The continuous darkness had made it hard to tell the time for anyone, especially without a clock on their wrist. Or a smartphone in his hand.

He could do a lot with a smartphone even without the internet. The only problem was how to recharge the battery. Maybe he could use mana to recharge it but it would likely explode rather than being recharged.

Who knows how much mana was needed and at what rate the flow should be. He couldn’t just know what the conversion rate would be, that was just a grossed over plot hole.

Artus downed his glass of milk by the counter and let out a satisfied groan. Knowing that this particular milk came from the breast of a female minotaur with a human head hadn’t produced any weird reaction from drinking it.

Any kind of docile dairy animals had gone instinct long ago according to Tilma, and what was left was wild-kins who carried their blood.

“I know what you are asking next,” said the lady behind the bar. “Why don’t ladies with large tits milk their own and sell them like the wild-kins, right?”

Tilma said that while cupping both of her large breasts right before his eyes. She shook them for good measure and chuckled at his reaction. His face was steaming hot.

“Ye-yeah, now that you said it, I do wonder why not?”

“Because our milk is personal to us, humans, while the wild-kins had lost that precious feeling. They and their partners don’t mind random men drinking the female milk. Being born as a wild-kin did that to anyone. Random parts of their humanity are forever lost.”

“And that’s why there were people who treated them badly?”

“Yes, despite what they could and had contributed to humanity.”

“Their sacrifice had been repaid with mocks and jeers,” he said while staring at the empty glass.

The fate of the wild-kins were not that different from him in the old world. His sacrifice had been repaid with mocks and jeers, and so, he could understand them even a little. No one wanted to be called an ‘opportunistic doormat’ if they could help it.

“You truly meant that, didn’t you?” asked a deep voice from behind Tilma.

“Let’s just say that I can put myself in their shoes,” Artus chuckled. “Who are you, big guy?”

“The name’s Dran, that milk is my cousin’s, Derene. I’m the cook here.”

The huge minotaur’s large muscles flexed a few times as he said those words. The big guy stood two heads taller than Artus as far as he could tell, and the cook’s bicep alone might be as big as his head. He had a human head compared to the legend but he still had those impressive horns curling above his hairy head.

Dran’s complexion was brownish with brown furs jutting out of his simple shirt under the apron. The big man might have hooves as feet by the sound of it. Artus had to act like he was admiring the milk’s smell on the glass to gather his thoughts properly.

“Nice to meet you, Dran, and do tell Derene that her milk is delicious. Your dishes are awesome too, I can tell by the smell alone.”

Dran harrumphed, “it’s about time someone noticed.”

The huge minotaur disappeared into the kitchen after saying that. His chest was so wide, he had to go through the door frame sideways. Artus was in disbelief for a moment but he had acted his best to appear undisturbed by the sudden appearance.

“You made him blush!” exclaimed Tilma. “Well, that’s the first I see him blush for the longest time that I’ve remembered.”

“He did?” Artus almost whispered. “I can’t really tell.”

“Minotaurs don’t blush, woman!” yelled Dran from the kitchen.

Tilma chuckled. “Isn't he cute?” she asked, rhetorically, of course. “You love it so much, so let me refill that,” she offered.

“Thanks,” he said before taking a quick gulp, savoring the thick and naturally sweet milk. He wasn’t lying when he praised the drink. The best milk he had ever had and he wondered how it tasted fresh from the source?

He shook that ridiculous thought away.

Clueless about the time when he had woken up again, Artus had decided to go down and have a drink. Apparently it was supposed to be morning, according to Tilma. His biology clock hadn’t failed him yet.

“Yer the only one who ordered milk for the longest time, young man,” said Tilma, her accent slipping out. “Others had only ordered booze or some fruit juices. I wonder why?”

“Why don't I drink?” he asked and Tilma shrugged lightly. “Because I hate it when the drink clouded my mind, for better or worse.”

“Yes, it does that, but what about your troubles, only crazy people don’t have them.”

Artus swallowed down a groan. He had been asked almost too many times.

“It’s wonderful to forget your troubles by getting drunk, but to me, it only causes more trouble, potentially,” he added with emphasis. “While not solving the one you already have.”

“It sounds like an experience, or I would have whooped your head,” spat a man from his back. “What have you done? Slept with some wrong gals?” he chuckled.

“Yes,” Artus admitted without looking back. “And she had ruined the rest of my life.”

“What did she do? Cut your penis off?” the random guy mocked.

“Figuratively? Of course, you could say that,” Artus replied with a shrug and finished the drink in one gulp.

“Bah, yer dickless and boring,” the man gave up at picking a fight.

“You are a drunk brainless idiot,” Artus replied.

It wasn’t long before he felt something had disturbed his modified spell. The drunkard had accompanied the swing of the chair with a loud angry yell, but it was nothing to be concerned about.

The random test subject had only hurt himself when the chair broke apart. Some of the broken pieces flew haphazardly and hit the man on the face and made him fall on his ass.

Stunned for a moment before his anger fueled yell echoed in the room.

“Mage scum! Let’s see you stop this!”

Artus turned to look at the man for the first time. He wanted to see what the guy was up to this time around. He hadn’t planned for any of this, but he had taken enough shit from others like the very drunk man. Besides, the shell also needed some real field testing.

The man jumped on him with a reverse-held dagger. The drunkard had a big crazy glee as his hand arched towards him. His body had a dark glow for a tiny moment before the dagger collided with his shield.

A loud clang echoed as the sharp end was deflected away. The irrational man was stunned once again before he became angrier. He yelled, cursed, and stabbed repeatedly using both hands like he was possessed.

A clang echoed after another but the dagger couldn’t even touch him. All Artus felt was a tiny bite in his mana each time the sharp end of the dagger hit the shell.

There was no way a drunkard’s stab could compete with a point-blank crossbow bolt, and so the outcome was as he had expected. The hardness and the formula had done their job.

But his back was still drenched with cold sweat. He had only faked it by pretending to continue drinking milk from an empty glass. His action had earned a chuckle from his back.

The fight ended when the half-crazed man’s hand slipped and stabbed his own thigh.

The man was screaming at his self-inflicted wound as he was kicked out of the inn. The boss lady had only to call for Dran to get it done. He lifted the drunkard with one hand out the front door.

“Well, that’s impressive, Sir Mage,” said Tilma from his back. “I would have shuddered in fear if I didn’t know you any better.”

She might be joking about being that impressive, but he could tell there was a lick of uncertainty in her voice. The people around also looked at him in a new light.

Artus turned and chuckled, “I’m no mage, Tilma, just a guy with a single spell.”

“That only makes it more impressive, if anyone asked me.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment, I’ve worked hard on it. By the way, is it safe to leave the girls here? You seem to know them.”

“Yes, their fathers had been returning customers for the other... establishment. I only see it right for me to take care of them whenever I can. Where are you going, if I may ask?”

“Going to try and sell this fur roll left behind by my benefactor.”

Tilma breathed in relief, “I thought you are going to leave them behind, I hate to see their broken heart faces. You may try the last shop before the dungeon. An old man there offers fair prices. Most of the time.”

Artus ignored the jab and thanked the lady before leaving. The girls had only used him to heal their fear of men and the darkness. Their hearts wouldn’t be broken if he decided to disappear for some reason. It was nothing personal, like Cindy had said.

He made it outside as a real mage walked towards the inn-slash-restaurant. The timing was uncanny but he was completely ignored by the three-person team. The two guards with the round metal shields looked as badass as they could be. Top tier professionals, if he had to guess.

Artus used a shorter route to the dungeon through the leftover forest. Safety wasn’t his concern as he activated his invisible spinning shell.

-

Tilma watched as the boy’s back disappeared. He almost gave her a heart attack. Rogue mages were the scariest bunch, but she could tell the boy wasn’t one of them.

The young man was something else as he didn’t even bat an eye at the gorgeous lady who had just entered. Other men in the dining area didn’t even realize that they were staring at the woman until one of the guards cleared his throat loudly. Some of them were even salivating by the sight and smell of the lady.

“What in the world happens here, barmaid?” said the woman who wasn’t over her twenties yet.

She might look young but she may be well over the eighties. Age was not a concern when the lady’s reputation alone could level down the whole city. She could easily buy her youth.

“A bar fight, my lady, one-sided, but I’m sure these small scuffles do not require your attention and time.”

“It does when it happens at the place I sleep and when it includes spellcasting,” the mage’s eyes scanned the area.

“It’s just a classless man with an Arcane Shell, lady Verona, no harm will come from him.”

“It is not you who got to decide that, what can you see, Mal?”

The man had his eyes glowing white for a few seconds before he spoke. “It happened very recently, just before we entered and the image I got doesn’t make any sense.”

“Cut to the chase, old man,” scolded the young lady.

“The attacker used a dagger repeatedly and the shell held, my lady. It’s like metal against metal, only it is not. I haven’t seen anything like this.”

The lady harrumphed, “so what? He could have bought a modified spell and simply had enough mana to materialize a tiny part of the shield. But more importantly,” she turned towards Tilma again. “I want to see who said those words to you about being nice. He’s trapped here too, right?”

Tilma chuckled and the lady scowled at her. “I’m sorry, my lady, but they are the same person.”

“He is also the one that occupied the room beside me?”

“Yes, my lady,” Tilma said.

The surprise on the lady’s face was priceless. Artus might have been too little too loud for his own sake. He’s pretty enough for a grand beauty like her though. Tilma could understand if the lady wanted him to warm her bed.