Chapter 12: 2nd Floor – Base: Kingdom of Calibarium (4) [2/2]

So when Oren handed them that worthless food and smiled, the message was clear: Forget the kindness of the man who helped you. 

I can disregard him at will, and so can you. Know your true master.

Not a single one of the slaves misunderstood. 

The ones who might’ve missed the nuance were already long dead.

“Let’s rest for about thirty more minutes before we move on.”

“…”

“Mr. Park Yunseo?”

“Ah, sorry. My mind wandered for a moment.”

“Haha, that happens. Anyway, thirty minutes, then we head out.”

“Understood.”

I smiled, and he smiled back before returning to his group and starting another conversation—something about their next move. 

I could have listened in, but didn’t bother.

He’d unravel on his own soon enough.

Whether by my hand, Yoo Hana’s, the spiders’, or even the slaves’.

“Oppa…”

“It’s mostly wrapped up now.”

Oren spoke as he approached, wiping the blood off his rapier with a handkerchief.

Maybe it was because the situation had settled down.

The sharp edge to his demeanor had vanished in an instant.

It probably helped his mood that none of the slaves had died either. 

But Yoo Hana, remembering his earlier remarks, didn’t look pleased at all.

“He… he insulted Oppa. He should die. I bet Oppa’s heart is so, s-so hurt. Stupid. Idiot. As-… asshole.”

She mumbled too softly for Oren to hear.

I pretended not to hear it either. Silently praying for Oren’s soul.

“I apologize for earlier. I suppose being so close to death made me edgy.”

“It’s fine. I understand.”

“Thank you. As a small token of gratitude, allow us to share some of the supplies we brought.”

He said something obvious like he was some kind of saint. 

A dozen rebuttals popped into my mind, but what could I do? 

My current role was that of a naïve rookie who’d just come up from the Tower. 

A pure soul who accepted kindness for what it was.

So, I offered a pure-hearted thanks.

“Oh, thank you.”

“It’s nothing. For now, let’s rest. We’ll distribute the supplies over there.”

And so we did.

We moved to a nearby clearing, laid out our camping gear, and took a break. 

Resting barely ten minutes after entering a dungeon—completely absurd by normal standards, but possible once you threw normal standards out the window.

I lit a basic campfire and helped Yoo Hana set up a tent. 

We didn’t plan to sleep immediately, but it was easier to prepare it ahead of time.

“We’ll share food supplies. Since you handed out a lot of bread earlier, we’ll give you something equivalent.”

Oren said, rummaging through a food pouch carried by one of the slaves. 

What he pulled out were dried squid and jerky. Much worse than bread.

I’d expected as much, so I didn’t show surprise. I just accepted them with an awkward smile.

“…Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Oren smiled.

He probably noticed the faint tremor in my voice. 

He likely picked up on the implied message: Are you really acting generous while giving me this garbage?

It was a petty move. 

A silent way of asserting dominance—I’m above you.

A calculated effort to erase the goodwill the slaves had shown me for sharing food outside the dungeon. 

To nullify it completely.

A foolish act, if the recipients weren’t slaves.

“…Ugh.”

“…”

To someone who’s been abused or tortured, their abuser is no different from a demon. If the abuser says die, you die. 

If they say feel pain, you suffer. 

Refusal isn’t an option. 

That’s what it means to be a slave.

So erase your goodwill toward that man. 

Burn it away. 

Etch into your bones who your true master is. 

The one you thought was your savior—he’s someone so lowly he can’t even object when I treat him like trash.

That was the message Oren conveyed through his actions. 

And not a single slave missed it. 

Because any slave who could’ve missed it was already dead.

“Let’s rest another thirty minutes before heading out.”

“…”

“Mr. Park Yunseo?”

“Ah, sorry. I was just… lost in thought for a moment.”

“Haha, it happens. Anyway, we’ll leave in thirty minutes.”

“Sure. Let’s do that.”

I smiled as I replied. 

Oren smiled back and returned to his group, chattering about something. 

I could’ve listened in, but didn’t bother.

He’s the kind of man who’d self-destruct eventually. 

Whether it’s because of me, or Yoo Hana, or the spider.

Or maybe even the slaves.

“O… Oppa.”

Yoo Hana spoke.

I turned my head from staring at the slaves—particularly Rita—to face her.

“Hm?”

“Wh-what are you going to do?”

“Hmm… Clear the dungeon, I guess? It’s not even that hard.”

“N-no, not that.”

Her eyes briefly flicked toward Oren.

“What are you going to do about him?”

“…”

“Are… are you going to kill him?”

Kill him.

It was an easy thing to say. In the minds of Koreans, there were already dozens of phrases involving murdering someone’s parents. 

The memories of struggling in the Rift to protect your parents still ran deep in our DNA.

But few have said kill with real murderous intent. Declaring someone’s death because you truly want to end them—because not doing so would tear you apart inside—gives the word a whole different weight. It drags the listener into a swamp of dread.

That’s how Yoo Hana’s words felt.

She genuinely wanted Oren dead. She was ready to kill him herself if needed.

Her comfort with killing the patchwork golems had transferred over to humans. 

From that moment, she no longer feared death, nor hesitated to deliver it. 

It was inevitable. 

There’s a reason she earned the title Massacre Queen.

“If it were up to me, I’d wipe them all out. Not a single scream left behind—I’d slaughter them completely. I can do it. I really can.”

She said it confidently, with murderous intent burning in her expression. 

Like she’d start casting spells the moment I nodded.

But I gave a bitter smile and shook my head.

“I’ve got a plan. Don’t worry.”

“O-okay! I’ll do as you say, Oppa.”

Yoo Hana immediately erased the murderous aura and clung to me. I patted her head and tilted my own.

Oren’s death was already guaranteed, even without her.

“…”

Rita’s face reflected in my eyes.

*

The regressor was feeling insulted.

Returning kindness with rudeness? What utter arrogance.

Even common thugs would shake their heads at that.

If the regressor had still been afflicted by the infamous “F***-It-All Syndrome” unique to regressors, Oren’s body would’ve already been torn to pieces and fed to the spiders.

But I’d long overcome all that negativity. 

Sure, I still had the passive mental illnesses that came with regression, but that dangerous soda-fueled artery-bursting version of Regressor Syndrome?

Cured. Probably around the 50th cycle.

So then, how does a mellowed-out regressor serve up a spicy counter to someone disrespecting them?

It was a simple quiz.

Reverse the intention.

“You’re hurt. Here’s a potion. Please take it.”

“Gasp! You’re bleeding! Here, take this bandage, stop the bleeding quickly!”

“Oh no! Your organs are spilling from your side! Hurry, shove them back in and pour this potion over it! What? You’re worried this is expensive? Who cares, you’re dying! I won’t charge you later, just use it now!”

You want to mock my kindness? Fine, I’ll give you even more kindness.

Slaves are fundamentally people wounded in the heart.

 And unlike that green dinosaur from that old TV show, these people don’t easily accept kindness at face value. If anything, they feel anxious that they can’t repay it.

Proof? 

Just look at how the slaves were staring at me. 

Not a single ounce of negativity. Only guilt, gratitude, and admiration—as if I were a benefactor they owed a great debt to.

Oren had erased 100 points of their goodwill toward me. I would simply restore it by 1000. 

That alone was enough to sway the hearts of the slaves.

“Th-thank you…”

Rita was no different. Just before entering the dungeon, she’d looked like she might kill herself at any moment. But now, her crimson eyes had regained a faint sparkle.

Praise makes whales dance, and free kindness wins a slave’s heart. I patted Rita’s messy hair as she looked up at me with blushing cheeks and smiled.

“It’s nothing.”

“Ugh…”

“If you get hurt again, come straight to me. I’ll heal you.”

“…Is that really okay?”

“Of course. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got plenty to give.”

“Y-you look more like someone I should call Oppa than Ajusshi.”

Ah, I believe you. You’re a good person. I’ll protect you for the rest of my life.

“Thanks.”

I gave her hair a rough ruffle and stood up.

That’s when Yoo Hana appeared like a ghost.

“I’m the only one allowed to call you Oppa. Or do you like little girls now? Then I’ll use magic to make myself look younger, Oppa. Because Oppa has to be my Oppa. If you’re someone else’s Oppa, you’re not my Oppa.”

Unlike usual, she whispered in my ear without a single stutter.

…You’re terrifying, Hana.