The moment Mikael arrived, he was struck by a wave of foul air so thick with the stench of rotting refuse and stagnant water that it felt like a physical force crashing against him. The smell clung to his skin and clothes, an oppressive reminder of the place's decay and neglect. All around him rose crumbling stone buildings, their walls stained with years of accumulated grime and streaked with mildew. The streets were little more than muddy pathways, slick with waste and scattered debris, and the occasional scuttling of rats. Emaciated dogs prowled through alleys, while ragged children darted between shadows like ghosts in a forgotten city.
Yet even as his sharp gaze swept over the bleak surroundings, Mikael's expression remained completely neutral. Not even the slightest frown appeared on his face. While the scenery would have repulsed most people—especially those from more 'normal' backgrounds—it didn't faze him. He had seen worse. It had been a while, but this wasn't far from the kind of environment he had once called home. The stench, the filth, the despair—he had lived with all of it back then.
Still, he had to admit—at least internally—that the slums he had known on Earth were in better condition than what he was seeing now. Earth was a more advanced world, and even its poorest districts had some minimal level of infrastructure. This place, by comparison, looked like it had been abandoned by civilization altogether.
Their sudden appearance hadn't gone unnoticed. A few starving individuals lying along the sides of the road stirred slightly, their dull eyes blinking toward the unexpected newcomers. Some too-thin children peered out from behind piles of refuse. But aside from an initial flicker of curiosity, no one approached. Years of surviving in such an unforgiving place had taught them the most important rule: mind your own business. Breaking that rule could easily be the last mistake of their short lives.
Mikael quickly surveyed his surroundings once more. Finding no obvious signs, markers, or anything useful to orient himself, his gaze finally settled on an old man lying nearby. The man was so emaciated his ribs looked like they were about to pierce through his skin, and he lay on his back completely still—clearly too weak to even attempt moving.
Without hesitation, Mikael began to approach, Kiara was clinging tightly to him. Her soft breasts pressed against his arm, and her eyes never strayed from his face. She gave the surroundings no more than a lazy glance, her entire focus locked onto Mikael with quiet intensity.
The old man's sunken eyes followed their approach. There was no hostility in them—only fatigue and all consuming hunger.
Mikael crouched in front of him. Sliding a hand into his pants pocket, he pulled out a piece of bread and held it up. Instantly, the old man's gaze sharpened. His eyes latched onto the food like a starving animal, hunger burning behind his hollow stare.
Satisfied that he had the man's attention, Mikael spoke.
"Old man, I've got a few questions. You answer them, and this bread is yours. Deal?"
"Yes," came the rough, raspy reply.
"Where are we?"
The question confused the old man for a brief moment. He didn't understand why anyone would ask something so basic—but in his condition, he didn't care. His eyes never left the bread.
"We're in the poor district of Town 87, under the control of the Great Dwarven Empire."
Mikael tore off a chunk of the bread and handed it to the old man before continuing. "Town 87? The Great Dwarven Empire? Can you explain that in more detail?"
The old man immediately began devouring the bread, hunger etched into every motion. Between bites, he finally replied, "Town 87 is one of the 129 towns where human slaves live under the control of the Great Dwarven Empire. The living conditions in these towns, as you can see around me, are incredibly poor. Only slaves reside here—especially in the slums, which, as you've probably noticed, are downright dreadful places to live."
"Then you've got the 17 human cities. Humans live there too, but they aren't slaves—at least not officially. They're considered vassals of the Great Dwarven Empire. Sure, there are still some human slaves in those cities, but they're relatively rare. Only dwarves from the lowest social classes would choose to live in a human city."
"After that, there are the important dwarven cities. Cities like Durkazan or Grunhelm, for example. In those places, the population is overwhelmingly dwarven, and the human presence is mostly limited to slaves who serve them. A few wealthy humans do manage to live there, but they're extremely rare and usually have powerful connections."
"Finally, there's the capital of the Great Dwarven Empire—Morndural City. That place is the very heart of the empire. Only high-class and extremely wealthy dwarves live there. The emperor himself and his entire lineage reside in the city. It's the true core of the empire, where every major decision is made. Humans have no place there—except as slaves."
As he finished his explanation, the old man's gaze shifted back to the remaining piece of bread still in Mikael's hand, eyes gleaming with unhidden desire.
Without making him wait, Mikael handed over the rest. The old man immediately began tearing into it, eating so quickly that it was obvious just how long he had gone without a proper meal.
All the while, Mikael stood still, observing the scene with a cold, detached gaze. His thoughts churned silently. 'So that's the state of humanity in this world… The description mentioned the dwarves see themselves as "superior," but hearing it directly from this old man, seeing his condition—yeah, humanity's really been dealt a shitty hand here…'
At that moment, a more typical protagonist might have felt a righteous fury bubbling up. Maybe even a desire to rise up, lead a rebellion against the 'evil' dwarves, and save the oppressed masses in a blaze of heroic idealism.
But, naturally, Mikael felt none of that.
He wasn't some selfless hero. He wasn't a naive do-gooder, nor was he even what most would consider a "good person." Learning about the state of things didn't stir anything deep within him. Not really. And even if, by some miraculous shift of conscience, he suddenly chose to play the role of a noble white knight, there was still one simple truth he couldn't ignore.
The worlds connected to the Akashic Records were endless—or at least close enough to infinite that the difference hardly mattered. So let's suppose he truly felt the urge to fix the miserable conditions faced by humanity—or rather, by the people living in this particular world—because they were just too deplorable to ignore. Let's even imagine he somehow succeeded in changing their fate. Then what?
Would he move on to another world filled with suffering and save them too? And the one after that? And then another?
If the answer was no, then he couldn't call himself a true "good guy." He would simply be a hypocrite who acted only when confronted directly with injustice, while conveniently turning a blind eye to the rest of it. But if he did choose to act in every world that mirrored this suffering, then what difference would it really make in the grand scheme of things? The number of worlds was so vast it might as well be infinite, and any impact he had would be utterly minuscule. Worse, if he tried to carry that burden across countless realities, he'd collapse long before anything truly changed. He'd die, worn down to nothing by a crusade with no end.
No—Mikael didn't bother himself with lofty ideals or moral dilemmas.
He turned his focus back to the old man, who had just finished the last bite of bread. Without a word, Mikael reached into his pocket once more and pulled out a frozen piece of meat.
The old man's now livelier eyes immediately locked onto the prize, hunger glinting within them.
"I have another question," Mikael said, casually displaying the frozen meat. "If you answer, this is yours."
The old man swallowed hard, staring at the meat with cautious intensity.
"What's the nearest human city from here, and in which direction is it? Also, if I wanted to go to Morndural City, what route should I take?" asked Mikael.
Despite his frail appearance, the old man's age had come with knowledge. He was able to provide detailed directions for both destinations, and Mikael carefully took note of everything he said. As promised, he handed over the frozen meat.
This time, however, the old man didn't immediately wolf it down. Unlike with the bread, he held it with care, quietly tucking it away. He would ration this one. Preserve it. Make it last.
With their exchange complete, Mikael turned and began walking away, Kiara pressed closely against him, her arms clinging tightly as if she had no intention of letting go.
Just as they began to leave, the old man's raspy voice called out behind them. "Lad… lass… I don't know why you're askin' about Morndural City, but if you're plannin' to go there someday—don't! That place is a living hell for us humans. If you've got any sense left, stick to a human city. Live there peacefully… with your wife."
Mikael's steps didn't falter. Even after hearing the warning, he kept walking without turning back. While what the old man had said was likely true for the native inhabitants of this world, Mikael didn't feel threatened. With his current strength, he wasn't afraid. As long as he remained cautious, even venturing into a place like Morndural City wouldn't pose much of a risk.
Kiara, on the other hand, had a far more… intense reaction. A wide, crazed smile bloomed across her beautiful face.
"Wife? It means Mikael is my husband! Husband, husband, husband," she repeated the word several times, savoring the sound like a sweet melody. Once satisfied with how it rolled off her tongue, she pressed herself even closer against Mikael.
"Husband, where are we going?" she purred.
Mikael glanced sideways at the 'adorable creature' beside him before replying.
"We could head to City 12, the one he mentioned. Apparently, it's the closest. We could have a little date there, just the two of us. What do you think, wifey~?"
In response, Kiara gave him a dazzling smile before leaning in to place a gentle, chaste kiss on his cheek.
Author Note:
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