Lone Cultivator In Another World

No matter how fiercely Weismann fought back, Michael was holding him in place with a single hand. The intelligence agent in an expensive suit hadn't been in a physical confrontation in a long time. In that awkward position, he couldn't swing his arms all the way, so he fumbled like a fish out of the water.

Graves watched Michael's performance with glee. This kid had a set of balls on him, and a level of integrity Graves respected. The old spy spent many years with soldiers, knew hundreds of them, and few could compare.

"Let me go!" squealed Weismann. "Or I'll bring down fire and fury on you bastards!"

That caused Graves to scowl.

"Michael!"

The cultivator pretended not to hear.

Ever since he used Control over Emotions to press down on his hormones and irrationality, Michael had better control over his mood. Right now, even angered to the extreme, he could stop if he wished.

But he felt like Weismann didn't learn his lesson.

Michael shook the man's collar and delivered a crisp slap on his face. Spit sprayed out, and Weismann coughed blood. Apparently, he bit his cheek.

"Michael, stop!" Graves stepped forward.

The cultivator had to change his plans. At first, he was going to appear non-threatening in order not to create a bad image for the Alters. But if this man in front of him didn't understand polite words, he would have to threaten him instead.

"There are three things every man wants, agent Weismann."

Rosa and Graves exchanged a look. Neither of them told the teenager Weismann's name, and he didn't introduce himself. Graves grinned like a schoolboy, realizing that Michael was playing his own game here.

"They are money, power and women," the cultivator continued, "and the latter is not among my weaknesses. I already have money. Not much, but enough for a life of moderate luxury. Power? Give me a week, and millions of people will hang on to my every word."

Michael raised Weismann's head, forcing eye contact with the addled agent.

"You do not want to be my enemy."

Weismann was just an average person, a bureaucrat and an investigator. Unlike Graves and Rosa, he couldn't feel Michael's killing intent before, but when their eyes met, it paralyzed him.

Placed in such a situation for the first time, his nerves gave out.

"Oh, not on my table," Graves quietly lamented, recognizing the smell of urine.

"P-p-please, don't hurt me!"

The principal laid his hand on Michael's, and the teenager let go. Weismann scrambled to stand up and collect his things, not caring about the damp spot on his crotch. In the midst of his fuss, an aged voice sounded out, "Not so fast! Rosa, dear."

The principal's secretary handed her mentor a gun, which he put against Weismann's head.

"Threaten one of my wards again, and you'll disappear the next day."

Despite the weapon, Graves's words packed a smaller punch than Michael's killing intent. The Swiss man nodded a few times, meek as a mouse, and hurried to leave.

The old spy and the world traveler reevaluated one another.

Michael's distrust towards Graves lessened because of those words. He recognized the principal's conviction. Protecting the children was his only goal, nothing else mattered. That was something Michael could get behind.

Graves in turn marveled at the teenager. Every test, every evaluation, this kid's performance was through the roof! However, the powerful killing intent bothered Graves. It was impossible for him to have killed a million people, so it must've been a heart demon instead. Many great men fell to their own demons, and the old man would hate to see the same happen to Michael.

"Rosa, please leave us for a minute."

The two men followed her with their eyes. When the door closed, Graves took the initiative, "What are you planning to do now?"

"I need a week off classes, sir. There will be many matters I'll have to take care of."

"You got it."

They stood in silence a bit longer. Graves would've invited his student to sit but didn't want to approach the dirtied table.

"Miss Novikova is lucky to have you as her protector."

"The luck's all mine," Michael smiled. He was still hesitant to open up to the spy.

"Sometimes it's our friends who ground us. Help us keep our head straight. Hold on to that."

Graves showed Michael the door. With the young man gone, the old spy had a lot of work to do in order to cool down the relationship with the Swiss government.

…

Glory could barely wait for Michael to leave the principal's cottage, "Host, potential problem alert."

The program's voice was as close to a human's as ever, guilty undertones.

"Splendid Glory's initial analysis suggests host was normal human before becoming cultivator. However, to possess killing intent like host's, million people need to be killed. Splendid Glory may be experiencing technical problems."

"No, it's fine," Michael shook his head bitterly. "I haven't taken a life yet, but I've killed a single person in my head so many times, I've lost count."

"Host, please clarify."

With a sigh, Michael headed back home at a casual pace. It was getting dark, and the first evening chill filled the air. With his Cultivator Body, Michael wasn't afraid of the cold, so he strolled with his hands in his pockets.

"Didn't you sift through my memories the day we met?" he began. "So I'm sure you saw what those ten years were like. Soon after mom died, ever since the day Leon came to my apartment unannounced… Ah, I don't want to remember that day. After that, my life turned into hell."

"Leon didn't even think of me as an equal, just an insect he could crush under his boot. He hated me for the simple reason Alice was in love with me. As the heir of the Moreau family, he was used to getting what he wanted. How could he forgive me for winning the love of the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen?"

"Leon had set a few rules. Basically, I couldn't leave the house and had to follow his instructions. Otherwise, Alice would suffer. Later I learned he somehow managed to put her under house arrest, too."

Michael took a deep breath and steadied his gait. As he recounted the tale, his lips trembled in dismay.

"That first year, I still tried to fight back. Getting to the bastard was impossible, he always had bodyguards with him, and my LZD was progressing. I was too weak."

The street lamps lit up the road before Michael. He trod the pavement alone, nobody else in sight. A reddish cat ran by, its shadow dancing on the grass.

"I spat at him once. He grinned like a maniac, collected it with a finger and licked my saliva off his hand, the sick f.u.c.k. He gave an order to one of his men, who promptly ran out. Ten minutes later, the bodyguard returned with a box. There was a finger inside. Leon looked at me and said, 'The next one will belong to your sweet lover'. He actually chopped off a random civilian's finger to make a point! I didn't dare to resist after that."

Michael went through the school gates and walked in the direction of his home.

"Years passed, and I learned to adapt. Leon never visited anymore, but his men did. I learned to be quiet, I learned how to beg, how to bandage myself," Michael's gaze hardened. "When I had enough strength to move, I immersed myself in books or movies. Anything to dull the pain. If I was allowed to buy drugs or alcohol, I would've sunk even lower."

He stopped and looked at the evening sky. With Michael's enhanced sight, the stars seemed just a tad clearer than before, still covered by a layer of light pollution. A few drops of rain fell on his face, quickly turning into a spring drizzle.

"As for your question, Glory, I had a lot of free time, and I hated him to the bone. So I imagined burning Leon alive, skewering him, shooting, tearing apart, breaking his bones, drinking his blood! There were days I wanted to kill him, even if Alice had to give her life for it. Those days were the worst. I was afraid of myself, had to suppress the murderous urges. I turned into an animal."

Michael gnashed his teeth before his shoulders sunk helplessly.

"That was only for a few years. Hating him was useless. As I said, I adapted. After ten years, I even jumped without hesitation."

"When I appeared in this world, I was numb. I reverted to a childish mindset, likely influenced by my hormones. My wishes came true, mom and dad were alive, I restarted the timer on the happiest years of my life. On those few occasions my rage almost got the best of me, I don't know what held me back."

The apartment building where Michael lived became clearer the closer he approached. In front of the door, a small figure stood, clutching an umbrella.

The one who cared about him the most was still Anna.

Graves's words came back to Michael. "Sometimes it's our friends who ground us. Help us keep our head straight. Hold on to that."

Was that the reason he fought so hard? Was that the reason he would keep fighting?

With the appearance of the comet and the superpowers, Michael felt like he was standing on the edge of an abyss, and any single mistake could be the end of him. And if he fell down, he would drag everyone he loved down with him.

"Michael!" Anna waved and ran to him to share the umbrella.

Even after many months in this world, Michael remained fragmented. A prisoner, an orphan, a man in love, a violent beast, a young talent with a bright future, a suicidal has-been. Inside him, a small frightened child was cowering in a dark corner. Michael still needed time to collect the broken pieces of himself together.

"Where were you? Your parents were worried! Here, take the umbrella! Michael, hello? Hurry up, I'm cold," scolded the girl.

"I'm sorry I'm so much trouble," he squeezed out a weak smile.

"What are you talking about? Is something wrong?"

He shook his head no.

"I'm home."