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"!!"

"Mir—Mirror Image? Thorns Aura?!"

Not only had one of his teammates died on the spot, but he'd also heard two words that had once been familiar to him, yet now felt distant and strange. After all the time that had passed, and for reasons of his own, Uncle Li had developed a receding hairline. He narrowed his murky, triangular eyes, full of wariness and cunning. Only a sliver of his eyes showed, and they were filled with shock and doubt.

Back then...

When Uncle Li had still been a hot-blooded young man, before despair and failure had led him to be chosen by some guy who specifically recruited people from Earth who had lost faith in life, before that huge ball of light—the Main God—had brought him into the Main God's Space to take part in endless trials that could be called either heaven or hell, with no end or hope in sight, before his head had gone bald and was still covered in a lush expanse of grassland... the game world called Azeroth had been the place he'd been most reluctant to leave behind.

Of course, at the time, he'd also been chosen for the Main God's Space after his girlfriend had left him because she couldn't stand him. It was then that he'd resolutely chosen to enhance his psychic abilities, cruelly transforming the grassland on his head into a Mediterranean.

He still remembered...

Back then, a major mana potion cost around five gold, about the same as a Silver Scale Breastplate. Class skill books were almost all loot drops, and the core Fireball spell of the Five Fireball Cult cost several hundred gold.

Back then, a penniless mage couldn't get by. Mages were all rich people; they might die of laziness, but they'd never die poor. Equipment