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Chapter 77, another part: [History of Magic]

Chapter 78 Another book, [History of Magic] (Seeking first subscription)

"Wait a moment, madam, let me help you over the threshold."

"Oh, thank you, child."

"You're welcome... In my opinion, we should ask someone to help you two with your lives."

"My last child was born 550 years ago, and Lemaître's last child died 530 years ago. Since then, neither of us has lived with anyone else."

"Uh, you mean one?"

"Ah, Lemaître and I have been divorced... probably dozens of times, I can't remember the exact number. We both had children, but they all died in the end."

The worldview of the "immortal race" is beyond the comprehension of ordinary people. Ares remained silent for a while, deciding to temporarily set aside the Lemaîtres' unique views on marriage.

"Well, no matter what, it's always impolite to visit you without permission, so I've prepared a small gift for you."

Calming his thoughts slightly, Ares smiled gently, took a bottle of Ogden Flame Old Flame whisky with a red ribbon tied around its neck from his pocket, and handed it to Madame Lemaître. "May you live a long and healthy life..."

"What a lovely child!"

When you live long enough, things like politeness and etiquette become meaningless.

The elderly Madame Lemaître didn't stand on ceremony. She raised her trembling hand and smiled as she touched Ares's temple. "Put it in the wine cabinet for me, okay, child? You must have noticed that walking is a burden for me."

"Of course, it's just a small favor."

"Oh, well, there's still a pot of bean soup simmering in the kitchen... I'm sorry, child, our breakfast isn't quite ready yet."

"I'm also quite good at cooking, madam. May I help you?"

"Cooking is the only thing that brings me joy, child. Don't take away my only joy... You've come from far away, child. Find a place to sit down and rest... Of course, you can also wander around the house as you like. There's nothing here that you can't see."

As she spoke, Nicolas Flamel's wife, Perenat Flamel, walked unsteadily into the kitchen, returned to the stove, and focused intently on preparing her pot of bean soup.

Madame Lemaître's long life shaped her views on the world and people in ways that were hard for others to imagine. Although she only met Ares for a few minutes, she treated him as if he were her most familiar nephew or niece, communicating with him intimately and without any reservations.

Ares paused for a few moments before finally suppressing the ripples in his worldview and soul that had arisen from his first-ever interaction with an immortal being...

He took a few steps, placed the whiskey he had brought on the liquor shelf in the living room, and then looked around with curiosity, examining the small, one-story house that was steeped in tranquility and peace.

To be honest, the most distinctive feature of the house where the Lemaîtres lived in seclusion was that it was completely devoid of any distinctive features.

It wasn't like a wizard's house, with its kitchen equipped with self-cleaning utensils and its living room sofa draped with self-knitting sweaters. Nor was it like a Muggle house, with its living room furnished with a television, piano, and electric fan.

Of course, the house still has a bit of a "wizard" feel to it.

Looking around, Ares didn't find any wires or bright incandescent bulbs in the room. The only thing providing the dim, yellowish light inside was a brass chandelier hanging from the low ceiling.

Mr. Lemaître is not home.

He had confirmed this before Ares even stepped into the house.

But it wouldn't be polite for him to ask Madame Lemaître, who was busy in the kitchen, where her husband had gone.

Moreover, it would be a bit awkward if she said they were divorced again...

However, regardless of why Lemaître was not there, he was clearly a resident here, a fact that Ares' unique magical vision, capable of penetrating obstacles, had told him.

A narrow passageway connects the living room and the backyard, lined with an old-fashioned, reddish-brown pendulum clock, its surface imbued with a sense of history. The clock leans against the wall, chiming against a locked door embedded in the opposite wall.

"Madam, may I have a look at your and Mr. Lemaître's basement?"

Ares turned his head and looked at Madame Lemaître in the kitchen.

He didn't try to hide his intentions; it's better to be frank with elderly people like him.

"Go, child, I told you, there's nothing in this house that you can't see."

Madame Lemaître continued seasoning the bean soup without even turning her head. "But I forgot where I put the key to that door. You can just pry it open; it won't be difficult for you."

Ares's lips twitched, and he readily agreed.

The peeling red door wasn't difficult to open; Ares didn't even need to use magic. With a twist, the rusty lock inside snapped open. Ares pushed the door open, and a slightly hazy atmosphere immediately filled the space.

The first thing Ares saw was not a staircase leading underground. Perhaps to accommodate his own unsteady legs, Lemaître had the passageway built as a gently sloping ramp, and the only light illuminating the ramp was a kerosene lamp hanging behind the door at the entrance of the passageway.

Ares removed the oil lamp with its glass shade stained with light black soot. The wick trembled, and the figures in the small picture frames hanging on both sides of the ramp all cast disapproving glances at Ares.

This is amazing.

Ares walked down the wall, and thoughts arose in his mind as he looked at the figures on the wall.

Ares felt something strange, not because of any magical power or unique alchemical designs in the photos.

They are just ordinary photos of wizards; what's extraordinary are the people in the photos.

Almost immediately after wizards began to master motion copying technology, all the wizards who had left a significant mark on the history of magic were featured on the photo wall.

The first photo shows the initial leadership team of the International Federation of Wizards when it was established in 1673. The wizards who left behind legendary names are all gathered around Nicolas Flamel and Perenais Flamel. From the photo, it is not difficult to see the respect that the wizards had for the Flamel couple.

Then, almost every leader of the International Confederation of Wizards, the Minister of Magic of France, every headmaster after the establishment of Beauxbatons School of Witchcraft and Wizardry... for hundreds of years, learned scholars in the history of magic...

The two sides of this ramp are practically an exhibition of photographs of all the truly famous wizards in the magical world over the past few centuries...it's another level of "magical history"!

Moreover, Ares could tell that these wizards were proactively asking Lemaître for a photo, rather than the other way around.

Ares lost track of time, engrossed in reading... He knew very well that, apart from Flamel's book, he couldn't find such an interesting history of magic anywhere else in the world!

From the distant Middle Ages to modern times, Ares, holding a kerosene lamp, watched with great interest, and before he knew it, he had reached the bottom of the ramp.

Ares saw the last photograph at the end of the passage. As the person in the photo came into view, Ares frowned. "Do you want to continue the tour, or fill your stomach first, child?"

Madame Lemaître appeared at the entrance of the ramp, gazing at Ares with a kind and gentle expression.