Gret's own house was actually near Uncle Karen's. After he got home, he couldn't fall asleep for a long time. He tossed and turned, baking on the bed for ages, then finally jumped up, lit the oil lamp, and decided to sort out the things he'd need for learning magic tomorrow.
This little cottage was Gret's home, and the only real estate his father had left him. It wasn't large, with just one room, about twenty square meters in all. Gret looked around, and in the weak light of the oil lamp, he could see everything at a glance.
Although it wasn't spacious, the house was surprisingly well-built. The windows were wooden shutters, and over time, quite a few gaps had formed. A faint, cool breeze slipped through them and brushed against Gret, making him shiver.
The room had all the necessary furniture, more or less. There was a double bed, a wardrobe, and a basin on a bedside table. The square table by the window was probably for meals, with one chair beside it and another across from it. One chair had a broken leg and had to lean against the wall, with two bricks underneath to keep it from falling over.
Against the wall on the other side of the room stood a wooden rack. A suit of leather armor hung on it, quite finely made and decorated with many copper plates. A greatsword leaned beside the armor. Gret tried hefting it, but couldn't lift it at all. It must have been a weapon his father had used.
Looking down, he saw a wooden chest tucked against the wall beneath the bed. It was the box of books his father had left behind.
He definitely wouldn't need to bring books to the Mage Tower. Gret thought for a moment, then dragged out the chest and rummaged through it. He found a Feather Pen with half its feathers missing and a small bottle of ink that was nearly dried up. After moving a few books aside, he pulled out a little roll of rough hemp paper and spread it open. There were only five or six sheets.
Were these all the things his predecessor had left after learning to read and write?
If he wasn't allowed to copy things down and could only take notes, then this paper and ink might be enough for the first day... barely.
Gret let out a long sigh. He put the paper and pen in his backpack, shoved the chest back under the bed, blew out the oil lamp, and sprawled on the bed. Sleepiness came over him almost at once. In the darkness, half asleep, he thought:
Good grief... I've become a homeowner...
In his previous life, he hadn't married, and his salary was low. He'd watched his pay rise in a straight line while housing prices shot up exponentially, and only much later had he made up his mind to buy a place. He'd paid the down payment and made six months of mortgage payments, but hadn't even gotten the keys before he transmigrated.
It couldn't have been more tragic.
Luckily, he'd come to this world with a house. No matter how old and shabby it was, at least it was a house. And it was built of brick and wood, far better than the dilapidated wooden huts he'd seen yesterday.
[Your residence has surpassed 85% of the homes in the city. Keep it up.]
If he'd brought a system with him when he transmigrated, it would probably have given him a notification like that right now.
He slept soundly. It wasn't until the rooster's crow rang out through the morning light that Gret opened his eyes and sprang upright in bed.
Mage Apprentice!
I'm going to learn magic!
Ugh, but I'm still so sleepy... Yesterday, he'd spent the entire night performing surgery at the necromancer's, then hurried back to the city in the morning to seek admission to the Magic Tower. After that, he'd gone back to the military camp, saved people, given a lecture, and made the trip to the Spring Goddess's temple. That schedule was as intense as working overtime in his previous life!
Never mind, he'd just wash his face with extra cold water. Gret jumped out of bed and began washing up, humming a tune. The little house didn't have anything like a washroom, and the basin at home was empty. Gret searched his memories and finally remembered that the well was half a street away...
He stepped outside to take care of business, then brought back a bucket of water. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, cleaned himself up from head to toe, then opened the wardrobe and took out the only two shirts he owned. He compared them back and forth:
Both shirts had long sleeves, one light-colored and one dark. The light-colored one had become too small. It was so tight that he could barely bend his elbows. The dark one fit, but had several patches on the elbows and cuffs...
Gret held one shirt in each hand, unable to decide. The rest of the clothes in the wardrobe were all vests. He remembered that Magister German had worn a robe when he went to the Magic Tower yesterday, and Eliot, who had been blasted out of it, had also worn a robe. Even the servant who had answered the door had worn a shirt and vest...
He was going there to study, after all, and it was obvious he'd be at the very bottom of the Magic Tower. He should at least try to dress respectably. He already had enough difficulties; there was no need to create more for himself.
So... which one should he wear?
He compared them again and again, but finally gritted his teeth and put on the old dark shirt. He was just about to put on his shoes when someone outside the cottage began pounding on the door.
"Little Grete, Little Grete!"
"I'm coming, Auntie Irene!"
Gret jumped up and called back loudly. He didn't have time to put on his shoes and ran to open the door barefoot. As soon as it opened, Auntie Irene's thin hand smacked against his shoulder.
"Little Grete, aren't you going to the Magic Tower today? Why are you dressed like that? Here, change into this. Your Brother Raymond just made it, and he hasn't worn it yet. I made a few alterations for you. Have you eaten breakfast? I also packed you lunch, so remember to take it!"
"Auntie Irene!"
Gret blurted out her name. A warm current surged through his chest. His chest rose and fell twice before he finally said quietly:
"Auntie, this is what Brother Raymond was going to wear for the Midsummer Festival—"
"Don't worry about that boy!"
Auntie Irene shoved the clothes into his hands. Without giving him a chance to argue, she spun him around and gave him another hard smack, urging him to go change.
"That boy could wear the finest clothes and still wouldn't find a girlfriend at the Midsummer Festival. Put it on, Little Grete! You're going to learn magic, so of course you need to wear something nice!"
Gret actually couldn't dodge the slap. His shoulder went numb at once. His face scrunched up, and he let out an instinctive yelp:
"Ow—"
This made no sense!
This body was at least a first-level warrior!
It turned out that even a legendary warrior had a 100% chance of being hit by a slap from the aunt who had watched him grow up. Gret staggered from the blows and could only dart into a corner to change into the new clothes as quickly as he could. Auntie Irene looked him over from every angle, growing more pleased by the minute.
"Oh, Little Grete, you look even better in this! Auntie always knew you'd make something of yourself..."
Gret took her hand. Her skin was rough, and her fingertips were pitted. On closer inspection, there were even tiny traces of blood. She'd clearly stayed up all night sewing and pricked her fingers more than once. Gret sighed softly, gathered her rough, warm hands between his palms, and closed his eyes.
"Where health is entrusted, life is entrusted..."
He recited the words silently. Between his palms, a faint white light glimmered, traveling over the woman's fingertips, finger pads, palms, and wrists.
Where it passed, the cuts closed and the punctures healed. A warm current flowed through the hands that were soaked, pounded, and scrubbed in cold water every day, driving away the chill that had settled deep in her bones.
"Little Grete, you shouldn't..."
The woman's voice trembled softly. Gret opened his eyes and looked down at her hands, now soft and smooth again. He smiled sincerely.
"Auntie Irene, thank you for all your hard work."
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