A Humble Dwelling

Gret's own home was actually near Uncle Karen's house. After returning home, he couldn't fall asleep for a long time. He tossed and turned on the bed, flipping like a pancake for a while. He simply jumped up, lit the oil lamp, and planned to sort out the things he needed for studying magic tomorrow.

This small cottage was Gret's own home, and the only real estate left to him by his original father. The house wasn't big, only one room in total, about 20 square meters. Gret looked around, and in the dim light of the oil lamp, he could see the entire space at a glance.

Although the area was small, the quality of the house was surprisingly good. The windows were wooden shutters, and over time, many gaps had appeared. A slight cool breeze blew in from the window cracks, and Gret shivered as it touched his body.

The furniture in the room had everything it should. A double bed, a wardrobe, and a cabinet by the bedside holding a washbasin. A square table by the window was probably for eating, with two chairs beside it, one horizontal and one vertical. One of them was already broken-legged and could only lean against the wall, propped up by two bricks underneath to barely maintain balance.

On the other side of the room, against the wall, stood a wooden rack. Hanging on it was a suit of leather armor, quite exquisite, inlaid with many copper pieces. Beside the leather armor stood a greatsword. Gret went over and hefted it; he couldn't move it at all. It was likely a weapon used by the original owner's father.

Looking down again, a wooden chest was stuffed against the wall under the bed. This was the box of books left by the original owner's father.

The books definitely didn't need to be brought to the Mage Tower. Gret thought for a moment, dragged out the book chest, and rummaged through it to find a quill pen with half its feathers missing, and a small bottle of ink that was almost dry. He moved aside a few books and pulled out a small roll of rough hemp paper. He spread it out to look; there were only five or six sheets.

Were these all the remaining things from his previous life for learning to read and write?

If he couldn't copy and could only take notes, would this paper and pen be enough for the first day... It would barely be enough...

Gret let out a big sigh. He put the paper and pen into his backpack, pushed the book chest back under the bed, blew out the oil lamp, and stretched out his limbs on the bed. Sleepiness almost immediately enveloped him. In the darkness, Gret thought, half-asleep and half-awake:

"Oh my... I'm a homeowner now..."

In his previous life, he wasn't married and his salary was low. He watched his salary increase linearly while housing prices increased exponentially. It was very late before he decided to buy a house. After paying the down payment and making half a year of loan payments, he hadn't even received the keys before he transmigrated.

It couldn't be more tragic.

Fortunately, he had a house when he transmigrated. No matter how run-down it was, it was still a house. And it was brick and wood construction, much better than the dilapidated wooden hut he saw yesterday.

[Your residence surpasses 85% of the urban dwellings. Please continue to maintain it.]

If he had brought a system with him when he transmigrated, it probably would have given a notification like this at this moment, right?

He slept soundly. It wasn't until the loud crowing of roosters broke the dawn that Gret opened his eyes and sat up abruptly from the bed.

Mage Apprentice!

I'm going to learn magic!

Ow, still so sleepy... I did surgery all night at the Necromancer's place yesterday, then rushed back to the city in the morning to seek tutelage at the Mage Tower. Then I returned to the barracks, saved people, lectured, and went to the Spring Goddess's Temple. This intensity is comparable to overtime in my previous life!

Never mind, never mind. I'll just wash my face with cold water. Gret jumped out of bed and started washing up, humming a tune. The cottage had no bathroom at all, and the washbasin at home was empty. Gret searched his memory hard before remembering that the well was half a street away...

He went out to take care of personal matters and brought back a bucket of water. After washing his face and brushing his teeth, he tidied himself up from head to toe. He opened the wardrobe and took out his only two shirts, comparing them back and forth:

Both shirts were long-sleeved, one dark and one light. The light-colored one was already too small, fitting tightly and preventing him from bending his elbows. The dark-colored one was the right size, but it had several patches on the elbows and cuffs...

Gret held one in his left hand and one in his right, hesitating. The remaining clothes in the wardrobe were vests. Thinking about Magister German's attire when he went to the Mage Tower yesterday, he wore a robe. Eliot, who was blown out, also wore a robe. Even the servant who answered the door wore a shirt and a vest...

He was going to study, and it was visibly the lowest level of the Mage Tower. It was best to dress more formally. He already had enough difficulties; there was no need to create extra ones.

So... which one should he wear?

He compared them back and forth, but in the end, he gritted his teeth and put on the dark, old shirt. Just as he was about to put on his shoes, someone outside the cottage knocked noisily:

"Little Gret, Little Gret!"

"I'm coming, Auntie Irene!"

Gret jumped up and responded loudly. He didn't bother to put on his shoes, hopping barefoot to open the door. As soon as the door opened, Auntie Irene's thin hand slapped his shoulder:

"Little Gret, aren't you going to the Mage Tower today? Why are you dressed like this? Here, change into this. Your Brother Raymond just made it, he hasn't worn it yet, and Auntie has altered it for you. Have you eaten breakfast? Auntie also prepared lunch for you, remember to bring it!"

"Auntie Irene!"

Gret blurted out. A warm current surged in his chest. His chest heaved twice, and he finally said in a low voice:

"Auntie, this is what Brother Raymond is supposed to wear for the Midsummer Festival—"

"Don't worry about that kid!"

Auntie Irene shoved the clothes into his hands. Without further ado, she pushed him around, patted him heavily again, and urged him to change:

"That kid, even with nice clothes, he won't find a girlfriend for the Midsummer Festival. Wear it, Little Gret. You're going to study magic, of course, you should wear something good!"

With this slap, Gret actually couldn't dodge. His shoulder immediately went numb. Gret's face contorted, and he instinctively let out a pained cry:

"Ouch—"

This is unscientific!

This body is at least a Level 1 Warrior!

It turned out that even a legendary warrior had a 100% hit rate against the slap attack from the aunt who watched him grow up. Gret was swayed back and forth by the slap, so he had to scurry to a corner and quickly change into the new clothes. Auntie Irene held him, looking him up and down, more and more satisfied.

"Oh, Little Gret, you look so handsome in this outfit! Auntie has watched you grow up to be successful since you were little—"

Gret reached back and took her hand. The skin was rough, the fingertips pitted, and upon closer inspection, there were even a few bloodstains. It was clear that she had worked late into the night and pricked her fingers more than once. Gret sighed softly, clasped her rough, warm hands in his palms, and closed his eyes.

"My health is entrusted to me, my life is entrusted to me—"

He silently recited. Between his palms, a faint white light gently illuminated, following the woman's fingertips, the pads of her fingers, her palms, and her wrists, moving upwards.

Wherever it passed, the cracks smoothed over, and the wounds healed. A warm current flowed through those hands, which were soaked, beaten, and washed in cold water every day, dispelling the faint chill deep within her bones.

"Little Gret, don't..."

The woman's voice trembled slightly. Gret opened his eyes, looked down at her hands, which had regained their softness and smoothness, and smiled sincerely:

"Auntie Irene, thank you for your hard work."