"No matter how disparate the fates of people seem to be, there is still some compensation that makes good fortune and misfortune equal to each other."
— La Rochefoucauld
For a novice who had just traveled through time, the only path to survival was mastering the knowledge within the book and successfully completing the after-school exercises. Fortunately, once he did so, he would eventually be able to wield elemental magic, soul spells, and totems. Unfortunately, according to the scathing judgment of Mr. Cauius Braddorf—a nine-leaf fish of a mentor—it would take at least half a year for him to master even the simplest elemental spell, "Lightning Arrow."
"To hell with this!" After struggling with the mysterious mechanics of electromagnetism for half an hour, Kaus lost his patience. He tossed the book across the dimly lit basement in frustration.
Thud!
As the book landed, something unusual caught his eye beneath the firelight.
Hope flickered.
After all the hardships, Kaus had finally discovered a broken wooden box, half-buried in the basement with only its lid visible. Without hesitation, he pried it open. Inside, an assortment of random objects lay piled together—an odd mix of equipment and sundries.
Among the items, he found:
Xiaobao's ribbon
A 22-pound catfish
A lucky rabbit's foot
A snowball
Dried bananas
Each time he removed a batch, another seemed to take its place, as though the supply was endless.
At first, Kaus was perplexed. Then, realization struck.
This was a collection of goods that had been sold by lords in various hotels, grocery stores, butcher shops, and taverns just before the server shut down. Somehow, through an inexplicable and mystical process, this box had absorbed everything they had discarded, storing it in its own space.
Naturally, that meant there was a mountain of useless junk, but hidden among them were treasures.
As he rummaged further, Kaus stumbled upon something truly extraordinary—a legendary artifact.
It was the Hand of Ragnaros, once wielded by the Firelord Ragnaros himself.
In the legends, Ragnaros had been summoned by the Dark Iron Dwarves, reducing entire regions to a scorched wasteland. The Redridge Mountains had been obliterated, giving rise to Blackrock Mountain and the Molten Core. This flaming warhammer had once been his weapon.
Kaus was ecstatic at first, but his joy quickly faded.
"Some fool must have sold this in frustration…"
A pang of pity struck him. This artifact had once belonged to a powerful lord, but it had been discarded along with all the other items.
And now…
He couldn't even use it.
"Fine, whatever!" Kaus straightened his wrinkled shirt, muttering to himself. "With all this stuff, I think I can survive here without even learning shamanic skills! I'll make money, get rich, maybe even get married. Hell, I might even start a harem…"
More importantly, Kaus had just realized something crucial.
He wasn't entirely powerless.
At the very least, he still retained the Tauren's natural abilities after time-traveling.
In the past world, Taurens had three powerful passive talents and one active ability. The "Durability" and "Natural Resistance" talents made them incredibly tough, allowing Kaus to withstand more damage than most. Meanwhile, the "Cultivation" ability was perfectly suited to farming—something deeply ingrained in civilization for thousands of years.
For the first time since arriving in this strange new world, Kaus felt a glimmer of hope.
His eyes scanned the scattered pile of items, and he picked up a piece of "Miscellaneous Stew."
Millions of lords had left behind high-quality materials and rare equipment before the shutdown. With a little clever reselling, he could earn a fortune.
Of course, he chose to ignore the fact that most of these items were far beyond his current means.
With a confident grin, he took a huge bite of the stew—only to immediately choke, his face turning red.
After finally recovering, he clapped his hands in satisfaction, grabbed a torch and a chair, and prepared to leave the basement.
But as he turned, something strange caught his eye.
He had been in the basement for at least two hours, yet the torch in his hand showed no signs of burning out.
No, wait. That wasn't quite right. It wasn't that the torch wasn't burning out—it was that time itself wasn't moving forward.
After staring at it for a long while, a bold theory formed in his mind:
"Time in this basement is either slowed down… or completely frozen!"
Unfortunately, there was no clock in sight to confirm his suspicion. As for cell phones—well, those were a luxury far beyond his budget.
"First thing I buy after making money—a clock for every room!"
Kaus clenched his fist and made a mental note.
Before leaving, he carefully placed the torch on an empty spot in the basement. He would check back later to see if it had changed.
Upstairs in the Hotel Lobby
By the time he emerged from the basement, night had fallen.
The hotel lobby was silent. Not a single customer in sight. The only source of warmth came from the bonfire crackling in front of the hall.
He walked to the counter, tilted his head in thought, and suddenly snapped his fingers.
"No wonder this place always feels so damn cold… These huge holes in the walls aren't helping."
He quickly returned to the basement, sifted through the debris, and gathered supplies:
Light leather (to block the wind)
A copper ingot (to use as a hammer)
A set of "Strong Sharp Teeth" (perfect substitutes for nails)
After some quick repairs, he stepped back and admired his work.
"That should do it!"
Just as he turned around—
BANG!
The hotel door swung open.
A group of young men in flashy, colorful outfits swaggered inside.
"Hey, looks like this place is open for business?"
The leader—a yellow-haired man in a floral shirt and jeans—glanced at Kaus with an air of arrogance.
"You the owner of this place?" he asked, nostrils flaring.
Kaus immediately disliked their gangster-like attitude, but business was business.
"Gentlemen, are you here to book a room?"
The bald man beside the leader sneered. "Mulgore Hotel? I thought this place was abandoned." His tone darkened. "Who gave you permission to reopen?"
"Hey, don't scare him!" A curly-haired thug smirked. "We're from the Vicious Dog Gang, and we run the entire Seventh Block. So…"
"Let me guess," Kaus interjected. "A small fee will ensure my hotel stays protected?"
The curly-haired man spread his hands. "Five hundred dollars a month."
Kaus nodded.
"Five people… five hundred dollars? Sounds reasonable—"
The gangsters grinned, thinking they had an easy mark.
But then…
Kaus slowly shut the door behind them. His smile vanished, replaced by icy indifference.
His voice was cold.
"…You're blocking my way."
With a sudden stomp, an invisible shockwave rippled through the room.
The gangsters froze in place—completely paralyzed for five seconds.
Tauren Ability—[War Stomp]!