## Chapter 3: A New Life, Hard Work, and Simple Joys
Alexander's new peasant life quickly settled into its own routines. Wake up at sunrise, eat the same stale bread and porridge for breakfast, then do chores and hard labor until nighttime.
At first, Max struggled with the monotonous, backbreaking work. His hands grew thick calluses from endless wood chopping, weeding, and carrying heavy buckets. His narrow shoulders ached from the constant strain. It didn't help that Marjorie pushed him to keep up with full-grown adults.
"Hard work makes strong, able bodies, Alexander," she'd remind him during short breaks, her weathered hands always busy. "Can't have you daydreaming. I need you fit to earn your keep."
Her blunt words stung, but Max knew better than to protest his lowly role. Any wisdom from his past life felt useless in this brutal, physical world of aching muscles and soil. So he grunted and forced his reborn body to keep rebuilding itself through hard labor.
Small mercies came in moments of rest—catching his breath while digging, sipping cool stream water before the planting season arrived. Max's mind would drift, recalling his old cubicle life and wondering how he ended up here. He could still vividly remember the sad little desk plant.
The idle daydreaming would make him laugh until Marjorie swatted him sharply.
"Into the fields, foolish boy! Can't have you spacing out and ruining the planting!"
So it was back to hoeing rows, averting his eyes from Marjorie's bust poking out of her loose dress as she demonstrated how to space the crops properly. The woman was likely around her early thirties.
"Hurry up, Alexander! We've got hungry bellies to feed before last year's rations run out!"
She'd bellow at his slow shuffle, ruthlessly sowing each row with practiced skill. Her stamina stemmed from years of grinding poverty rather than vitality. Poor Marjorie seemed to derive what little joy remained from her brutal work ethic and shaming anyone who couldn't match her grit.
Max quickly learned there was no room for airs about his former comforts when people literally worked themselves to death over each humble turnip. From preserving harvests to winter-proofing their crumbling hut, the chores piled endlessly, each mundane task blending into an eternal cycle.
Sure, there were still plenty of manual labor tasks to be done, but Max soon realized that tending to the sheep or chopping wood was actually quite satisfying. There was something meditative about the physical work, especially when compared to the endless clicking and scrolling of his previous life. Sure, he didn't have 5G data plans or microwavable burritos anymore, but he did have starry nights and hearty meals cooked with love. He discovered that the simpler things in life were often the most gratifying.
For every backbreaking task under Marjorie's critical gaze, there were also peaceful spells when he could simply exist as his reborn self. Like on late summer evenings after escaping the fields at sundown, when exhausted neighbors emerged to watch fireflies dancing by the glimmering marshes. In those rare moments, sweat-soaked backs finally loosened and rubbery limbs found rest. It was a nightly gathering of weary souls savoring life's few joys.
Kinship was a foreign concept to Max's previously isolated existence. But there was quiet power in how these tattered, sun-bronzed folks extended calloused hands and crooked smiles, silently offering precious foraged berries or mint leaves from their own meager rations.
And Max found himself gratefully receiving such humble gifts that first warm summer, marveling at how a simple pouch of creek shrimp, bought with someone's hunger, could permanently shift one's outlook.
Eventually, Alexander would attend school to learn about the world. Although the school was rundown, it was managed jointly by the villagers and one teacher whom the village head had painstakingly begged to teach the children. At twelve years old, students were expected to attend school to learn about the world, magic, economy, and various other subjects.
Max's new routine was exhausting, but there were also small moments of amusement that helped him get through the day. One such instance was the day he met Ol' Gus, the village's cantankerous goat. Gus had a reputation for being a troublemaker, and Max quickly discovered why.
One morning, as Max was trying to balance a heavy bucket of water, Gus decided it would be a great idea to butt his head against Max's knees. The bucket flew out of his hands, dousing him from head to toe.
"Watch out for Gus," one of the villagers chuckled. "He's got a mind of his own."
Max quickly learned to keep an eye on the mischievous goat. But despite the pranks and the backbreaking work, there were moments of hilarity that kept him sane. Like the time Marjorie attempted to bake bread, only to have it come out of the oven hard enough to be used as a weapon.
"Well, at least we won't have to worry about anyone breaking in," Max joked, holding up the rock-solid loaf.
Marjorie shot him a glare that could melt steel, but even she couldn't suppress a small smile.
As the days turned into weeks, Max began to appreciate the quirks of his new life. The simplicity had a certain charm, and the people, though rough around the edges, were genuine and kind-hearted. He found himself forming unexpected friendships. There was Finn, a fellow twelve-year-old with a knack for getting into trouble, and Ella, a shy girl with a gift for storytelling.
One evening, as they sat around the fire, Ella started spinning a tale about a brave knight who outwitted a dragon. Max, listening intently, couldn't help but notice how the villagers' eyes sparkled with childlike wonder. It was a stark contrast to the glazed-over looks he remembered from corporate meetings.
"Did you ever hear about the dragon who hated spicy food?" Finn chimed in, grinning mischievously.
Max raised an eyebrow. "No, I haven't. Do tell."
Finn's eyes twinkled as he launched into his ridiculous story. "So, this dragon, right? Every time someone tried to offer it a hot pepper, it would sneeze out fireballs and accidentally roast Dream puffs. One day, a clever farmer decided to use this to his advantage. He opened up a roasted dream puffs stand, and the dragon became his best customer. They ended up forming a Dream puffs empire together!"
The group erupted in laughter, the sound echoing through the night. Max felt a warm glow of contentment. He might have traded skyscrapers for thatched roofs, but the sense of community was something he wouldn't trade for the world.
Soon, it was time for Max to start school. The school was a small, rickety building at the edge of the village, managed by Mr. Wickham, an elderly teacher with a penchant for falling asleep mid-lesson.
On his first day, Max noticed a curious mix of subjects written on the chalkboard: "Herbal Remedies," "Basic Magic," "Economics," and "History of the Realm." It was a far cry from the Excel spreadsheets and PowerPoint presentations of his past life.
"Alright, class," Mr. Wickham said, adjusting his spectacles. "Today we'll start with the basics of magic. Can anyone tell me the four fundamental elements?"
Finn's hand shot up. "Fire, water, air and...uh, bread?"
The class burst into giggles.
"Close, Finn," Mr. Wickham sighed. "It's fire, water, and earth. Though bread is important, too, especially Marjorie's brick bread."
Max couldn't help but laugh along with the others. School was definitely going to be interesting.
Despite the occasional mishap, Max found himself genuinely enjoying the lessons. Learning about herbs and potions was fascinating, and even the economics lessons, though rudimentary, were oddly engaging.
One day, as they were learning about the history of the realm, Mr. Wickham dozed off in the middle of a particularly dull passage. Finn seized the opportunity and stood up, mimicking the old teacher's voice.
"And then the great king...snored loudly on his throne, while the kingdom...uh, invented the world's first whoopee bread."
The class erupted in laughter, jolting Mr. Wickham awake. He blinked, confused but quickly resumed his lesson as if nothing had happened.
Max smiled, feeling a sense of belonging in this peculiar new world. "Well," he thought, "this might just be home after all."