Mikael turned his gaze, and there it stood—not far from him, a colossus of black stone, looming over everything like a silent sentinel.
The monolith was immense, easily a hundred meters tall, stretching all the way to the elegantly curved ceiling, and several tens of meters wide. Its surface was sleek and dark, reminiscent of obsidian, yet there was something about it that felt… unnatural. It wasn't just the way it absorbed the light around it, but the aura it emanated—an almost tangible weight in the air, as if it carried the very essence of something ancient and absolute.
Yet, the most captivating feature wasn't its sheer size or the eerie atmosphere surrounding it.
It was the runes.
Glowing, pulsating runic carvings adorned its surface, radiating a deep, cerulean light that ebbed and flowed like a living heartbeat. The symbols were unlike anything Mikael had ever seen before, their intricate lines forming patterns that seemed both chaotic and meticulously crafted at the same time. The glow they emitted was soft yet piercing, a color that reminded him of mana—except something about it felt… off. Different.
For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at the monolith in silence. His instincts screamed that this was no ordinary structure. There was power in it, something that made the air feel heavier, something that sent an inexplicable chill down his spine.
Then, his attention shifted to the people.
A vast crowd had gathered around the monolith, forming an ever-moving sea of figures. The air buzzed with countless overlapping voices, their words melding into an incomprehensible cacophony. Most of the languages were completely foreign to him, utterly unrecognizable. Yet, within the chaos, he managed to pick out a few he could vaguely identify—French, German, Chinese, and even some scattered English.
But more than the sheer variety of languages, what truly struck Mikael was that there was a type of clothes that in an undeniable majority.
Some individuals were clad in modern Earth attire—t-shirts, jeans, even business suits. Others, however, seemed as though they had stepped straight out of a fantasy novel. Flowing wizard robes, imposing knight armor, and other garments that spanned across cultures and time periods.
Yet, amidst the assortment of outfits, there was an undeniable majority.
Daoist robes.
Nearly everyone in the crowd wore them. Long, flowing garments of silk, embroidered with delicate yet powerful patterns, some simplistic and others breathtakingly elaborate. The color palette varied—deep blues, rich purples, pristine whites, and ominous blacks. Some robes bore golden insignias or intricate dragon motifs, while others were kept plain yet carried an unmistakable sense of elegance.
It was a strange sight, one that felt almost surreal to Mikael. He wasn't used to seeing such traditional clothing outside of historical dramas or fictional settings. And yet, here, it was the norm.
He let out a quiet exhale, a wry smile creeping onto his lips.
'That pretty much confirms it. This is definitely a cultivation world.'
'So, what should I do?' he wondered as his gaze drifted over the crowd before landing on a large wooden panel just above one of the masterfully crafted stone archways.
Something was written on the panel, but the language was completely incomprehensible to him. He was about to look away, dismissing it as useless since he couldn't read it, when, in the next moment, the 'letters' shifted, transforming into readable English.
First-time visitors of the Akashic Records Universe, tourists of Diron, and locals going north come here!
Below the message, an arrow pointed toward the archway.
'The Universal Language System is on?' he thought, surprised, but as he continued listening to the conversations around him—still as unintelligible as before—he quickly corrected himself. 'No, it's just this panel. It must have some kind of magical feature that lets me understand it.'
After scanning the other wooden panels above the nearby archways, he determined that the one he first saw was the most relevant to him. With that in mind, he pushed forward, weaving his way through the crowd.
His expression remained indifferent—cold, even—but inwardly, he was on high alert, scanning his surroundings with caution. Now that it was confirmed he had stepped into a cultivation world, he needed to stay on guard at all times. These worlds were true dog-eat-dog environments, where the only law was the law of the strong.
A young master gets angry because someone more handsome than him exists? That man is dead. If he resists and survives? He has just offended a powerful force and will be hunted down.
A scuffle over a treasure? Dead.
A wandering cultivator doesn't like how you're looking at him? Dead.
Someone stronger takes a liking to your wife, and you try to resist? You're dead, and your wife will suffer a fate worse than death.
With these grim truths in mind, Mikael remained more cautious than ever. Even back in Dirarnia, when he had been far weaker than he was now, he had never been this vulnerable. At least in Dirarnia, laws governed society. Though flawed and favoring the strong, they still existed. Here? Not so much.
And while he was strong enough to perform superhuman feats, he wasn't foolish or arrogant enough to believe he was unbeatable in this world. No! He knew he was likely at the bottom of the barrel, and that many people far stronger than him probably existed, especially considering the absolute limits that could only be broken here.
With these thoughts swirling in his mind, he was on his guard as he made his way through the crowd and passed under the archway. On the other side, he was greeted by a luxurious corridor, seemingly constructed entirely from wood—a stark contrast to the 'room with the monolith,' which had a marble-like floor.
Of course, corridor might not be the best term. The walls stood 10 to 15 meters apart, and the ceiling stretched to an almost absurd height of 10 meters. It was spacious enough to be a room on its own, but since there was nothing inside except people moving between locations, Mikael considered it a corridor.
One particularly eye-catching feature was the row of windows lining the side. That, in itself, wasn't unusual, but what lay beyond them was. Through the open space outside, he could see a beautifully crafted Chinese-style building—clearly part of the same structure he was in.
Though the architecture was impressive, and he had only ever seen such buildings in photos, Mikael barely spared it a glance. His priority was navigating the crowd while determining where to go for reconnaissance. The difficulty had risen dramatically now that the Universal Language System Upgrade was deactivated, meaning communication would be a major issue.
Still, this wasn't the first time he faced hardship. Building a gang as an adolescent orphan had been anything but smooth. No, his path had been paved with blood and sweat—his own and that of others.
So, even with this setback, he didn't panic like some lost tourist in a foreign land.
Instead, he sharpened his senses, listening intently in the hopes of catching someone speaking a language he could somewhat understand—anything that might provide him with useful information.
At the same time, as he walked, his eyes scanned his surroundings for more of those wooden panels. With their translation feature, they were a precious source of information.
He moved with the flow of the crowd, covering a certain distance, his ears picking up fragments of conversation in languages he could vaguely recognize. Unfortunately, every discussion he overheard was about trivial matters, nothing even remotely useful…
'There!' Mikael's eyes lit up slightly as he spotted the corridor's end, leading into yet another needlessly large open space. From there, the path split into four directions—one being the way he had come from, while the other three were separated by the same kind of stone archways as before. Above each archway, wooden panels identical to the ones he had seen earlier displayed more translated text.
They read as follows:
To the West: Locals of Diron here ↓
To the North: Tourists of Diron here ↓
To the East: First-time visitors of the Akashic Records Universe here ↓
For a moment, he hesitated between the northern and eastern archways. Then, after a brief deliberation, he made his choice. Heading east was the logical decision. If he wanted to learn more about the Akashic Records Universe, that was where he would find the most information, given that it was specifically designated for first-time visitors.
He stepped forward, weaving his way through the crowd toward the eastern archway. But just as he was about to pass through, a loud and obnoxious voice in an unknown language echoed from the corridor behind him.
"Move out of the way!"
A/N: When the text is entirely in italic like above it means that it's in a language that Mikael doesn't understand.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a group of people dressed in crimson-red Daoist robes. They followed behind a handsome young man with sharp, chiseled features. Unlike the others, this man's crimson-red robes were lined with black and gold, clearly marking his higher status.
His expression was a mix of arrogance and disdain as he scanned the people around him, his gaze carrying the unshakable belief that he was above them all.
As for the one who had shouted? A burly man clad in crimson robes, his presence practically screaming, I am the lapdog of the guy before me, and I am damn proud of it!
The surrounding cultivators and bystanders immediately stepped aside, their faces a mix of fear and respect as they made way for the crimson-robed disciples.
"Disciples of the Flame Sovereign Sect!"
"There's even an inner disciple! If I could gain his favor, I could ascend to the ninth heaven!" A relatively attractive woman, her face carefully adorned with makeup, eyed the inner disciple coyly, her voice dripping with anticipation.
A nearby cultivator scoffed. "You think too highly of yourself. Have you even looked in a mirror? Do you really believe he'd give you a second glance?"
Mikael took in the commotion, listening to the murmurs of those nearby peoples. Of course because of the language barrier he didn't understand the majority but from the snippets of conversation in english he understood, it was clear that the Flame Sovereign Sect was a powerful force—at least in the territory where he had been teleported.
Then, he did what every reasonable protagonist should do.
He moved out of the way, just as he saw the other cultivators doing.
Shocking, right? A typical Chinese protagonist in a Cultivation Novel would probably be scandalized at the very thought. But Mikael? He had absolutely no reason to stand his ground. What would that accomplish? Satisfying some fragile sense of 'pride'? That was, in his opinion, beyond idiotic.
It wasn't as if the inner disciple was specifically targeting him. The guy was just arrogant—nothing more. He simply wanted people to bow their heads and let him pass unobstructed. That wasn't enough for Mikael to consider him an enemy or to push him into 'standing his ground' in some pointless display of pride.
The inner disciple of the Flame Sovereign Sect was clearly some kind of big-shot young master—maybe. Mikael wasn't entirely sure, but what he did know was that provoking him for something as trivial as refusing to step aside would be foolish beyond measure. Especially when he still had no real knowledge of the Akashic Records Universe or the Diron realm.
And so, he stepped aside.
The inner disciple and his entourage passed by without even sparing him a glance.
With that settled, Mikael turned his attention back to the eastern archway, ready to continue forward—until another voice cut through the air.
Author Note:
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