Regression Is Too Much

“Good.”

From a distance, I watched as the players began their meeting. Slowly, I nodded my head.

This was the best method I’d discovered after dozens of regression; acting like a deranged killer to instill terror in them.

“I’m so tired of this.”

From the players’ perspective, it must feel like they’re being haunted by a ghost. Every attack they make misses by a hair, while every one of mine lands. And not just any hits—they’re shallow wounds, nothing fatal.

Am I that strong? Well… purely in terms of skill, I’m at least three steps ahead of them. After all, I’ve honed my skills fighting ‘Jun-ho’ on the 5th floor countless times, while they’ve only faced monsters. Naturally, the odds are in my favor when we fight.

However, there’s a huge difference between “having the upper hand” and “toying with them without getting hit once.” No matter how skilled I am, these players are also top-tier warriors. They got this far at breakneck speed because they had confidence in their abilities. They’re not to be underestimated.

“Regression really is too much.”

But when I’m the only one who gets to study and prepare beforehand, it’s a different story. By repeating regressions, I meticulously observed their habits, martial techniques, and physical abilities. With this knowledge, I could overwhelm even the best players in a heartbeat.

At first, I wanted to win fair and square, purely with skill. And in the beginning, I did—defeating them using my own strength.

But there’s a reason these players are at the top. They quickly adapted to my fighting style. While I still had the upper hand, even the smallest wound would force me to regress. The longer the fight dragged on, the slimmer my chances of winning became.

-“Heh… bastards like you deserve to disappear. Even if I die today, I’m taking at least one of your arms with me.”

And then there’s the pride—no, arrogance—that comes with being “top-tier.” The players who fought me never gave up easily. No matter how much I internally screamed, “Just run away, you idiot! You’re going to die!” they stubbornly fought to the bitter end.

What would it take to make these people give up?

After agonizing over it, I finally found the answer.

The reason they didn’t give up was simple: I looked like an enemy that had to be defeated. Someone who deserved judgment.

“All those horror games really paid off.”

Exactly. They resisted because I looked like an opponent.

What makes ghosts in horror games so terrifying? It’s the fact that they’re incomprehensible, undefeatable.

The scariest opponent is the one you can’t predict.

To that end, I started wearing a skull on my head, smearing animal blood all over my body, and practicing creepy laughs like “Kihehehehe!”n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

The sword style that grazed their skin was part of this strategy, too. Its origins lay in the swordsmanship of the ‘Jun-ho’ I encountered on the 5th floor.

The doppelgänger’s swordsmanship specialized in inflicting “shallow wounds.” While it was optimized for fighting regressors like me, it was otherwise highly inefficient—people don’t die from a few scratches, after all.

But when it came to instilling “fear,” no other technique could compare. A relentless, skin-scraping sword style? From a third-party perspective, it must have looked grotesque and utterly horrifying.

Once I adopted the doppelgänger’s swordsmanship, the players quickly lost their will to fight. Before they could even adjust to my style, they were already trembling in fear and fleeing.

‘Thanks for that, doppelgänger.’

But with every gain comes a loss.

In my current state, I had a critical penalty to deal with.

“...I can’t use magic anymore.”

Why, you ask? There’s a reason for this.

“...”

Sssaaa…

When I focused the slightest bit of magic into my fingertips, a pale frost formed, radiating a chilling cold.

“So it wasn’t just a cold…”

Exactly.

I’m not sure what caused it, but my magic had somehow become infused with cold. Whenever I tried channeling it into my sword, ice crystals danced in the air.

Sounds like a good thing, right?

“...Does it look like a good thing?”

To fight at full strength, I need to distribute magic evenly throughout my body. But when I try that now? I take damage and regress.

What kind of nonsense is this, “frost magic”? Something definitely went wrong on the 10th floor.

“And I’d hate to waste an elixir just for this…”

If it gets worse, I’ll use the elixir, but for now, I’ll wait. With regression, I could manage just fine.

While muttering to myself, I noticed the players talking to the dwarves in the distance. It seemed they were asking for their help.

So far, everything was going according to plan.

“Looks like it’s time for the next phase.”

Now, It’s the Dwarves’ Turn

Over the course of my regressions, I had confirmed one thing about dwarves: they aren’t easily scared. No matter how much terror I tried to instill, they refused to cooperate with the players.

Which meant, when dealing with dwarves…

“I’ll have to threaten them.”

With a blade to their throats, no less.

***

As the sun began to set, about ten dwarves gathered around a large wooden round table inside a sturdy building.

“I trust everyone is aware of the situation,” said the shopkeeper of the Transit Stones, leading the meeting. The others were older dwarves, leaders of their respective factions.

“The climbers have requested our help. They claim a madman has entered the 11th floor.”

“…So, what exactly do they want from us?”

“They’re asking to stay within our fortress and join us in guarding it. Looks like they’re scared out of their wits.”

Although they had never outright banned climbers from entering before, granting them sanctuary within the fortress was a different matter entirely.

“Cheeky bastards,” muttered a dwarf with a thick black beard, stroking it as he sneered.

“They didn’t hesitate to kill our kind out of greed, and now they want our help? Why don’t we just kick them out? Let them reduce their numbers themselves—it’s a win for us. Hell, I’d be happier if they all just dropped dead.”

The other dwarves thought his words were a bit extreme but didn’t actively refute him. After all, the black-bearded dwarf had been close to one of the murdered dwarves.

“Calm yourself. You’re getting too worked up,” said a white-bearded dwarf, intervening. As the village’s eldest, many dwarves affectionately referred to him as “Gramps.”

“How about we allow the climbers to stay until the funeral is over? Afterward, we can hand them some Transit Stone and send them on their way.”

“Hmm…”

“That seems reasonable.”

The dwarves’ funeral was set to take place in three days. While they found the climbers detestable, the thought of allowing them temporary refuge for just three days seemed manageable.

“Very well, we’ll grant the climbers the northern clearing. Do we all agree?”

“I agree.”

“I agree.”

With the matter settled, they moved on to discussing the relocation of the dwarves’ settlement.

Or at least, they were about to when—

“Big trouble!”

The door burst open, and a young dwarf with a relatively short beard came running in, panting heavily.

“Hey! Can’t you see the elders are speaking?”

“The storage! The storage room is—!”

“What?”

“The storage room… it’s been destroyed! The beer barrels and water casks are smashed to pieces, the food is scattered all over the floor, and there’s… there’s an animal’s skull left at the scene!”

“…?”

The storage room? Destroyed? That was unthinkable.

The dwarves’ fortress, while appearing to be a crude wooden structure on the outside, was actually a marvel of magical engineering. The wooden walls were stronger than steel, and the key facilities were equipped with magical traps. Guards patrolled regularly, ensuring constant vigilance.

While it wasn’t impervious—an organized assault by the climbers could break through—it was certainly robust enough to deter uncoordinated attacks. This was precisely why the slain dwarves had all died in the forest rather than within the fortress.

But now, the storage room—the most secure facility—had been destroyed?

“Hmm…”

The shopkeeper instinctively recalled the various defensive measures set up in the storage room. The traps weren’t lethal to those who knew their workings but would be unavoidable for anyone unfamiliar.

If someone had bypassed the guards, evaded the traps, and broken in purely through physical ability…

“This could mean… we’re in danger too.”

Just as the climbers had claimed, it seemed an extraordinary monster had entered the floor.

– – – End of Chapter – – -

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