Lord of Isekai: War of the Omniverse

"Are you alive?"

A voice. Faint, trembling. Someone was shaking him.

Who? Who was calling him?

He wanted to respond, but his voice—stuck. His throat felt like it didn't exist.

The shaking continued, persistent, urgent.

A sudden gasp. His lungs filled with air.

Shaoran's eyes snapped open. The first thing he saw was a small girl, eyes red from crying. She had pointed ears. Not human.

"Mister? Are you alive?" Her voice quivered.

His mind, still groggy, struggled to process the situation. I was on the bus… right? Sleeping?

But this—this wasn't a bus.

His surroundings felt wrong.

The sky… red. The air… thick. The trees around him looked alien.

He sat up, groaning. His limbs were stiff, sore. He looked down. The ground was littered with bodies.

Not all of them were human.

Some had scaly skin, others fur. One had horns. What the hell…?

"Mister! Are you hurt?"

The girl's words dragged his focus back to her. She wasn't human, that much was clear.

Her long ears, silver hair, and golden eyes screamed 'elf'.

Then—light.

A warm glow enveloped him. His aches and fatigue melted away.

Healing magic.

The girl had cast a spell on him.

She let out a relieved sigh before turning to wake others.

Shaoran sat in silence. Did I… get isekai'd?

The thought alone made him chuckle bitterly. No way. That's too cliché.

Still—he had to check.

"Status."

Nothing.

"System."

Silence.

A sigh. No golden finger, huh? Just a normal isekai?

But then—

Something tingled on his hand.

A strange tattoo glowed faintly.

Shaoran frowned and rubbed at it—

DING!

A blue panel appeared before him.

███████████████████████

≡ SYSTEM INITIALIZING… ≡

███████████████████████

ERROR: UNKNOWN TERRITORY DETECTED.

AUTHORIZATION OVERRIDDEN. ACCESS GRANTED.

WELCOME, PLAYER.

Shaoran's breath hitched.

So I DID get a golden finger.

Before he could explore it further, his vision glitched.

════════════════════════════

◆ WELCOME TO SOLVIA ◆

════════════════════════════

⚠ EMERGENCY NOTICE:

THE OMNIVERSE IS IN DANGER.

Each of you has been chosen. You are respected individuals from your worlds.

Your mission: Prepare and defend the FIRST UNIVERSE.

⚠ THREAT DETECTED: NIGHTMARE PLAGUE

→ Universal-class destroyers of worlds.

To aid you:

✅ TUTORIAL BOOK uploaded to system.

✅ LANGUAGE TRANSLATION ENABLED for all races.

✅ TERRITORY GRANTED – You have been assigned a land to protect.

✅ WORLD TRANSFER PERMISSION GRANTED – You can summon people from your original world.

✅ SOUL-BOUND COMMUNICATION STONE issued – Non-transferable.

[ A small stone materialized in front of you. ]

📢 Best of luck. Failure means the destruction of your world.

DING!

New text appeared in Shaoran's vision.

════════════════════════════════

◆ UNIVERSAL INVASION TIMELINE ◆

════════════════════════════════

📌 Attack on [Undefined] – Undefined

📌 Attack on Solvia – 11 Months, 30 Days, 22 Hours

📌 Attack on Earth – 9 Years, 11 Months, 30 Days, 22 Hours

Shaoran's stomach twisted.

Earth is on the countdown too?!

Before he could dwell on it, another message popped up.

📢 Training Phase Activated.

You will be transported to a Dimensional Academy.

📌 ACADEMY INTEGRATION:Official integration into the academy will occur in 5 days.

📌 Duration: 7 Days

📌 Instructors: Legendary heroes from various races.

════════════════════════════════════

SYSTEM NOTICE

 ════════════════════════════════════

📌 You have gain Temporary Immortality (30 Days)

════════════════════════════════════

📌 Countdown: Return to Earth in 46 hours.

════════════════════════════════════

The system screen flickered out of existence.

Shaoran sat there, staring at the sky.

What a mess.

Either he was dreaming, or this was some cosmic joke.

The former seemed more likely.

Time passed. Slowly, people began to stir, the crowd around Shaoran adjusting to their new, strange surroundings. Some were still stunned, others trying to figure out what was happening, and a few, like the small girl who'd woken him up, were getting to work, trying to heal the wounded. The air felt thick—unfamiliar.

Shaoran, however, didn't care much for the confusion. His focus was on something far more pressing.

GROWL.

All eyes turned to Shaoran. The tension was almost palpable, a collective thought sweeping through the crowd. Did he just—?

Shaoran's face flushed as the sound rumbled from his gut.

Dammit.

He hadn't eaten in hours—probably more. Time didn't really mean much to him right now, but his stomach certainly didn't share that indifference.

He couldn't remember the last time he had a decent meal. Hell, had he eaten anything before coming here?

A voice cut through his self-consciousness, low and gruff: "Hey there, human."

Shaoran blinked.

He turned to see a tall goblin standing next to him—at least six feet tall, rippling with muscle, wearing a baker's apron that looked oddly professional for someone of his stature.

A goblin, though… Shaoran had expected something different. He wasn't sure what, but this wasn't it.

"You hungry?" The goblin smiled, showing off a set of surprisingly white teeth.

Shaoran couldn't help but eye the creature suspiciously. A goblin, in a world he didn't understand, asking him if he was hungry? Sure, the goblin looked friendly enough, but was this a trap?

The goblin wiggled his thick, calloused fingers. "I'm Gorn, the greatest chef of World Rolos."

Shaoran raised an eyebrow.

Greatest chef?

Gorn seemed entirely too proud of that claim, but it wasn't like Shaoran had any other options.

His stomach growled again, louder this time, as if to remind him who was in charge here. Shaoran couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed, his usual dignity fading fast in the face of his intense hunger. He took the bun from Gorn with a sigh. Dignity doesn't feed the stomach.

As soon as he held the warm bun in his hands, he noticed something strange. It felt almost… perfect. Soft but firm, with a light, crispy edge that suggested it had been toasted just right. Shaoran hesitated for a moment, his fingers grazing the surface. The aroma wafted up and hit him like a freight train.

Sweet. Warm. Slightly toasted. A perfect mix of buttery and rich.

His mouth watered immediately.

But then—

A small flicker of suspicion danced through his mind.

Wait a minute.

He glanced around at the people nearby. Some were eyeing him, watching his every move. He wasn't sure what it was—whether it was the bun or the strange atmosphere—but it felt a little too… convenient.

He looked at the goblin again, who seemed to be waiting.

Shaoran's instincts kicked in. His heart pounded a little harder than it should have. Who hands over a perfectly warm, perfectly aromatic bun to a stranger with no strings attached?

He shook the thought away. I've been through weirder things.

Besides, it was too good to pass up.

Bite.

Shaoran tore into the bun, and the world fell away for a second. His senses were overwhelmed with the rich flavors, the warmth sinking deep into his body. It was like everything he'd ever eaten had just been a cheap knockoff of this moment. The sweetness of the bread, the savory tang of the filling, it was a perfect balance.

He chewed slowly, savoring the moment.

But as he was about to take another bite—

SWIPE!

Before he even realized what was happening, the bun was gone.

His eyes shot up.

A man with wings—no, two large wings that stretched out from his back—stood just a few feet away, his mouth full. He was grinning.

"Good stuff."

Shaoran just blinked, too stunned to react. Did I just get robbed?

The winged man chewed, glancing over at Shaoran as if he hadn't just stolen the very food Shaoran had been desperate for.

Shaoran looked back at Gorn, who just chuckled under his breath. "No worries, friend. Here, have another one."

Another one?

Shaoran couldn't help but feel his eyebrows shoot up. It seemed so… casual.

But his stomach didn't care. If there was another bun, he was definitely eating it.

He didn't hesitate this time, taking the bun from Gorn's hand, staring suspiciously at the winged thief as he finished chewing.

He took a bite—

"Holy… How can this be so good?!"

The second bun was even better than the first. It was like the goblin had somehow tapped into a hidden corner of his soul and made food specifically for him. Shaoran's mind swirled in pure, unadulterated joy. Could this be magic? Or was Gorn just that good?

Shaoran had barely swallowed the last bite of his bun when Gorn clapped his hands together, his deep voice booming over the murmuring crowd.

"Alright, folks! First come, first serve! I only have 20 buns left!"

Instantly, the air shifted. The previously dazed and confused crowd snapped into focus, their gazes locked onto the golden, steaming buns. For a brief moment, silence hung in the air like a taut string.

Then—

Chaos.

People lunged forward like starving wolves, hands outstretched, voices overlapping in a cacophony of desperate pleading and aggressive bargaining.

"I'll give you this dagger for two buns! It's enchanted! Maybe!"

"I got a bottle of what I think is healing potion! Maybe poison! Who cares? Give me a bun!"

"I have a silk scarf woven by the finest artisans of my kingdom! It's fashionable and absorbs sweat!"

"I'll trade my last pair of socks! They're only slightly used!"

Gorn's sharp, beady eyes gleamed with excitement as he rubbed his hands together. "Ahh, bartering—now this is a proper market!" He expertly snatched up items, tossing buns in exchange with the efficiency of a seasoned trader.

Shaoran stood there, half in shock, half in awe.

In less than a minute, all 20 buns were gone. Some people had managed to snag one, others were left empty-handed and glaring at their luckier competitors. A few had already started taking careful nibbles of their prized food, moaning in satisfaction like they had just tasted the divine essence of the gods.

A tall elf woman with silver hair and piercing blue eyes muttered, "I should've thrown in my boots..." as she stared longingly at a goblin who had successfully traded a dented frying pan for a bun.

But Shaoran's focus shifted when he noticed something odd.

Some people weren't just haggling for buns anymore.

A scruffy-looking dwarf in battle-scarred armor glanced at the elf's discarded boots and grinned. "Oi, lass, how 'bout I trade ye this self-sharpenin' axe for those boots? Been needin' a pair!"

The elf hesitated before nodding. "Deal. My feet are killing me anyway."

And just like that, a second trade happened.

A beastkin with fox ears watched the transaction, her ears twitching as realization dawned. "Wait… We can trade stuff? Like… anything?"

She glanced down at her belt, where an assortment of trinkets dangled. Without hesitation, she unclasped a small silver bell and turned to a nearby orc. "Oi! Big guy! I'll trade you this enchanted bell for that metal pot!"

"Done," the orc grunted, handing it over without question.

Then it happened again. And again.

A ripple effect.

One person trading a belt for a dagger. Another swapping a healing potion for a cloak. A goblin exchanging an entire roasted fish (where did he even get that?!) for a pair of gloves.

The street transformed before Shaoran's eyes.

Within mere minutes, the entire space had morphed into what could only be described as a full-blown multiversal flea market. Improvised stalls popped up—crates, broken furniture, even just blankets on the ground—as people displayed their wares. Every possible item was up for grabs.

A man in what looked like a high-tech spacesuit was aggressively negotiating with a werewolf over a laser pen.

A succubus was haggling over a vial of perfume, insisting it was infused with 'lust magic' (the dwarf bartering with her didn't seem to care about the magic, just the fact that it smelled like fresh-baked cinnamon rolls).

An orc was trying to sell his old armor, pointing out the 'bloodstains for added intimidation factor.'

A human warrior in shining plate armor held up a half-eaten sandwich, yelling, "Who wants a bite of this legendary sandwich?! I will only accept high-value trades!"

Someone actually offered him a gemstone for it.

Shaoran watched in sheer disbelief.

This was ridiculous.

But also… kinda genius.

He suddenly remembered something. His backpack.

He hadn't checked it yet.

Sliding it off his shoulders, he unzipped it and peered inside—then immediately froze.

"No way…"

Inside was a small, glass-paneled fridge. A seat. Some steel frames. And—

His laptop. His phone. His papers. His pen. A water bottle.

Somehow, everything he had touched before coming here had been transported with him.

Shaoran reached in, pulling out his laptop. It was still powered off, but it was there. Real. He wasn't imagining it.

His heart pounded in excitement.

"Ohhh," he murmured, a sly grin creeping onto his face. "This… This could be useful."

He turned around, intending to show off his discovery—only to find the market had grown even wilder.

At least five new stalls had popped up in the short time he'd looked away. A man was now selling enchanted socks. Another was offering 'mystery boxes' filled with random junk. One bold adventurer was trying to peddle his underwear (why? who would even buy that?!).

And in the middle of it all—Gorn, the goblin chef, was basking in glory.

He stood behind a makeshift counter, grinning as he expertly flipped a pan. More buns sizzled, their golden crusts glistening under the light.

The demand for his food had turned him into the central figure of this growing street economy. People weren't just trading anymore. They were bartering, auctioning, even forming alliances to get the best deals.

Gorn caught Shaoran's look and winked. "Not bad, eh? Goblins are the greatest merchants for a reason!"

Shaoran just shook his head, exhaling a laugh.

This world was insane. But…

He kinda liked it.

His stomach rumbled again. He wasn't the only one who needed food. He had things people might want. If they could barter, so could he.

He glanced back at his backpack, then at the market around him.

"Alright," he muttered to himself. "Let's see what I can get out of this…"