the war, let us rebuild the villages and the city walls alongside the peasants!” the modern monk might well say, “Ugh... The plane ticket to India is just too expensive...”

Such phenomena weren’t limited to Buddhist circles. Across all sectors, the human drive for survival and real combat experience had grown weaker with time. It was in such a climate as this that Seok-hwa dreamed of reviving the glory of Imjin War monk armies, shouting, “Make Buddha Great Again!”

The result?

“Eek! D-demons— Demons are coming!”

“Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu!”

“Master! Help us, Masterrr!”

“Huh... Uhhh...?!”

The new-era monk-warrior movement failed spectacularly.

Up north, the Resurrection Church led by Mo Gwang-seo was pushing its congregation into a suicidal Crusade, and down south, Seok-hwa was dragging his own cultists into ruin. Thus, the pseudo-religions ended up in “harmony” by collectively making things worse in what could only be described as a double catastrophe.

In the end, I, the regressor, had to step in.

“Noh Do-hwa, Commander of the National Road Management Corps. Keep an eye on these people. They’re dangerous. Always keep them on your radar.”

“Sure, yeah. Got it...”

They were promptly blacklisted.

As for Mo Gwang-seo’s Resurrection Church, we sent in our alliance’s secret weapon, Sim Ah-ryeon, to brainwash them. Success.

Dealing with Seok-hwa was even simpler. We planted an undercover agent nearby, and whenever Seok-hwa tried something suspicious, we quietly sabotaged him. We even enlisted the greatest villain among the pseudo-religious Taoist sects, Cheon Yo-hwa of Baekhwa Girls’ High, into our ranks.

Christian, Buddhist, Taoist. All three major heretical factions on the Korean Peninsula were subdued. At least as far as pseudo-religious troublemakers were concerned, peace finally arrived in Korea.

“Er, do you think we’ll get many people at tomorrow’s dharma assembly?”

“I’m not sure, Monk. Maybe twenty if we’re lucky?”

Now the renegade monk Seok-hwa was truly abandoned, like an egg adrift in the Nakdong River.

In truth, his head had always resembled an egg, but now every aspect of his life mirrored one.

“Look at that! Guild Leader Undertaker has come all this way! How can I not serve him some fine tea? This here is a barley tea I’ve been cherishing. Oh ho ho. I even went to China and bought some Pu’er tea before the devils took over. Please enjoy, Undertaker. Oh ho! It’s all sincerity, you see!”

Thus ends the history of how a once EX-tier cult leader ended up groveling in front of me.

Watching him struggle not to remain a small-fry cult leader was almost pitiful.

“...So you’re saying that with no real Awakeners at your side, just about ten believers, you plan to travel from Busan to Sinuiju in a grand journey across the peninsula?”

“Yes, indeed. It’s extremely dangerous, I know that well. But how can we fear danger when the Great Merciful Buddha is protecting us?”

Countless Hollow still roamed the peninsula. Essentially, Seok-hwa proposed a “pilgrimage,” heading north while comforting as many Hollow as possible with funeral rites along the way.

From a certain angle, it was admirable.

‘He used the Udumbara virus to expand his following, then tried to start a monk-warrior movement after that failed, and now he’s on to cross-country funeral rites.’

He was the genuine embodiment of an iron will to seize power. It was almost awe-inspiring how, despite his utterly shabby appearance, he could stay so unwaveringly driven. Nevertheless, as Do-hwa pointed out, it sounded like a suicide mission.

‘Would this renegade monk be able to carry out proper funerals for all those wandering souls?’

And that was before mentioning the other Anomalies and Voids that infested the land. How could he and his tiny band possibly handle them?

Sure, maybe it didn’t really matter. The deaths of ten random citizens didn’t even qualify as big news anymore. But there was one detail that weighed on my mind...

I glanced at the ten believers gathered outside the temple, humming in thought. Even after his downfall, these stalwart souls still stood by Seok-hwa. Most of them were frail, elderly folks. Among them was one old man who used a piece of medical equipment, built and maintained by Do-hwa, for support.

“Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu...”

That patient’s name was Shin Su-bin. He was a grandfather who’d worried about Do-hwa’s well-being up until the very moment the world collapsed.

When our eyes met, Su-bin and the other Buddhists clutched their malas and bowed multiple times from the waist.

“Buddha... Maitreya Buddha...”

“May Undertaker bestow mercy upon us...”

I stifled a sigh. Whatever level of Buddhist teaching they might have absorbed, these elderly believers were sincerely praying for our safety, purely out of goodwill.

When I politely nodded in return, they lowered their heads even deeper, looking touched and honored.

“They’re who Do-hwa is worried about...” I mused to myself.

She never breathed a word about her patients during our last meeting, but I understood her mindset. Frankly, I couldn’t care less if a random renegade monk like Seok-hwa lived or died, but if Su-bin died, it would weigh on Do-hwa’s heart. That was what concerned me.

I set down the Pu’er tea and rose to my feet.

“Huh? Wait, Undertaker? Where are you going...?”

Ignoring Seok-hwa calling after me in a fluster, I approached Su-bin, standing across from him. Leaning in slightly, I spoke louder so the elderly man with poor hearing could understand.

“Excuse me, sir.”

“Huh?”

“Are you absolutely sure you must join this cross-country journey? I get where you’re coming from, but Ms. Noh Do-hwa is really worried about you.” When he didn’t respond, I continued, “You know her better than anyone. She’s not at all like her public image—she cares deeply for her patients. If anything happens to you, she’ll be up all night worrying. Can’t you just stay in Bansong-dong?”

Su-bin pursed his lips. His eyes, or rather the hollows where his eyes once were, looked as though they had seen enough of the world to have no need for any more barriers between himself and reality.

“My...”

“Yes?”

“My foot hurts, see. It’s been giving me trouble. And it feels like I’m burdening Ms. Noh by making her fix it all the time... I feel bad about that...”

“No, she would never think that way.”

“Oh, I know. I do know that. But... Ms. Noh is busy handling affairs for the entire nation. I’m an old man who doesn’t have much time left anyway. Why keep hogging her attention? That wouldn’t be right.”

I shut my mouth.

“In half a year, my ankle brace might snap and I’ll need her to fix it again, you know? I’d rather go now, while I can still walk around. At least do something meaningful with the little time I have left. Why keep troubling her? So I’m sorry. I have to go.”

A fitted protective brace was wrapped snugly around Su-bin’s right ankle. Back in the 53rd cycle, when I was assisting Do-hwa in her workshop, I remember seeing a support brace identical to that one.

‘This is my own karma, isn’t it?’

In the distant past, before Do-hwa had come to command the National Road Management Corps, her workshop was frequently visited by elderly patients like these. To this day, she still juggled her positions as both the Corps commander and an assistive-device technician, accepting patients by appointment.

Yet over time, the number of patients had decreased, however slightly. Because she was the apparent “exalted Commander of the National Road Management Corps,” people felt guilty, like it was a nuisance or a risk to take up her time for personal repairs.

And so, I’d swallowed up part of her reason for living.

“I see,” I said. “Well, sir, please don’t push yourself too hard on that journey. If you’re making a trip around the peninsula, be sure to come back home safe.”

“Oh no, that might not—”

“Trust me. Meeting you and helping you out is more like therapy for her. She’s... Well, she’s a bit eccentric about that. She hates politics and much prefers tinkering for her patients. You get it, right?”

“Yes, yes... Thank you. Well, then...”

I looked around, counting a total of eleven old men gathered in the temple. Banners waved in bright colors above their shoulders, painstakingly made with their limited funds, reading things like “Let Our Buddha-Hearts Unite,” “Nationwide Funeral Tour,” “Namu Amida Butsu,” “Gwanseeum-bosal,” “Paradise Pure Land.”

It was a world too harsh on the elderly.

In an apocalypse that worshipped efficiency, these people were thinking hard about how to exit the stage quietly. Unlike the renegade monk who wanted to exploit these old believers’ last moments for his own big “comeback”...

I turned away from the elderly and walked back to Seok-hwa, whose anxious expression lit up in relief upon seeing that I wasn’t leaving just yet.

“Oh ho, Undertaker! I was worried you might be heading out. Since you came all this way, why not stay for a meal of temple fare before you go?”

“I’m fine. If you’ve got the resources, please use them to feed those seniors well, at least once.”

“Oh dear. But they’ve cultivated their minds so deeply, they’re already shrouded in the Buddha’s compassion—”

My finger pressed into his shoulder, firm and unwavering. “Venerable Seok-hwa.”

His eyes went round. His mouth gaped soundlessly, letting a ragged gasp escape. He couldn’t even scream properly.

No Aura was needed. Simply pressing a key pressure point was enough to rob this renegade monk of his voice.

“I know all about people like you. Don’t go believing you’re special. In this world, if you walk around enough, you’ll trip over a dime-a-dozen people just like you.”

“U-uh, huh... Mmph...”

“You’re not the one ‘bringing salvation’ to others. If anything, you’re barely surviving thanks to the people around you. Because for someone out there, you’re still one of the few companions they have left... Don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re blessing others. It’s the other way around. Got it?”

“Ugh... Ugh—”

“Do you get it?”

His terrified face went pale as he bobbed his head in a feeble nod. At last, I loosened my grip on his pressure point, preventing him from uttering any audible scream.

“Hhk... Gngh... Hah...”

“Please try to live a quiet life.”

Seok-hwa nodded again, fear etched on his face.

The very next day, the “Unite in Buddha-Heart, Cross-Country Funeral Tour Squad” consisting of one renegade monk and eleven elderly believers, departed from Busan.

[1] Over 8,000 Buddhist monks acted as warriors in the Imjin War against the Japanese invasion, some acting out of Korean patriotism and others to improve the standing of Buddhism with respect to Confucian ideology.