The forest under the night sky was eerily silent. Three moons hung in different parts of the heavens, but their light was mostly blocked by towering, unknown trees.

This was my second time in this other world. The thick magical elements in the air made every pore on my body sing with joy. Yet my naked state felt awkward, and the night forest was chilly. I changed into the black long-sleeved shirt and pants I’d brought from Earth. Then I found a black robe in the run-down cabin and draped it over myself.

The robe was rough and smelled odd, but it was thick and warm. Its oversized fit, paired with my plastic mask, covered me completely—avoiding unnecessary trouble. The cabin floor held a filthy, moss-covered rug. No one would care about it. But lifting the rug at one spot revealed a plain gray wooden hatch. Opening it showed a basement half the size of a classroom. Inside stood a stone table made of glowing stones, acting like an electric lamp for the cellar.

I was hiding there, searching for disguise materials. My cheap master belonged to the Starry Sky School of the seven great magic academies. His books were all about that—none on human disguise. Makes sense: an old man who loved running naked wouldn’t care about Skin Masks or illusion magic. Other books here helped with magic or alchemy, but I had little interest. Even becoming a mighty Archmage meant nothing—I’d still return to Earth. An Archmage’s power couldn’t beat modern weapons. I’d just have to live cautiously anyway.

I tried making another Skin Mask at the alchemy bench. The process went smoothly, but the result looked fake. It might fool strangers with big sunglasses, but acquaintances would spot the flaws. Crafting a top-tier Skin Mask was impossible now. Alchemy took decades to master—real experts had long white beards. I didn’t want to waste years on it. Simply put, I had to head to Saxton City as planned.

Daytime here matched Earth: one sun, mild temperatures. Spring, maybe. I rested in the cabin overnight—night travel wasn’t safe. At dawn, I ate wild berries for protein. Wrapped securely in my black robe and mask, I headed north. The map showed a small town twenty kilometers away. There, I’d find money and hire a carriage to Saxton City.

Twenty kilometers would’ve killed my old self. But after magical baptism, my body improved. Walking briskly for five or six kilometers only made me sweat slightly. Finishing twenty wouldn’t be hard.

As I strolled, humming happily, a *whoosh* cut the air. An arrow flew over my head and thudded into a tree, its shaft trembling before stilling.

Damn—was a hunter mistaking me for prey? Panicked, I dropped awkwardly onto the grass and cast an eavesdropping spell.

More *whooshes* followed, distant this time. A gruff voice boomed: "Brats! Daring to attack the Red Wolf Mercenary Company’s caravan? Don’t you want to live?"

Seconds later, a sinister voice replied: "Tsk. Low-level swordsmen posing as Red Wolf? Think you can fool the Black Wind Bandit Gang? We’ve surrounded you. Drop your weapons, and I might spare you."

Huh? Books claimed Cerolos Empire’s emperor was wise—safe streets, doors unlocked at night, peaceful citizens. How’d I hit a robbery on day one? Official reports were pure whitewash.

Luckily, neither side spotted me. I’d hide in the grass until they finished, then slip away. Both groups were cautious, just shooting arrows across the woods. No charges.

*Sigh*. How many arrows do you have? Finish already! I need to escape before a stray one hits my knee.

Yeah, I’m that cowardly.

Focused on eavesdropping, I didn’t notice a tiny crawler slip onto my neck. It bit hard with its mandibles—

"Ow ow ow ow ow!" I screamed, jumping up. I slapped inside my hood, finally crushing the bug.

Hundreds of meters away, the archery stopped. Bandits and mercenaries stared at me suspiciously, weapons ready.

Hey, keep fighting! Don’t look at me—I’m just passing through!

Instantly, archers from both sides drew bows and aimed. "Who’s there!" they shouted together.

True—I looked suspicious in this black robe and white mask. Mercenaries saw no ally; bandits knew no friend. Both treated me as an enemy.

Big trouble now. Running meant arrows. I wasn’t sure my Stonehide Skin could stop them—and poisoned tips would be worse.

I cursed that bug a hundred times in my head. Then I forced a friendly tone: "Don’t misunderstand, I am—"

Wait—give my name? Wu Tong meant nothing on Earth, let alone here. Besides, fantasy novels said Mages were respected and powerful.

I smoothly corrected myself: "Actually, I am a Mage."