Lone Cultivator In Another World

After Vladimir and Nadezhda Severniy got knocked out with tranquilizer, two burly men threw them in a van, and it drove away. During the commotion, one of the kidnappers got shot in the arm, and was now nursing it in a makeshift sling.

Despite their preparation and work in the shadows, there were still some honest agents who guarded the apartment building. The kidnapping didn't go as smoothly as they'd hoped – the other kidnapper almost caught a bullet as well.

"How are you?" the driver shouted, anxiously checking his rearview mirror. Nobody was following them, but he stepped on the gas to gain some distance anyway.

"I'm fine. Just a cut. It was close though." the stern-faced injured man responded.

"Look at these two. The least important-looking people I've ever had to take," his partner joked, pointing at Michael's parents.

The unconscious couple had been thrown on the car floor carelessly, like garbage. Vladimir had a nasty bruise on his cheek from rubbing against the hard floor. Nadezhda lay on top of his body, which saved her from similar rough treatment.

The driver was worried for nothing, as nobody followed them. Fifteen minutes later, the van parked nearby a small low-class office building undergoing renovation. Four men in black clothes ran out and carried the couple inside on stretchers, their bodies and faces covered, while the two kidnappers accompanied them.

…

When Vladimir woke up, he had to spit out a mouthful of blood, which ended up on his c.h.e.s.t. Half his face burned, and his lips were dry. He opened his eyes only to see an empty grey wall.

"Nadya!" he called. Nobody answered.

He was sitting in a chair, and judging by the awkward pose, it wasn't of his own volition.

Vladimir tried moving his arms and winced from a piercing pain somewhere behind his back. He flexed his shoulders, and when they didn't move, he realized his hands were bound by the wrists.

"Nadya!" Again, louder.

"Ah… I'm here," a parched whisper came from behind.

"What happened? I think we were drugged."

"Yes," Nadezhda drawled. Her speech was sluggish, and Vladimir pulled on his restraints again, attempting to turn around.

"You will stop now. Only speak or move when you're told," someone said with a heavy Russian accent.

"Who are you? What do you want? We have money, it's not a problem!" Vladimir pulled on his ropes again, and a heavy hand landed on his head, pushing it down.

"Stop struggling," their kidnapper said in Russian.

"You…"

"We don't want money. If you son cooperates, you will be treated well. If not," the man smirked with one side of his face, "I'll kill the one who struggles more and ask your son again."

"Misha!" Nadezhda gasped.

"He's already on his way to give himself up. Need to wait just a little." The burly kidnapper leaned in closer, "Do you want water?"

"Not from you!" Vladimir pulled on his ropes again to no avail.

"Misha! I'm so sorry, dear! I didn't think something like this could happen…"

Vladimir's face turned red when he heard his wife's sobbing. In their couple, he was the decision-maker, the breadwinner, head of the family. Vladimir couldn't accept not being able to protect his woman. What he d.e.s.i.r.ed most now was to close his hands on the neck of the bastard who did this.

"Oi, don't cry! We need you presentable if it gets to videochat, you hear me? Hey, how did this one get a bruise on his cheek?"

Somebody explained that it was probably an accident. Vladimir counted at least five different voices, all of them speaking his native language.

"Can I know why?" he asked. "Why are you doing this?"

The man from before returned, "Because your son Mikhail is a unique asset and can do a lot of good for his country. He did a foolish thing when he ran away from Russia. Had he been more patriotic, he'd have been a person of value by now."

Nadezhda gasped, realizing that these men were likely Russian spetsnaz, a special forces unit that competed for the title of the best in the world.

"I never thought that something like this would happen to me, and I'm disgusted by the fact it's my countrymen who are doing this!" Vladimir spit out.

The kidnapper didn't react, too busy receiving a call on a large radio-like communication device.

"It's time for videochat!" Two men with guns on their h.i.p.s set up a camera, and the burly kidnapper stood behind the couple.

Half a minute later, a voice on the radio said, "Father."

The kidnapper stepped forward and doled out a fierce slap to Vladimir's injured cheek. The poor man gave a crisp shout and coughed in pain.

"Please, don't do this. Misha is a good boy. He won't hurt anyone. Please, spare him!" Nadezhda begged, but the armed men threatened to hurt her if she didn't shut up.

In two minutes, the radio spoke again, "Mother."

Vladimir couldn't react in time, and the kidnapper slapped his wife. "No!" the desperate father tore at his bindings, and received a punch in the gut that felt like being hit by a steel beam.

"Volodya, don't! Let them do whatever they want!"

Everyone waited in silence. "Hit me next time. Don't touch her," Vladimir asked, but the Russian agents ignored him. Five, ten minutes later, when the head kidnapper didn't receive the signal he'd been waiting for, he commanded evacuation.

"Do we kill one of them here?"

"No, we have to leave as few clues as possible. No bodies, no blood. Clean everything up."

Nadezhda and Vladimir were yanked out of their chairs and led to a broken elevator.

For the first time, Vladimir could see his wife. Her eyes were red with tears, and a hand imprint marred her tender skin. It was going to leave a terrible bruise.

There were eight men with them, all armed and in peak condition. Even if the couple attempted an escape, there was no chance they'd succeed.

The head kidnapper pushed Nadezhda closer to the elevator shaft. "Want to fly?" he asked.

"Don't you dare!" Vladimir struggled, held in place by two people. If his gaze could kill, the kidnapper would be incinerated.

"Silence!" The man pushed a button, and to the Severniy couple's surprise, the elevator opened its doors. The empty building used to be an office, so the elevator cabin was large enough to fit everyone in.

"It's a long way down."

The kidnapper pushed a button for the underground parking floor, except the building didn't have one.

When the doors slid sideways, Vladimir and Nadezhda were pushed out into a small room. They had to be on some underground level, so the room was like a box made of concrete and metal.

"We'll have to wait it out. Once the Swiss find no proof we were ever here, they'll back off. Get ready for a quiet day, boys!" The kidnapper pushed a button on the wall that turned the elevator off. The Russians must have put in a lot of effort into this operation.

"Which one do we leave alive, boss?"

"Let's keep the man. He's a fighter, I have to respect that," The kidnapper smiled at Vladimir, who was standing right next to him. "Off the woman!"

"No!!!" Vladimir roared and slammed his body into the kidnapper's powerful torso. They fell, and in the scuffle, the ropes that held Vladimir's wrists finally broke.

The Russian man had been free of cancer for the last six months. He may have been a businessman in his fifties with a beer gut, but he never shied away from a fight. The strength he'd recovered in the last months was amplified by the fury directed at the ruthless spetsnaz agent.

Vladimir punched and kicked at his opponent as much as he could, but the other man's training was undeniable. The kidnapper caught Vladimir in a chokehold and tried to knock him out. Slowly losing his grip on reality, Vladimir felt around for a weapon and clenched his teeth in grim triumph when his fingers found something any man could identify with ease.

"Grraaah!" the kidnapper yelled when the older civilian grabbed his genitals and crushed them in his fist. His grip lightened, and Vladimir hurried to take the initiative himself.

He bashed the back of his head against the kidnapper's forehead, twisted around to face him, and closed his hands around the kidnapper's throat. With a powerful squeeze, Vladimir broke his windpipe.

Taking big gulps of air, the exhausted father got up and realized that he wasn't the one to be executed – his wife was. Trembling in horror, he turned around.

"Nadya?"

…

Michael ran across town, leaving behind golden flashes and afterimages. Twice faster than any car and not bound by traffic rules, he ran despite the flaring pain in his legs. His cultivation level was too low to use this many glory points, and his durability couldn't keep up with the speed he'd developed.

For four months, Michael hadn't been able to progress because of LZD1, and he'd cured it just two weeks ago. How could he raise his level any more than he did? If not for the connection with the infofield when he asked it a question, Michael would still be stuck at the 1-star level.

Once again, he had to spend glory points to keep his body whole. Disregarding both the real and phantom pain, he dashed through the city streets until he found the office building with the address given to him by the scientist.

Michael ran inside after kicking in the door and halted. There was nobody in the building. No signs of human presence or struggle.

'Could the scientist have lied?'

For a second, he got lost, but then a rakish smile appeared on his lips. "I have to remember my strengths! I'm a cultivator. Things others cannot do are the norm for me!"

He calmed his mind. During his sprint across town, the darkness retreated deeper, and Michael had absolute control over his faculties.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Nose. Mouth.

Trust yourself. Let your subconscious guide you. Let the infofield guide you.

Mindfulness. Awareness. Danger Sense. Intuition.

Michael didn't know how to put these abilities to use correctly, but if they failed him now, there was no use in having them.

Step by step, he approached the elevator shaft. When he opened his eyes, he stood right in front of the metal doors.

"Isn't it broken? Then nobody will mind if I do this!" without wasting time, the teenager pushed his fingers between the sliding doors and spread them apart.

Then, his Enhanced Sense of Hearing picked up sounds of fighting from below.

Michael looked down and saw the elevator cabin a few tens of meters down. A jump like that could probably kill him. He could only heal himself so much, and only if he remained conscious.

"It's fine," he said to himself. "Whenever I jumped off a building, I've always survived. So far."

He stepped forward.

The shaft was too wide for him to steady his fall using his hands, so he pushed himself from one wall to another, jumping like a mountain goat. When it was time to land on the elevator cabin's ceiling, he poured glory points into his legs and spine without restraint, which probably saved his life.

"Mom! Dad!" he shouted, bashing in the comparatively fragile metal of the cabin. "Mom! Dad!" He pushed open the doors and ran into a small room where eight spetsnaz agents had been given an order to kill.

"M-mom?!"