Despite his vocal complaints echoing in the empty air, Ewan dragged his feet outside, heading straight toward the architectural marvel he assumed was the bathroom.
He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, but the sticky residue of dried seawater, combined with his earlier involuntary roll in the sand, made Ewan itch all over, as if a legion of ants were marching across his skin. His hair was a matted disaster, and his clothes were stiff with salt and grit. With every small movement, he could feel the sand grating against his flesh like sandpaper. It was uncomfortable enough to drive a sane man to madness.
To make matters worse, his limbs were crisscrossed with bleeding scratches. Ewan frowned as he inspected these "battle scars," his mind racing with speculation. He couldn't tell if these were the remnants of the spaceship explosion or the handiwork of that idiot Basil Vance, who might have sliced up his own arms and legs to perform that dark sacrificial ritual.
Well, whatever the cause, it was water under the bridge now. Basil Vance had successfully "logged off" permanently, and now this body belonged to Ewan. It was his responsibility to perform the necessary maintenance.
The urgent issue at hand was to wash up thoroughly and treat these wounds properly. In this desolate backwater, where sanitation standards were likely non-existent, Ewan was terrified that if a wound succumbed to tetanus, his grave would be green with grass before he even had a chance to do anything with his new life. He absolutely dared not bargain with his life on the medical expertise of this poverty-stricken planet.
Hadn't he heard what that cold-faced man said earlier? Asher Ryder had said he was going to buy "ointment." Let's emphasize that: topical ointment. Not "Cellular Regeneration Gel" or an "Anti-inflammatory Irradiation Beam."
Ewan rummaged through the troves of knowledge regarding Interstellar world-building he had engaged with in dozens of novels. Typically, worlds like this divided their medical systems into two distinct factions. One was the high-tech system, boasting sleek machinery where you simply lay in a therapeutic pod, and your wounds would heal as if the injury had never happened. The second was a mystical "pharmaceutical" system, specialized for noble Awakeners, where drinking a single vial would result in miraculous recovery. Of course, there were versions for ordinary people, but the prices were usually so exorbitant that a commoner would have to sell their house just to afford a dose.
Given the current "mud-and-straw cottage" reality he was living in, Ewan would bet ten to one that Asher Ryder would only be bringing back standard medical supplies found in a basic first-aid kit. Or, perhaps even worse, something akin to a poultice from a quack doctor in the feudal era.
Ewan leaned heavily toward the latter hypothesis. After all, his senses told him this planet was so poor there was nothing left to lose. If his wounds got infected, there was no guarantee the local medical facilities could save him.
No, no, God helps those who help themselves. This little life of his was precious.
In a moment of distraction, Ewan felt a faint tug in the memories of the original owner, something that felt incredibly important regarding medical issues or the specific constitution of this body. But he glanced down, performing a quick self-diagnostic scan: no gut perforation, no broken ribs, heart still beating, lungs still inflating. There were no immediate signs of a terminal illness imminent death. It was probably nothing. He shouldn't borrow trouble.
Brushing aside those stray thoughts, Ewan eagerly approached the massive water jars. He rolled up his sleeves, intending to scoop out water for a bath. But the moment his fingertips barely grazed the surface of the water, he recoiled violently, jerking his hand back as if he had been electrocuted.
"Holy hell! It's freezing enough to wither a man's soul!"
The weather outside was clearly cool and pleasant, with golden sunlight beaming down. So why was the water in this jar as frigid as meltwater from the Ice Age? It felt as though the temperature was hovering just above the point where it would flash-freeze into a solid block of ice.
Ewan's eyes bugged out as he scanned the area, desperately looking for any device that resembled a solar-powered water heater, or at the very least, a super-speed electric kettle. But his only answer was the whistling of the wind through the clumps of wild weeds.
Come to think of it, expecting a water heater in this godforsaken dustbowl where birds cough and dogs eat rocks for dinner was ridiculous. It would have been more convincing if he ran out into the street screaming, "I am the lost Prince of the Empire!"
Ewan let out a long, weary sigh, his brain shifting into overdrive to calculate his tactical options. He had two choices. Option one: Grin and bear the cold, squeeze his eyes shut, and splash the water over himself for a quick rinse just to get it over with. Option two: Haul the water into the kitchen to heat it up.
But wait... where in the world was the kitchen?
Ewan squinted, re-evaluating the structure of the house. It was likely built in a traditional three-bay layout or a tube house style. The main house walls were at the front, while this "bathroom" was situated in the hinterlands of the garden. By standard logic, the kitchen would almost certainly be located within the main house at the front.
He did a mental calculus of the distance from here to the main house, then looked down at his emaciated physique, his limbs resembling dry twigs more than human appendages.
If he had to struggle to carry ladle after ladle of water, run to the kitchen to boil it, and then carry the hot water all the way back here to mix it... Ewan feared he would drop dead from exhaustion before sepsis even had a chance to set in.
Why was his fate so dismal? Why did it feel like the Grim Reaper was waving at him every time he took a single step?
Ewan squatted on the ground, dispirited, ready to accept his destiny as an "Iceman" dousing himself in freezing water. Suddenly, an idea flashed in his mind like the high beams of a truck.
Wait a minute! Basil Vance's talent was Elemental Summoning in the form of Slimes. And right now, Ewan was inhabiting this body, which meant he had inherited that ability as well.
Although those Slimes were criticized by the world as trash and useless, they were fundamentally elemental in nature, right? If he summoned a Fire Element Slime, wouldn't he essentially be in possession of a portable gas stove? Using a Fire Slime to boil water - that actually sounded feasible!
"I am truly a genius!" Ewan mentally patted himself on the back, feeling an overwhelming sense of admiration for his own intellect.
No sooner thought than done. Ewan labored to transfer most of the water from the jar that had the least in it to the adjacent jars, leaving only an optimal volume for rapid boiling. Once the preparations were complete, he stood before the water jar, took a deep breath, and spread his arms wide, striking a pose worthy of a grand mage about to cast a world-altering spell.
"Summon!"
...
The wind continued to blow, the leaves continued to fall, and the surface of the water in the jar remained as smooth as a mirror.
Ewan blinked rapidly, his hands frozen in mid-air.
Huh? Wait?
How exactly does one summon?
Who in the universe knows the input command to make this work???