Lone Cultivator In Another World

The family spent some time together in the hospital ward. Mother told stories from her and her husband's youth: how they met, married and navigated the dangerous 1990s together in Russia. How excited they were when they found out about Michael. Both were pushing their late thirties, and that year was probably their last chance to have a baby. How Michael's dad spared no expense at baby proofing the apartment and bought him all the best toys even before he was born. The woman still remembered the tender kiss they shared while baby Michael was softly cooing in her arms just minutes after his birth.

Such stories would disgust or bore most normal teenagers, but for a 34-year-old who lost his parents years ago, it was a blessing. Michael held on to his mom's every word as he stole glances at his ailing father. He used up all his glory points beforehand, so this talk went on for hours, and he didn't feel tired.

The poor woman's voice got hoarse after sharing so many memories with her son. She offered to go back to the apartment and rest, but Michael had something else on his mind.

"Mom, I want to spend the night here, if you don't mind."

"Misha, you don't have to do that. We can see your father again tomorrow."

"No, I mean, alone. You should go back and rest. It'll be fine," he added, after seeing her worry, "I need this, mom. We still have some leftover food from our trip. I'll just doze off in the chair."

His mother reluctantly agreed, unable to say no after such an emotional day, and left. Michael felt bad about sending her off to an empty apartment, aware of how alone she would feel that evening. But he had no idea of how Glory's treatment would look, or how long it would take, and was itching to begin.

"Glory, how do I heal my father with glory points? How does the process work?"

"Host needs to push the energy into his father's body and guide it. Glory points are representation of excess energy stored in Splendid Glory. It is infofield's purest energy which host can barely control with his cultivation. Their most efficient use is to make purchases in the shop. However, as it is energy contained in host's body, host can use it freely."

"Makes sense. How many points do I have now?"

"Current glory points: 890."

"Huh, it was a good day. Cool, let's do it in one fell swoop!"

Michael moved his chair closer to the bed. He took his father's cold arm in his hands and concentrated on a ball of light he got used to feeling in his head. Its nature was the same as the power that flowed through his veins, but it shone brighter and fiercer by a factor of thousand.

In a minute, following his prompting to move, the ball of light drifted through Michael's body and jumped from his palms and fingertips onto his father's arm. The shining sphere proceeded into the man's throat where it found a lump.

Almost every type of cancer can be described as an out-of-control growth of cells inside a certain organ. These formations made up of cells are called tumors. Not all tumors are cancerous, but most cancers are associated with tumors. Michael's father had a rather rare throat cancer, and the tumor was partially blocking his airways. The poor man had a constant cough, sore throat and his voice was low and hoarse. Right now, there was a tube inserted into his throat to help him breathe.

As soon as the tiny sun met with the tumor, Michael nudged it to explode. And it did, but contrary to the cultivator's expectations, it only took a small chunk of cells with it.

"Glory, it didn't work! The damn thing is still there!"

"Host's control over infofield energy is poor. Host is recommended to train his control, increase his cultivation or spend more glory points."

"How much more? I used up all the nine hundred I had, and the tumor is what, 1% smaller now?"

"Estimated glory points necessary: 60,000."

"Unbelievable. And that will only kill the lump of cells. The cause of the disease, I can't do anything about it. Another tumor will grow in…"

Michael realized, however useless the treatment seemed, it would take months and years for another formation to appear. By that time, he would probably have a cure in his hand, ready to share it with the world.

It was father's life on the line. With Angry Birds on sale, Michael could receive at least twice the points from before. He had noticed it was more difficult to get points for bringing joy to people compared to education, but with millions of players that lower percentage was still a mighty number. How long would it take, a week? Two weeks?

Meanwhile, he didn't have to worry about school. His grades were perfect, anyway, and he had friends in high places like Jones and Graves. For some reason, Michael sensed the principal wouldn't refuse a request from a school hero with a terminally ill father.

One obligation Michael had were his YouTube channels, although there was a wealth of content he had made in case something like this happened. Only those game insights he had promised weren't stockpiled.

He could do this. He took out his phone and punched in his mom's number, "I decided to stay here, mom. As long as dad still breathes, I have to be here. Please, I need this." He explained how the school would surely allow him to miss a week or two. It was a hard-fought battle, but his mother couldn't match the "teenage" college-educated man in eloquence or the art of arguing.

In the days that followed, Michael recorded the game insights videos. He called the school and received permission to tend to his father from Graves. He phoned his friends, too, and asked them not to worry about him.

It took him less than a day to take care of these matters. Other than that, he spent every living minute next to his father.

One thing Michael couldn't predict was that genetically stimulated cancerous tumors grew much faster than normal. He not only had to destroy the cells batch by batch, but also stop them from growing and spreading into other organs. That required more glory points, and even with his increased income of about three thousand per day, it was barely enough. So, Michael made a tough decision and spent all the points on his father, and none on his own LZD1.

That was the real reason he always sat near the man's bed – he couldn't stand up. Even so, one week wasn't enough. Then, two turned into three, and three – into a month. Michael's mother was restless: her Misha barely ate or slept. She even asked her husband to leave them be, to free their son from the obsession. It wouldn't save the man, after all, only hurt the boy.

For Michael, it was a terrible month. His hazy mind, exhausted by the genetic disease, had trouble recognizing what time of day it was. His thoughts were foggy, he only knew pain and controlling the energy. That pain came not from LZD1, but from cultivation.

Michael pushed his glory points into the tumor once an hour. Then, he made one or two attempts at cultivation and rested for ten-twenty minutes and tried again. With the planet's population evolving, he couldn't afford to lose the advantage given by cultivation. So, he got burned by the imaginary hot water again and again.

His eyesight grew fuzzy. If something was put into his mouth, he chewed. The cultivation process eliminated the excretions, so he didn't soil himself; and his mother was so distraught, she didn't pay attention to that small phenomenon. If he was pried off his father's body, he used all his strength to shout and wail, because he couldn't fight back.

Day after day. Week after week. After he fought until the end to save Carina, Michael refused to give up on his father. He would never back down again. There were no second chances left. He had used his when he jumped off that building. With a new youth, with a new life, he had to make things right.

…

"We're standing in a cancer research center where a 14-year-old boy has been praying for his father to wake up for a month. The hospital workers are in shock. No one saw him stand up from his chair for four weeks now. The nurses say, this young man holds his father's arm, and sometimes his lips move in silent prayer. Today, we came here to ask him if he believes his faith in God can bring his father back."

The door opened, and the camera caught a pale boy with a grim expression sitting near an unconscious man. His body twitched slightly from pain which the reporters interpreted as muscle atrophy.

"Excuse me," asked a spritely young woman in Russian, "Channel 5, local news. You have spent a month in this chair, praying for your father to return to you, hoping you can be a family once more. The doctors say his condition is terminal. What makes you think he has a chance?"

Michael didn't react. People talked too much around him these days, so he filtered out the sounds. He controlled the glory points to explode for what seemed like the thousandth time. The tumor was really small now, a fraction of what it used to be. Only a thin blockade remained, and after breaching it Michael could stimulate his father's brain and vitals to wake the man up.

The reporter exclaimed, "Cut! The kid also looks comatose, just like his dad. Why do I always get these shitty assignments? Hey," she nudged the cameraman, "I heard he chews whatever you put in his mouth. Do you think you can shoot me feeding him?"

"I'm pretty sure that is unethical. The viewers might complain."

"Shit. That'll ruin my chances of getting a better spot on the program. Fine, let the nurses feed him, or something."

Michael took a deep breath. He did so every time after he exploded the balls of light because restraining their movements took a lot out of him.

"Oh! He heard us. Quick, camera!" She cleared her throat. "After spending a month in this chair, praying to God to return your father back to you, do you think there is still a chance for that to happen?"

This time, Michael was closer to reality than usual, so he caught the invasive question.

'God? What can God do? My two hands are what's needed to bring dad back to life.'

The reporter was surprised when the boy turned to her and opened his mouth. His lips were cracked because he had to drink water through a straw, and the bags under his eyes turned an unhealthy greenish color. Michael muttered his response in a wheezy half-whisper.

"I don't believe in God. I am an atheist. But you don't have to believe in something to have faith."

He turned his head back like nothing happened, closed his eyes, and saw boiling water appear in the air out of nowhere.

.