"Take care of yourself, child. I must be going now." With that final remark, the old woman turned and shuffled away.

  Glenn looked back at the house before him and murmured, "Selling it really would save me a great deal of trouble..." After muttering to himself, he stepped forward and unlocked the door with the key.

  The interior was just as elegant—carved furniture, plush carpets, a lavish chandelier, and a fireplace framed with wrought-iron railing. After inspecting every room carefully, he found many traces of the previous owner’s life, though none of them were of any real use.

  Standing alone in the living room, surrounded by such comfort, Glenn felt a faint reluctance to part with it. But he wasn’t going to live here. Leaving it idle would only be a waste.

  So he stepped back outside, intending to find out roughly how much this house might be worth. The simplest way was to ask neighboring homeowners what they had paid for their own residences.

  He glanced around, selected a nearby house of similar size—someone was clearly home. A man wearing a white felt hat was trimming the front-yard lawn, and he noticed Glenn the moment he approached.

  "Hey there, sir," Glenn called from afar.

  The man straightened his hat and replied politely, "Hello. How may I help you?"

  "It’s like this—I wanted to ask, if you were to sell this house of yours, how much would you expect to get for it?" Glenn found him courteous, so he went straight to the point.

  "My house?" The man didn’t understand Glenn’s reason for asking, but still answered, "It was left to me by my father. I’m not sure of its exact market value, but it’d fetch at least a hundred gold coins."

  Glenn sucked in a sharp breath. A hundred gold coins. He had nowhere near that amount, not unless he sold the Fire-Origin Worm.

  That creature was currently kept in his underground laboratory, shedding impure flames every day.

  "Thank you for the information. To tell you the truth, I’ve just come into possession of a house very similar to yours—right over there." He pointed behind him. "I’m thinking of selling it, maybe at a slightly lower price. Do you have any advice?"

  The man shook his head. "I’m rarely home, so I can’t help you much. Best ask the other residents—they might be interested in that particular house."

  "All right. Thank you."

  "It’s no trouble."

  Glenn left him and continued asking around. Some residents had no intention of buying a new property; others did, but after seeing Glenn’s house, they decisively refused—apparently the previous occupant had terrified them.

  A few people gave him the addresses of potential buyers, but since it was already late, Glenn decided to stay one night in the house he had gotten for free.

  He had to admit—the bed inside was enormous and unbelievably soft. He slept like a king.

  It was nearly nine in the morning when knocking at the door woke him. With great effort, he dragged himself from the bed and opened the door.

  Outside stood two soldiers in the kingdom’s armor—enough to snap Glenn fully awake.

  "Are you Mr. Dylan?" asked one of them, a blue-eyed soldier with a sharp, prominent nose.

  "I am. What business do you have with me?" Glenn’s gaze held the cautious wariness of a commoner facing armed authority.

  "We were ordered to verify that you are indeed the current occupant. Nothing more." The soldier’s manner was polite.

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  "Who gave the order?"

  "We are not told. We simply carry it out."

  They didn’t seem to be lying.

  Glenn’s curiosity only grew. Whoever had gifted him this house clearly had official ties—and cared a great deal about the original owner. Under normal circumstances, that implied a blood relationship.

  Yet there was still the same problem—his predecessor’s memories contained no clues at all.

  "I plan to sell this house soon, so if future inspections find someone else living here, please notify your superiors in advance," Glenn said. To avoid misunderstandings down the road, he explained his intentions directly.

  But the two soldiers exchanged a strange look. Glenn couldn’t read their expressions. Before he could ask, the blue-eyed soldier said:

  "This house belongs to the kingdom. I don’t believe you have the right to sell it."

  "What?" Glenn froze, watching imaginary piles of gold wave him a sorrowful goodbye. "Isn’t this house mine now?"

  "You misunderstand, sir. This residence is... special. It was built as a royal reward for men of merit. Selling it requires extensive procedures—and considerable authority." The soldier explained patiently.

  Once he heard the whole explanation, Glenn realized he had wasted all of yesterday’s efforts. This place was, in essence, a tasteless luxury—nice to have, but a burden to keep.

  "All right, I understand. Sorry for taking up your time." He dismissed them with a limp wave.

  The soldiers nodded and departed.

  Glenn pondered for a moment, but with no practical solution in sight, he went back inside to gather his things. He planned to visit White Bird Publishing next, and then leave this city altogether.

  The house could wait. Perhaps he’d find some use for it in the future.

  Dawn was gently spreading across the sky as the Great Stag carriage left the residential district. Glenn asked around the town. White Bird Publishing was well-known, and its studio was easy to locate. After questioning just two passers-by, he knew exactly where it was.

  Standing before the tall building marked White Bird Publishing, he didn’t enter immediately. He observed the place for a while. Staff were constantly going in and out, and the noise from inside made it clear the place was bustling.

  Then he stepped inside.

  Near the entrance sat a man who seemed to be working as a receptionist. When he noticed a stranger walk in, he called out:

  "Hey! Sir, you’re not staff. You can’t enter without permission."

  Glenn turned to him and, after a moment’s thought, said, "Hello. My name is Glenn. I’ve written several stories. But White Bird Publishing—this very place—printed and sold my works without my permission. I believe I have the right to defend my interests. Don’t you agree, sir?"

  The man behind the desk stiffened. He was merely a gatekeeper and knew little about the publishing operations. But he recognized Glenn’s name—his stories had brought White Bird Publishing a small fortune. To think they had done it without the author’s authorization...

  This was far beyond his pay grade. The kingdom’s laws protected copyrights rather strictly—if this turned into a scandal, things could get ugly.

  "Please wait here. I must inform our chief editor. My apologies."

  Before long, a balding, sharp-featured middle-aged man hurried downstairs. The moment he saw Glenn, he exclaimed:

  "My deepest apologies! Respected author, please—allow us to explain!"