On the corner of Seventh Street in Manhattan, New York, a hotel suddenly appeared.
Even the oldest buildings couldn't match the rugged, retro charm of this establishment. The pillars were thick wooden logs, still bearing traces of their original bark. The structure was pieced together with canvas so aged that its original color had faded beyond recognition, and wooden planks were nailed together in a haphazard manner. Drafty walls left gaps everywhere, and the signboard at the entrance bore the image of a wine bottle—something reminiscent of medieval ports in Northern Europe.
This spot had previously been an empty lot, yet overnight, a uniquely styled hotel had seemingly "grown" into existence. Strangely, the surrounding residents acted as though it had always been there, as if Mulgore Hotel had existed for years.
Despite the absence of an official nameplate, everyone knew what it was called—Mulgore.
"Is this time travel?"
"Or am I the chosen one of a newly selected plane by the will of the universe?"
It was already noon, yet the new hotel owner had yet to open the door.
Inside his room, he flipped through a stack of documents: an American passport, a Social Security card, and a land ownership certificate. His gaze lingered on one particular detail—his name.
He muttered under his breath, repeating it carefully, "Born in Manhattan, New York… Kavus Bloodhoof—Bloodhoof Bradford!"
After sweeping the documents into a drawer, he turned his attention to the mirror.
A tall, blond man—about 190 cm in height—stared back at him. His frame was neither thin nor overly muscular, but his physique was well-defined. His fair complexion, sharp facial features, and piercing sky-blue eyes could easily make countless women fall for him.
Still, he couldn't help but grumble about not having black hair or dark eyes. However, on the whole, Mr. Bradford was fairly satisfied with his appearance.
"About half as handsome as I was before!"
After a long sigh, he leaned back.
The exhausting grind of corporate life had almost made him forget that he was once one of the million lords in his game world. It wasn't until the night before the "124 Incident" that he hurriedly logged into his long-abandoned account, capturing screenshots of his characters as keepsakes.
The last character he played was a level 1 Tauren Shaman—"Kavus."
As the familiar background music of Elders' Hearth played, a five-foot-long, bull-headed Tauren—Innkeeper Kavus—appeared on the screen.
Then, the dreaded message flashed:
"Disconnected from server..."
And just like that, this second-hand house salesman, a man who barely deserved his own name, was thrown into an unfamiliar world—along with Mulgore Hotel.
"I'm so stupid! Really..."
Mr. Shaman tilted his head back, trying his best not to let tears of joy and regret spill over.
"Why did I choose this shaman? Wasn't my Tauren Druid strong enough? Was my Blood Elf Mage not handsome enough? Even my Undead Assassin, Troll Hunter, or Panda Monk would've been better!"
Even though he had been inactive for years, at least his other characters had full-level status from Legion.
But the Tauren Shaman "Kavus" was nothing more than a joke—a low-level character he used for pranks, standing next to the real Innkeeper Kavus to fool careless players and newbies.
Now, fate had its revenge.
What can a level 1 shaman do?
1. BIUBIUBIU…
2. Meditate or lie down!
"Well, even if all I have is Lightning Bolt, at least I still—"
Then panic struck.
"Where's my experience bar? My equipment slots? My talent page? My spell icons?"
He frantically patted himself down, even pried open his eyelids in front of the mirror, hoping for some hidden system interface projected onto his retina. He attempted every standard protagonist awakening trick—five hearts pointing to the sky, meditation, shouting "Grandpa, help me!", even yelling "System master, appear!".
Nothing happened.
All he got for his efforts was near-cramping legs.
Excitement quickly gave way to disappointment as Kavus groaned in frustration.
After sulking for a while, he pulled himself together and decided to explore the hotel.
Being a lifelong fan of fantasy games and novels, he meticulously checked every inch of the establishment, hoping to find something—anything—that could make him stronger.
The layout resembled the Mulgore Inn from Bloodhoof Village, except this version had an additional second floor and a private bedroom, totaling six rooms.
The first-floor lobby was missing its usual idle Tauren patrons but featured a sturdy wooden counter stocked with low-quality drinks and food. From cool spring water and icy milk to morning dew wine, alongside an assortment of bread and cheeses from Dalaran, Dwarven strongholds, and Alterac—these were standard products from the Mulgore Hotel.
As an innkeeper, preparing drinks and food should have been a natural skill. Unfortunately, apart from the existing inventory, Kavus had no professional crafting abilities.
Still, one thing pleased him immensely—this hotel had a door!
Even though it was just a rotting wooden board that creaked with every movement, at least it was a door.
Unlike the original Mulgore Inn, which was open on all sides, where people could ride in on a Kodo at any hour, this version offered a semblance of privacy.
Then, something caught his eye—a trapdoor hidden in one of the cubicles.
"A basement? Bloodhoof Village's inn had a basement? How have I never noticed this before?"
Intrigued, he grabbed the most rickety wooden chair, lit it in the brazier as a makeshift torch, and descended into the unknown.
The basement was huge. Four walls were lined with towering bookshelves, crammed with tomes of varying sizes.
To the left—"Introduction to Mining," "Advanced Smelting Tutorial," "The Secret Scroll of Burning Jewels," "Skinning Guide," "Silver Scale Breastplate Design," and "Farmhouse Recipes." Clearly, these were professional skill books from his old world.
To the right—"The Sacred Book of Concentration," "Sacred Pact of Physique," and "Sacred Pact of Tenacity." These seemed to be manuals on attribute enhancement.
Behind the staircase, he found "National Geographic of Azeroth," "Illustrated Encyclopedia," "History of Feralas," and "Ancient Vrykul Culture Studies." These covered the customs and historical records of that world.
Finally, in the central bookshelf, he spotted "The Book of Witchcraft: Predatory Dragon," "Slate Rubbing: Power of the Earth," "The Elegance of the Wind," "All Things in Balance," and "Dialogue with the Soul." These covered every aspect of the three Shaman disciplines—Enhancement, Elemental, and Restoration.
Standing before the sea of knowledge, Kavus suddenly felt overwhelmed.
"So, there's no shortcut to success? A true Shaman doesn't just grind monsters and level up but must study and practice endlessly!"
Respecting those who came before him, he placed the burning chair legs onto the ground as a small fire and tentatively picked up "The Power of Totems."
As he flipped through the pages, his face paled.
"What the hell!?"
He flung the book across the room.
"Did I see that correctly? That was... terrifying!"
Trying to convince himself he was hallucinating, he picked up "Conversations with Souls."
"Neural synapse transmissions can be summarized by the properties and changes of microscopic particles. Professor Nesario, renowned scientist, academician of the Dragon Academy of Sciences, and leader in biotechnology, elaborates on this concept in his thesis, 'The Soul is Entangled in the Bones'..."
The pages lay open, untouched.
A single crystal tear fell onto the book.
The young, newly reborn Shaman buried his face in his hands and wept like a 264-month-old baby.
This revision keeps the word count at around 1200 while improving readability, fixing grammatical errors, and ensuring smooth flow. Let me know if you'd like any adjustments!