Chapter 37
Garrett's own home was actually close to Uncle Karen's place. After returning, he couldn't sleep for a long time, tossing and turning in bed. Eventually, he gave up, lit a lamp, and decided to organize the things he'd need for learning magic tomorrow.
This small house was Garrett's own, the only property left by his father. It wasn't big, just one room, around 20 square meters. In the dim light of the lamp, Garrett looked around and took it all in.
Despite its small size, the house was surprisingly well-built. The windows were wooden shutters, quite old with numerous gaps. A faint draft seeped through, chilling Garrett as it brushed against his skin.
The furniture in the room covered the basics. A double bed, a wardrobe, and a basin atop a cabinet by the bed. There was a table near the window, likely for dining, with two chairs, one of which had a broken leg, propped against the wall with bricks to balance it.
On the other side of the room, against the wall, stood a wooden rack with a set of fine leather armor, adorned with several copper pieces. Next to the armor was a large sword that Garrett attempted to lift but found it too heavy, likely a weapon used by the previous owner, his father.
Bending down, Garrett noticed a wooden box wedged under the bed, the same box of books left by his father.
He wouldn't need these books at the mage tower. Garrett pondered for a moment, pulling out the box, and found a half-used feather pen and a nearly dried-up small bottle of ink. Among the books, he retrieved a small, rough piece of linen paper, spread it out, finding only five or six sheets.
Is this all that remains from the former studies, learning to read and write?
If he could only take notes and not transcribe, these papers and pen would suffice for the first day... barely enough, right?
Garrett sighed deeply. He stowed the papers and pen in his backpack, pushed the box back under the bed, blew out the lamp, and sprawled across the bed. Sleep almost immediately enveloped him. In the darkness, half-dreaming, Garrett thought:
"Oh... I've become a homeowner now..."
In his previous life, he hadn't married, his salary was low, and he only decided to buy a house when wages had increased linearly while housing prices had soared. It was late when he finally made up his mind to purchase a house. Just paid the down payment, hadn't even received the keys yet, and then he transmigrated.
Utterly unfortunate.
Fortunately, upon transmigration, he already had a house. No matter how shabby it was, it was still a place. Still made of bricks and wood, far better than the dilapidated wooden hut he saw yesterday.
"Your residence surpasses 85% of the city's dwellings. Please continue to maintain it."
If he had brought a system with him during the transmigration, it might have given him such a prompt by now, right?
He slept soundly until the loud crowing of a rooster sliced through the dawn light, causing Garrett to sit up abruptly.
"Never mind that kid!"
Aunt Irene shoved the clothes into his hands. Without further ado, she pushed him in a circle, and with another forceful pat, urged him to change clothes:
"That kid, even if he wears good clothes, he won't find a girlfriend on Midsummer. Put it on, little Garrett, you're going to learn magic, of course, you should wear something nice!"
As her palm landed, Garrett couldn't dodge, immediately feeling a sting on his shoulder. Garrett's face twisted in discomfort, reflexively letting out a miserable cry:
"Ouch"
This isn't logical!
This body was at least a first-level warrior!
Turns out, even legendary warriors, when faced with a slap from their aunt who had watched them grow up, had a 100% hit rate. Garrett was smacked and swayed, so he hurriedly dashed to a corner, swiftly changing into the new clothes. Aunt Irene inspected him, growing more pleased with every glance.
"Oh my, little Garrett, this outfit looks good on you! Aunt has always known you'd amount to something..."
Garrett reached out and took her hand. Rough to the touch, with pits and scars on the fingertips, faint traces of blood, obviously from working through the night multiple times, poking her fingers. Garrett sighed softly, cupping her rough and warm hands in his,
closing his eyes.
"For health and safety"
He silently recited. Between his palms, a faint white light gently glowed, sweeping over the woman's fingertips, knuckles, palms, and wrists, soothing the cracks, healing the cuts. On those hands that soaked in cold water, pounded, and cleansed every day, a warm flow dissipated the lingering cold in the joints.
"Little Garrett, you don't need to..."
The woman's voice trembled slightly. Garrett opened his eyes, looking down at her hands now smooth and soft, smiling genuinely:
"Aunt Irene, you've worked hard."
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