Building The First Industrial Empire In Another World

"Where am I?"

Ernest muttered as he looked around him. Everything was pitch black, like he was in the middle of a void. He recalled what happened earlier, about him getting to work. He was in his car and on his phone reviewing data the company had sent him and suddenly, there was an excruciating pain in his chest that made him black out.

Now, he was here. Could it be that this is the afterlife? There is no heaven or hell? If so, this is the worst. He dreaded the idea of having to spend the rest of eternity floating in a complete darkness with full awareness.

"No, this can't be the end," he muttered again, but there was no voice coming out as it was all in his mind.

He refused this to be his fate, he would rather be in hell than to suffer an everlasting stasis in a dark void.

Moments later, something flickered in front of him. He looked towards it and saw a streak of light piercing the darkness, growing brightly as if trying to break the shell of the void as he could see the cracks forming around.

He doesn't know what's happening, but he knows that is a good sign. He tried to reach for it, imagining himself to float toward it. And he could feel that he was being pulled over to it.

Seconds after, the light went out, replaced by a blurry haze of vision. It was not bright or dark anymore. It took another second for his vision to clear itself and when it did, he saw something unexpected.

It was a ceiling, a roof ceiling to be exact. He expected it would be like a hospital ceiling or his house if he was dreaming but the ceiling above him didn't resemble anything like a hospital or his house.

After all, it was made of wood, and it seemed to be water-damaged as some parts have black marks spreading along the edges like mold had settled there for years.

Also, the air smelled damp.

Not the kind of dampness from an old apartment or a leaking office building. This was different. It smelled earthy, like wet wood mixed with smoke and dust.

Slowly, he lifted his head.

The room around him was small with one window allowing the sunlight to pass through and is the source of light. He looked down and saw a rough quilt and bed, possibly made out of straw and old fabric stitched together repeatedly over the years. The bed frame itself looked uneven, as if someone had built it by hand using leftover wood.

Then, he scanned left to right and saw only a wardrobe. It was a simple bedroom setup but something was off.

First of all, he is not familiar with this room. Who does it belong to? Second, for a room this size, he expected there'd be devices such as an electric fan or an outlet but looking around again, there's nothing to be found.

No, the most important question is where he was now?

Ernest slowly pushed himself upright from the bed.

The moment he did, a wave of dizziness hit him immediately.

"Ugh…"

He grabbed the side of the bed frame for support as his vision blurred for a second. His body felt unbelievably weak. Not sore. Weak.

Like he had not eaten properly for days.

His arms trembled slightly just from supporting his own weight.

"What the hell is wrong with me…"

He frowned and tried to stand anyway.

The wooden floor creaked beneath him as his bare feet touched the cold surface. But the moment he fully stood up, something felt wrong.

Very wrong.

The room suddenly looked… bigger.

At first, Ernest thought it was just the dizziness messing with his perception, but as he steadied himself and looked around again, he slowly realized the truth.

The wardrobe wasn't actually tall.

He was short.

Slowly, Ernest raised his hands in front of him.

His fingers looked young, almost fragile, with dirt stuck beneath the nails. The skin was rough in some areas despite clearly belonging to someone young.

"No…"

His voice sounded different too, like that of a child.

A chill ran down his spine.

Immediately, he stumbled toward the small wardrobe. Attached to its side was a cracked piece of metal polished enough to vaguely function as a mirror.

Ernest stared at the reflection.

And froze.

A child stared back at him.

Messy brown hair, thin face, and pale skin. A typical physical description of a child.

He looked no older than ten.

Maybe eleven at most.

"What…"

His voice shook slightly.

He touched his face.

The reflection copied him perfectly.

"This… this isn't me."

Panic started creeping into his chest.

He quickly looked down at himself again.

His clothes were oversized and rough, clearly handmade from coarse fabric. His arms were skinny. His shoulders narrow. Even his feet were small.

This was not his body.

His breathing became uneven.

"No, no, no!"

Suddenly, a sharp pain exploded inside his head.

"Ah…!"

Ernest stumbled backward and lost his footing completely.

His weak body crashed against the side of the bed before falling hard onto the wooden floor with a loud thud.

"Ernest?!"

A panicked voice came from outside the room.

The door burst open a second later.

A woman hurried inside carrying a small wooden bowl in her hands. The moment she saw him on the floor clutching his head, her expression immediately changed into alarm.

"Ernest!"

She quickly placed the bowl down on the table before rushing toward him.

"What happened?!"

Ernest looked up instinctively.

The woman looked exhausted.

Not old, but worn down by life.

Her brown hair was tied loosely behind her head, though strands had fallen around her face. Her clothes were patched repeatedly in different places, and her hands looked rough from constant labor. Even so, there was warmth in her eyes the moment she looked at him.

But Ernest barely noticed any of that right now.

Because another flood of memories suddenly surfaced.

Her face.

Her voice.

Late nights sewing beside candlelight.

Quietly skipping meals so her son could eat instead.

A name. Clara Teucher.

His… mother? Wait, why does he have the same name as the child in this body? It's so confusing.

The woman immediately crouched beside him and held his shoulders carefully.

"You're still weak. Why did you try standing up?" she asked worriedly.

Ernest could only stare at her blankly.

The inherited memories kept colliding with his own thoughts, making his mind feel chaotic.

Mother.

The word itself felt strange as he knew his mother passed away when he was five years old. It was a long time but he missed her.

So seeing this woman looking at him with genuine worry stirred something uncomfortable in his chest.

"Ernest?"

Anna's voice softened.

"You're scaring me."

"I…"

Ernest stopped midway.

What was he even supposed to say?

That he was a grown man from another world trapped inside her son's body?

That he had memories that did not belong to him?

No sane person would believe that.

"I'm fine," he finally muttered.

Even to his own ears, the childish voice sounded unnatural.

Anna sighed in relief after hearing him respond.

"Thank the heavens…"

She gently helped him sit upright against the bed frame.

"You shouldn't move like that, you had a fever for over a week already," Anna continued softly. "Your body's still weak."

A week? So that explains the reason why his body felt so weak.

"No, I'm good mother, I'm fine really," Ernest said, calming her down.

"Okay, just let me know if you want to eat as I can prepare a soup for you," she said.

Ernest thought for a moment, he wanted to know where this place was as the memory of the original one was still hazy.

"Where is this place? What country is this," he asked.

Hearing that, Anna's eyes widened. Why would her son ask something like that? Still, it was a question that she should answer.

"What do you mean? We are in the city of Helmarte, the capital city of the Kingdom of Belfast."

Ernest looked up to her. Helmarte? Kingdom of Belfast? That doesn't sound like a country on Earth. Though Belfast sounded familiar as it was in the United Kingdom but still, it wasn't called a Kingdom.

Wait, does this mean that this wasn't Earth anymore? And that he reincarnated in another world?

But why does everything look so antique? In his memories, transportation is by the means of horse-drawn carriages, there were no cars, no trains, not even proper paved roads from what he could remember.

The more Ernest thought about it, the more unbelievable everything became.

Another world.

He had actually reincarnated into another world.

As absurd as it sounded, the evidence was right in front of him.

The primitive room.

The handmade furniture.

The lack of electricity.

And now, kingdoms.

Actual kingdoms.

Ernest slowly leaned back against the bed frame while trying to process everything.

Anna looked worried seeing his expression.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," Ernest quickly answered. "I just… feel strange after the fever."

That seemed to reassure her slightly.

"You should rest more," she said. "The fever nearly took you away from us."

Ernest quietly nodded.

The inherited memories inside his head were still blurry in many places, like pieces of a broken puzzle slowly putting themselves together.

From what he could gather so far, the Kingdom of Belfast was not some tiny village nation.

It was an actual kingdom with cities, nobles, merchants, knights, and farmland spread across large territories.

And Helmarte, the city they were currently living in, was apparently the capital.

That surprised him.

Because if this was the capital, then the overall technological level of this world was lower than he expected.

Back on Earth, capital cities were filled with skyscrapers, highways, airports, and millions of people.

Meanwhile, this place barely seemed more advanced than medieval Europe.

This is more troubling than he thought. Sure, he was glad he didn't get to spend an eternity in the dark void, but to live in a medieval-esque world. It would be like a torture for someone who had lived in the 21st-century.

He wondered what life would look like from this point onward? As he recalled, his family was dirt poor. He doesn't have any siblings as they had died from smallpox, his father is working as a blacksmith and his mother is a seamstress.

Sure they have jobs but they are still poor, or what they refer to in this world is "commoner".

Wait, still, he retained his memory from this previous life. Meaning, he still has access to forty years worth of knowledge from Earth, specifically, engineering knowledge.

What if he could use his knowledge, invent things that would be revolutionary in this world, and make a living out of it?

That's it!

From this point onward, he'll accept his new life and begin his journey as an engineer in a medieval world.

Life in the Medieval World

Ernest spent almost a week recovering from his fever in his bedroom. Occasionally, his mother, Anna, would bring him his breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Although it was three meals per day, it was not satisfying for his tastebud as the taste of the food in this era was bland.

Painfully bland.

It was simply how food was in this world.

Thin vegetable soup.

Dark bread that felt more like hardened dough than actual bread.

Occasionally dried fish if they were lucky enough to afford some from the market.

Very little seasoning.

Very little oil.

And almost no meat.

As someone who grew up in the 21st century surrounded by modern food culture, it honestly felt depressing.

Even simple street food back on Earth would probably shock people in this world.

Ernest sat near the small wooden table inside his room while slowly chewing a piece of bread. The texture alone almost made him sigh.

"This thing could probably be used as a weapon," he muttered quietly.

Still, he forced himself to eat.

No matter how terrible the food tasted, this body needed nutrition badly.

Over the past week, he had slowly regained some strength. He could now walk around the house without collapsing, though his body still felt noticeably weaker than what he remembered from his previous life.

Not surprising.

The original Ernest suffered from malnutrition for years.

Even now, when Ernest lifted his shirt slightly, he could still clearly see his ribs.

"This kid was seriously starving…"

He quietly lowered his shirt again.

During the past week, he mostly stayed inside his room recovering while organizing the inherited memories inside his head.

And honestly, the more he learned about this world, the more shocked he became.

The Kingdom of Belfast was massive.

At least massive by medieval standards.

It had multiple major cities, noble territories, farming villages, riverside ports, and trade routes connected to neighboring kingdoms.

But technologically?

It was horribly behind.

Blacksmithing remained the backbone of manufacturing.

Most labor was manual and slaves exist.

Agriculture was the main source of income for exports.

Transportation depended entirely on horses and wooden carts.

Even simple concepts like standardized machine production did not exist.

To Ernest, it looked like a world stuck before the Industrial Revolution.'

And because of that, his engineering brain never stopped working.

Every time he saw something inefficient, ideas immediately formed in his head, he couldn't just stop it.

As for his father, well, his father won't even visit him. He recalled in the memories of the original Ernest that the father was always in a bad mood, not because he was cruel.

At least, not entirely.

The inherited memories made that much clear to Ernest.

His father, Victor Teucher, used to be different years ago.

Before the smallpox.

Before the deaths.

Back then, according to the fragmented memories, the house used to be louder.

There were more children.

More laughter.

Even if they were poor, the family still had moments where they smiled together.

Then the sickness came.

One after another, Ernest's siblings died.

The original Ernest remembered coughing.

Fever.

The smell of medicine herbs.

His mother crying quietly at night.

And his father?

His father slowly changed afterward.

He became quieter.

More irritable.

More distant.

It was not uncommon for him to come home from the forge exhausted, eat dinner in silence, then immediately sleep afterward.

The original Ernest rarely even spoke to him.

At first, Ernest thought Victor simply hated his family.

But after inheriting the memories, he realized it was more complicated than that.

The man was broken.

Poverty already crushed people slowly by itself.

Losing multiple children on top of that?

It probably destroyed whatever remained of his spirit.

Ernest quietly leaned back against the chair while staring at the wooden ceiling.

Honestly, he could not even fully blame the man.

This world was brutal, there were no modern medicines.

A simple disease could wipe out entire families.

Back on Earth, smallpox had long been eradicated through modern medicine and vaccination programs. Here, however, it remained a death sentence for commoners and nobles alike.

As he was alone in his thoughts, his mother, Anna, stepped in.

"Ernest, I will go to the market, do you want to come?"

Hearing that invitation, Ernest's eyes lit up. Finally, he'll be able to get out of this bedroom and finally see what's outside of their home. Because he couldn't just rely on the memories.

"Yes please!" Ernest replied giddily.

"Okay, you look so enthusiastic, I have already prepared a bath for you so you should clean yourself first," Anna continued with a small smile.

Ernest immediately nodded.

Honestly, he wanted a bath badly.

This body constantly felt sticky no matter how much he rested. Weeks of sickness combined with the lack of proper hygiene in this world made him feel uncomfortable almost all the time.

"Where's the bathroom?" he asked instinctively before stopping himself.

Right.

The original Ernest should already know that.

Anna gave him a slightly strange look but still answered.

"It's outside near the back."

Ernest awkwardly scratched his cheek.

"Ah… right."

Anna simply shook her head lightly.

"That fever really messed with your head."

A few minutes later, Ernest stepped outside the house for the first time since waking up in this world.

Cold air immediately brushed against his skin.

His eyes wandered around carefully.

The house sat among a crowded row of small homes packed tightly together. Most were made of wood and stone with roofs that looked worn down by years of rain and weather.

Narrow dirt pathways connected the homes.

People walked around carrying baskets, buckets, and firewood manually.

No plumbing, no drainage systems, no electricity poles.

Anna pointed toward a small wooden structure behind the house.

"The bathwater is inside."

Ernest nodded and walked toward it.

The "bathroom" turned out to be little more than a cramped wooden enclosure.

At the center sat a large wooden barrel filled with water and beside it was a smaller bucket with a wooden dipper resting inside.

That was it.

Ernest stared silently for several seconds.

"…You're kidding me."

Back on Earth, bathing meant hot showers, shampoo, soap, body wash, toothpaste, and clean towels.

Here?

It was literally just pouring water over yourself.

No soap.

No shampoo.

Nothing to actually remove odor or grime properly.

As a modern person, the entire setup almost physically hurt him.

Still, he sighed and began removing his rough clothes.

He grabbed the wooden dipper and scooped some water from the barrel.

Then poured it over his head.

"Jesus Christ!"

Ernest nearly jumped.

The water was freezing.

He quickly rubbed his wet hair while trying not to shiver.

No heating system.

Of course.

Why would there be?

Everything here was manual labor.

Heating water probably required firewood, which cost money and effort.

His family likely reserved heated water only for illness or winter emergencies.

So cold baths were normal.

Ernest sighed before continuing.

Again and again, he scooped water over himself using the dipper.

The water washed away sweat and dirt to some extent, but without soap, he still did not feel truly clean.

As an engineer, his brain automatically started analyzing the entire process.

Primitive hygiene systems.

Extremely inefficient.

Water wasted manually.

No pressurized flow systems.

No filtration.

No sewage disposal.

Honestly, from a public health perspective, this world was horrifying.

It was no wonder diseases spread so easily.

Without proper sanitation, bacteria and parasites would thrive everywhere.

And yet people here probably viewed it as normal because they had never experienced anything better.

Ernest rubbed his face tiredly.

Even something as basic as soap manufacturing could become valuable in this world.

Wait, that's it! Soap.

His eyes blinked.

Actually, soap production was not impossible as historically, soap existed long before industrialization. It is just animal fat, lye, and ash. Of course, there is a better version where it's also scented and refined, but even crude soap would already be revolutionary for common people here.

Ernest suddenly stopped pouring water over himself.

He scooped another dipper of freezing water over himself and exhaled sharply.

"Okay… calm down," he muttered.

He was getting ahead of himself again.

That had become a habit ever since he reincarnated here.

Every time he saw a problem, his brain immediately tried solving it.

The issue was that solutions required resources.

Soap production needed materials.

Animal fat, lye, ash, and equipment for boiling. Or more importantly, knowledge of where to acquire everything.

Right now, he barely even understood the city properly, so this trip to the market would give him insights on where to acquire materials.

And not just for soap.

The market would tell him everything about this world's economy.

What goods were common.

What goods were expensive.

What materials were rare.

How advanced their metalworking was.

Even observing people alone would already provide useful information.

Ernest quickly finished his bath afterward before changing into cleaner clothes.

Well, "cleaner" by this world's standards.

The rough linen shirt scratched slightly against his skin while the pants felt stiff and uncomfortable compared to modern fabrics.

When Ernest stepped out of the bath enclosure, Anna was already waiting outside with a woven basket hanging from her arm.

"There you are," she said.

Ernest nodded.

"I'm ready."

Anna looked at him carefully for a moment before smiling faintly.

"You look healthier now."

"That cold water nearly killed me again."

"Hm?"

"Nothing."

Anna shook her head lightly again, probably already used to his strange comments.

The two soon began walking toward the market district together.

As they left the narrow housing area, Ernest observed everything around him with open curiosity.

Honestly, seeing this world through his own eyes felt surreal.

Because despite the poverty and primitive conditions, the city itself was alive.

Workers carried sacks manually across the streets.

Blacksmith hammers echoed faintly from nearby workshops.

Smoke drifted upward from chimneys and furnaces.

Merchants pushed wooden carts while advertising vegetables, fish, and bread loudly.

Ernest's engineering instincts automatically analyzed everything.

The roads were terrible, mostly compacted dirt mixed with scattered stone.

During heavy rain, these streets would probably turn into mud traps.

Drainage systems were almost nonexistent too. He could already see dirty water gathering near certain parts of the road.

From a civil engineering perspective, this city was a disaster waiting to happen. But what can you expect from a medieval city? There is an even a memory where that this is just the commoner's district and the noble district would be more refined than this area according to the original Ernest's memories.

Still, even if this was only the commoner district, it was already busy enough to overwhelm him.

Moments later, they arrived at the market.

The market stretched across multiple streets packed tightly with stalls and people. Rows upon rows of wooden stands filled both sides of the road while cloth canopies provided shade overhead.

There are stalls for meats, stalls for vegetables, fish, clothes, tools, pottery, candles, ropes, herbs, and even livestock.

The entire place was overflowing with noise.

Merchants shouted prices at passing customers while others aggressively advertised their products.

"Fresh fish! Caught this morning!"

"Three copper for the onions!"

"Fine wool cloth from the east!"

"Move aside! Move aside!"

A cart loaded with sacks rolled through the crowded street pulled by a tired horse while people immediately stepped away to avoid getting hit.

Honestly, Ernest almost felt sensory overload.

Not because the market was advanced.

But because it was alive in such a raw and primitive way.

There were no neon signs.

No supermarkets.

No organized storefronts.

Everything depended on direct human interaction.

You want to buy something?

You negotiate face to face.

You carry it home yourself.

You preserve it yourself.

Human labor remained the foundation of everything.

And Ernest could not stop analyzing it.

The butcher stalls immediately caught his attention first.

Large chunks of meat hung from iron hooks while butchers sliced apart carcasses using oversized cleavers.

Pork.

Chicken.

Goat.

And probably beef.

Flies buzzed openly around the meat.

No refrigeration whatsoever, or sanitary wrapping.

Back on Earth, health inspectors would probably shut this entire section down instantly.

Still, despite the primitive conditions, customers crowded around the stalls.

Meat clearly remained valuable here.

Ernest glanced toward the prices written on rough wooden boards.

His eyes widened slightly.

Expensive.

Very expensive.

No wonder his family barely ate meat.

For commoners, vegetables and bread were probably the only affordable daily food.

Protein itself was practically a luxury.

That honestly explained why this body ended up malnourished despite technically eating three meals a day.

Nearby, another section sold fish displayed on crushed ice.

Ice.

Again, Ernest noticed that.

Interesting.

So they had methods for preserving ice even without modern refrigeration.

Probably ice harvesting during winter stored underground.

Primitive cold storage.

His engineering brain immediately filed the observation away.

As they continued walking, Ernest noticed another area dedicated to tools and wares.

That immediately pulled most of his attention. Axes, hammers, nails, knives, farming equipment, buckets. Metal hinges.

He picked up one of the iron nails from a stall and inspected it carefully.

Uneven.

The shape varied slightly.

No standardized dimensions.

Which meant mass manufacturing had not been developed yet.

Every piece was manually forged one by one.

That dramatically increased labor cost and production time.

The merchant noticed Ernest staring.

"Interested, boy?"

Ernest quickly placed the nail back down.

"Just looking."

The merchant chuckled.

"Then look quickly unless you're buying."

Anna immediately tugged him lightly by the shoulder.

"Don't bother the merchants."

"Sorry."

This market alone confirmed something extremely important.

This world lacked industrial precision.

Which meant even simple machine-assisted production could completely dominate existing industries here. Even he could make a fortune here but of course, that won't be easy as his family is poor so no capital.

"Ernest, I'm going to buy our food now, so stay next to me and don't wander," Anna said.

"Yes mother," Ernest acknowledged and joined her mother for the reason why they are at the market in the first place.

The Market Trip

Ernest watched his mother purchase food at the supermarket. She'd always frown whenever she saw the prices on the wooden board. He understood it's expensive but how expensive?

He doesn't have a grasp on how valuable money was in this world yet.

Back on Earth, Ernest could immediately tell whether something was cheap or expensive just by looking at the price tag.

Here?

He was completely clueless.

The wooden boards displayed numbers beside the goods, but without understanding the actual value of the currency, those numbers meant almost nothing to him.

Anna picked up several potatoes before asking the merchant for the price.

"Thirty riels," the merchant answered casually.

Anna visibly hesitated for a second before still handing over the coins.

Ernest immediately noticed that reaction.

Even thirty sounded expensive to her.

Interesting.

As they continued moving through the market, Ernest quietly observed more prices.

Bread ranged around twenty to forty riels depending on size.

Vegetables were cheaper.

Meat was absurdly expensive.

One decent chunk of pork alone cost several hundred riels.

No wonder his family barely ate any.

Eventually, Ernest could no longer suppress his curiosity.

"Mother," he called quietly while walking beside her.

"Hm?"

"What's the name of our currency again?"

Anna blinked.

"…Riels?"

"Ah… right."

He quickly pretended to remember.

Honestly, the original Ernest barely cared about economics, so the inherited memories regarding currency were vague.

Anna narrowed her eyes slightly.

"You really did forget a lot after your fever."

Ernest awkwardly laughed.

"My head still feels strange sometimes."

Anna sighed before continuing to shop.

Still, Ernest decided to continue asking carefully.

"So… how does the currency work exactly?"

This time Anna looked genuinely confused.

"What do you mean?"

"Like… the different coin values."

Anna paused briefly before reaching into the small pouch hanging from her waist.

She pulled out several coins and showed them to him while they walked.

"These are small copper coins," she explained. "Each one is worth ten riels."

Ernest looked carefully.

The coin looked rough and manually stamped.

No milling precision whatsoever.

Anna then showed another slightly larger copper coin with a hole in the middle.

"This is a middle copper coin. Worth one hundred riels."

Then another larger copper coin.

"One thousand riels."

Ernest quietly listened.

After that came silver coins.

Small silver coin.

Ten thousand riels.

Large silver coin.

One hundred thousand riels.

And finally gold coins.

Though Anna only showed them from a distance from another merchant because obviously they did not own any themselves.

"One small gold coin is one million riels," Anna explained quietly.

"And large gold coins are ten million."

Ernest's eyes widened slightly.

That was… actually a pretty organized currency system.

Decimal-based too. Far more structured than he expected from a medieval kingdom.

Though manually minted coins still limited economic scalability.

His engineering and economic instincts immediately started analyzing things again.

The problem with coin-based economies was metal supply and minting consistency.

Without industrial minting systems, counterfeit prevention would become difficult.

Also, carrying large sums physically would be extremely inconvenient.

Still, compared to barter economies, this was already far more advanced.

Then another question immediately entered Ernest's mind.

"How much does father earn?"

Anna froze slightly while holding a cabbage.

"Why are you asking that?"

"I'm just curious."

Anna looked at him quietly for a moment before sighing.

"Your father earns around eight thousand to ten thousand riels a month if work is consistent."

Ernest's eyes immediately narrowed slightly.

So around one small silver coin monthly.

That was rough, very rough.

Especially considering meat alone could cost hundreds of riels while rent, firewood, clothing, and debt still existed.

That meant common laborers lived almost entirely paycheck to paycheck.

Actually, worse.

Because unlike modern workers, there were no labor protections here. There was no healthcare, no insurance, no worker's rights.

One sickness alone could financially destroy an entire family.

Which already happened to them.

"What about blacksmiths?" Ernest asked next.

"Actual blacksmith owners earn more," Anna answered. "Much more if they have contracts with merchants or nobles."

Makes sense.

Skilled labor always climbed higher economically.

Especially in pre-industrial societies.

Metalworking was essential infrastructure here.

Ernest quietly processed everything.

Eight thousand to ten thousand monthly income.

Bread around thirty.

Meat several hundred.

Basic survival already consumed most earnings.

No wonder poverty was everywhere.

And honestly, from an economic perspective, it perfectly matched a low-productivity society.

Human labor simply produced too little value.

Industrialization changed Earth because machines multiplied productivity massively.

A single machine could outperform dozens of workers.

That increased output.

Which increased wealth, which lowered production costs.

This world had not reached that stage yet.

Meaning labor remained brutally inefficient.

"Why are you asking so many strange questions today?" Anna suddenly asked while placing vegetables into her basket.

Ernest paused briefly before answering carefully.

"I just realized I don't really understand how hard you and father work."

Anna blinked slightly.

Then for the first time since arriving at the market, she smiled genuinely.

"You really did change after your fever."

If only you knew how much, Ernest thought internally.

"Do you have any questions my dear?" Anna asked.

Ernest shook his head. "No, that would be all mother. Thank you for answering my questions."

"No problem dear, everything for you."

"So what are you making for dinner?" Ernest asked while looking at the vegetables inside the basket.

Anna glanced down at the contents before answering.

"Potato stew."

Ernest nodded slowly.

Honestly, that sounded about right for a poor household in a medieval world.

Honestly, that sounded about right for a poor household in a medieval world, it was cheap and filling, and capable of feeding multiple people with minimal ingredients.

Still, his modern tastebuds quietly mourned internally.

No seasoning.

No proper broth.

Probably no oil either.

Just boiled vegetables and whatever scraps they could afford.

As they continued walking through the market, Ernest kept observing everything around him carefully.

Now that he understood the value of money better, the market suddenly looked different.

Much different.

Earlier, he only saw goods.

Now, he saw labor value.

That loaf of bread?

Someone spent hours planting wheat, harvesting it manually, grinding flour, kneading dough, and baking it without modern equipment.

Those iron tools?

Someone mined the ore manually, transported it through carts, smelted it using charcoal furnaces, then forged each piece by hand.

Everything here consumed absurd amounts of labor.

And that labor inefficiency was exactly why people remained poor.

He could make loads of money if he could get his hands on some tools. Well, he could start small, for example the soap. He knew how to make one so long that he had the ingredients and the materials.

For example, animal fats. Well, there are a lot around but he wondered how he'll get one? Ask his mother? A soap needs an oil and and lye. Ash was easy enough. Their house literally had a fireplace.

Animal fat though?

That was the difficult part.

Poor families like theirs rarely wasted anything from meat. Fat was either cooked immediately or sold because it still had value.

Still…

Ernest glanced toward a butcher stall nearby where scraps and leftovers were piled in a wooden container.

Wait.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

Maybe not all animal fat was considered valuable.

Some parts were probably discarded or sold cheaply.

"Mother," Ernest called while still walking beside her.

"Hm?"

"Can I ask for help with something?"

Anna looked surprised by the sudden question.

"What kind of help?"

Ernest hesitated briefly.

He obviously could not just say he wanted to manufacture soap using medieval chemistry.

That would sound suspicious.

So instead, he carefully chose his words.

"I… want to try making something."

Anna blinked.

"Making what?"

"…Soap."

The moment the word left his mouth, Anna visibly frowned in confusion.

"Soap?"

"Yeah."

Ernest pointed subtly toward the gray soap bars being sold nearby.

"The ones they sell here smell terrible."

Anna looked even more confused now.

"Well… yes. Soap usually smells bad."

Ernest almost twitched internally hearing that.

No.

Soap was not supposed to smell like wet ash mixed with burnt animal remains.

That was just bad soap.

"I think I can make a better one," Ernest said carefully.

Anna stared at him for several seconds before suddenly laughing softly.

Not mocking laughter.

More like amused disbelief.

"You?"

Ernest awkwardly scratched his cheek.

"…Maybe."

Anna shook her head lightly.

"Ernest, making soap is not easy."

Actually, it was not that complicated historically.

Dangerous if done improperly because of lye, yes.

But not impossible.

Still, Ernest kept quiet.

Anna continued walking while adjusting the basket in her arm.

"Besides," she added, "why would you even want soap?"

Ernest blinked as if the answer was obvious.

"To clean…"

Anna looked at him like the answer was obvious.

"We already clean ourselves with water."

There it was.

Different standards.

To people in this world, water alone was already considered enough hygiene for ordinary life.

Meanwhile, Ernest came from a world where people used shampoo, conditioner, facial cleanser, deodorant, toothpaste, detergent, and antibacterial soap daily.

The gap in hygiene expectations was enormous.

"But soap helps remove dirt better," Ernest insisted lightly.

Anna sighed.

"It's expensive, smells awful, and dries the skin."

Well… she was not wrong about the soap sold here.

From what Ernest observed earlier, those crude bars were probably harsh lye soap with poor refinement and leftover impurities.

Honestly, they probably did irritate the skin.

Still, that only made the business opportunity even bigger.

A cleaner, smoother, better-smelling soap could absolutely dominate this market.

Especially among merchants and nobles.

The issue remained resources.

"I don't need much," Ernest said carefully. "Just maybe some leftover animal fat and ash."

Anna immediately stopped walking.

"…Why do you need animal fat?"

Uh oh.

Right.

That sounded suspicious.

Ernest quickly tried salvaging the conversation.

"For experiments?"

Anna stared at him blankly.

"Experiments?"

"…I'm curious."

That honestly sounded worse.

Anna sighed deeply before rubbing her forehead.

"That fever really damaged your brain."

Ernest coughed awkwardly.

Still, Anna eventually shook her head again.

"No."

"Hm?"

"We're not wasting money or materials on strange hobbies."

Honestly, Ernest expected that answer already.

Their financial situation was too fragile for random experiments.

Every resource mattered.

Even animal scraps probably still had some practical use.

"Besides," Anna added while resuming walking, "soap-making smells terrible during boiling. The neighbors would complain."

Actually… that part was true too.

Traditional soap production could smell horrible depending on the fat quality and refinement process.

Especially without proper fragrance additives.

Ernest quietly sighed internally.

Makes sense.

From Anna's perspective, her recently fever-stricken son suddenly asking for animal fat to make homemade soap probably sounded insane.

Still…

He was not giving up on the idea.

Not even close.

Because the more Ernest observed this world, the more convinced he became that even simple quality-of-life improvements could become valuable businesses here.

And unlike impossible dreams like steam engines or factories, soap was realistic.

He simply needed a better approach.

Maybe gather materials slowly himself.

Or find discarded scraps.

Either way, the idea remained alive inside his head. He won't give up here.

Because the stake here is his comfort. He doesn't want to smell bad because he only washed with water, and who knows, water is not that pure as they only got it from the river.

"Fine mother," Ernest said.

...

They returned home after buying from the market. And at this point, Ernest hadn't seen his father yet.

That's because his father always left before sunrise.

According to the original Ernest's memories, Victor would wake up while the sky was still dark, quietly prepare himself for work, then leave the house without making much noise.

By the time Ernest usually woke up back then, Victor was already gone.

Then at night, he would only return once the sun had already set.

Exhausted.

Covered in soot and sweat.

Sometimes mud too depending on the weather.

There were even nights where Victor would arrive home so late that Anna already prepared dinner separately for him.

The man would simply sit alone at the table in silence while eating cold stew beside a candle before immediately heading to bed afterward.

At first, Ernest thought it was because Victor disliked his own family.

But after spending more time observing things carefully, he realized that was not entirely true.

The man was simply tired.

Not ordinary tired either.

The kind of exhaustion that built up over years of poverty, debt, physical labor, and grief.

And strangely enough, Anna already seemed completely used to it.

The moment they returned home, she immediately began unpacking the vegetables and bread from the basket before instinctively setting aside a separate portion near the stove.

"For father?" Ernest asked.

Anna nodded lightly while organizing the ingredients.

"He'll probably come home late again."

Probably.

The way she said it made it sound normal.

Routine even.

Honestly, it felt depressing.

Back on Earth, Ernest used to think working long hours was exhausting.

But at least modern workers had machines helping them. Such as forklifts, power tools, vehicles, factory equipment.

Meanwhile here?

Everything depended on pure physical labor.

A blacksmith assistant in this world probably spent the entire day lifting metal, pumping bellows, carrying coal, and enduring furnace heat manually.

And the reward for all that suffering?

Barely enough money to survive.

Ernest quietly sat near the small table while watching Anna prepare dinner.

The kitchen itself was primitive.

A stone stove connected to a chimney.

Firewood stacked nearby.

Several iron pots hanging from hooks.

Even preparing one meal required gathering wood, starting a fire manually, carrying water, and cleaning everything by hand afterward.

Modern convenience truly spoiled people back on Earth.

And honestly?

Ernest missed it badly.

Especially showers. Oh god, he missed showers.

Anna suddenly glanced at him while peeling potatoes.

"You're staring again."

Ernest blinked.

"Sorry."

"You've been thinking nonstop ever since your fever ended."

Well, that fever technically killed your son and replaced him with a reincarnated engineer, Ernest thought internally.

But obviously, he could not say that.

Instead, he leaned slightly against the table.

"I'm just thinking about how hard life is here."

Anna paused briefly, then smiled faintly.

"That's normal."

Normal? That word honestly bothered Ernest a little.

Because suffering here truly became normalized.

Poor hygiene, malnutrition, child deaths, debt, overwork.

People simply accepted them as unavoidable parts of life.

Back on Earth, humanity spent centuries developing systems and technology specifically to reduce those problems.

Medicine, industrial machinery, sanitation, mass production, and transportation.

Yet this world still had none of it.

Which meant civilization here remained trapped in the same exhausting cycle humanity already escaped long ago on Earth.

Now there's a lot of time before dinner and honestly, he already felt bored. He had discovered the city market so that satiated his curiosity. It's so hard to not do anything. In his previous life, to pass the time, especially after his work, he'd just scroll through his phone for hours. Especially reading engineering journals or watching documentaries.

Well, he couldn't do that here as there is no internet, no smartphone, there's not even a book to read. Wait, is there a book?

"Mother, do we have a book?"

Anna paused midway while cutting potatoes.

"A book?" she repeated.

Ernest nodded.

"Yeah. Like… stories or something to read."

Anna looked at him strangely for a moment before softly chuckling.

"My dear, books are expensive."

Ernest blinked slightly.

"How expensive?"

Anna placed the knife down briefly while thinking.

"A normal commoner family like ours would probably need to save for months just to buy one proper book."

Ernest's eyes widened slightly.

Months?

For one book?

Back on Earth, he could literally download thousands of engineering books in seconds from the internet.

Here, a single physical book was considered a luxury.

Actually…

That made sense.

This world lacked industrial printing.

Which meant books were probably copied manually or produced through extremely labor-intensive methods.

Paper itself was likely expensive too.

"No wonder there aren't any around the house," Ernest muttered quietly.

Anna resumed peeling potatoes.

"Only nobles, wealthy merchants, scholars, and churches usually own books."

There it was again.

Another thing limited only to the upper class.

Knowledge itself.

Honestly, that realization bothered Ernest more than he expected.

Because without widespread access to knowledge, technological progress slowed dramatically.

Back on Earth, industrialization accelerated partly because information became easier to spread.

Books.

Schools.

Newspapers.

Eventually the internet.

Ideas traveled rapidly.

Meanwhile here?

If books were luxuries, then most commoners probably remained uneducated for life.

"Can father read?" Ernest suddenly asked.

"No…"

"But how about you mother?"

Anna shook her head lightly.

"No."

Then after a brief pause, she added something that made Ernest freeze slightly.

"You can't either."

Ernest blinked.

"…What?"

Anna looked at him strangely.

"You never learned how to read or write properly."

For a moment, Ernest genuinely did not know how to react.

He… couldn't read?

Well, technically, the original Ernest couldn't.

Obviously, modern Ernest still remembered how to read and write from Earth. And their writing system is kind of similar to English so there's that.

"Right," Ernest muttered awkwardly.

Anna gave him a strange look.

"You forgot that too?"

"The fever messed up a lot of things," Ernest quickly answered.

Honestly, that fever had become the perfect excuse for everything.

Act strange?

Fever.

Forget memories?

Fever.

Suddenly ask about economics, books, soap, and sanitation?

Apparently fever too.

Anna sighed softly before returning to the potatoes.

"You stopped learning years ago anyway."

"Learning from who?" Ernest asked.

"There was an old church reader near the southern district."

Church again.

Interesting.

From everything he had gathered so far, churches in this world seemed to control a large portion of education and literacy among commoners.

Historically accurate honestly.

Before widespread public education existed on Earth, religious institutions often monopolized written knowledge.

Ernest leaned slightly forward.

"Why did I stop?"

Anna paused briefly.

"We couldn't afford the lessons anymore."

There it was again.

Money.

Everything always came back to money.

Even basic literacy required resources.

Ernest quietly stared at the wooden table.

Back on Earth, he complained about university tuition and engineering workloads all the time.

Yet compared to this world, he had been unbelievably privileged.

Public schools.

Libraries.

Internet access.

Cheap printed books.

Knowledge surrounded modern society everywhere.

Meanwhile here, a poor child losing literacy lessons because the family needed money for food was considered normal.

Honestly, the gap between civilizations felt absurd.

Anna suddenly smiled faintly while looking at him.

"You did like learning though."

Ernest blinked slightly.

"I did?"

"Mhm."

Anna nodded.

"You used to ask many questions when you were younger."

That actually surprised him.

The original Ernest apparently had curiosity too.

Interesting.

Though unfortunately, poverty likely crushed most opportunities for him long ago.

"You always asked how things worked," Anna continued while preparing the stew. "Your father used to joke that you talked more than the village scholars."

For some reason, hearing that made Ernest smile slightly.

Maybe curiosity itself carried over between souls.

Or maybe growing up surrounded by hardship naturally made people question things.

...

It was nearing evening as the sun cast its orange glow. And ever since they returned from shopping, Ernest hasn't done a thing which made him bored.

If there was one activity he could have done, that would be for starting a trial for making a soup. However, without ingredients, there was nothing he could do.

"This is so boring," Ernest grumbled.

An hour later, Anna knocked on the door.

"Ernest, dinner is ready!"

"I'll come!" Ernest replied quickly.

Ernest pushed himself off the bed before walking towards the door and into the dining area.

Well, "dining area" was honestly generous.

It was just a wooden table placed near the kitchen with a few uneven chairs surrounding it.

Anna had already prepared dinner.

Two wooden plates rested on the table beside bowls of stew and several pieces of dark bread.

Potato stew again.

Honestly, Ernest expected that already.

The smell itself was simple.

Ernest quietly sat down while Anna placed another pot near the stove.

"For father again?" he asked.

Anna nodded lightly.

"He'll probably eat later."

Again, she said it so casually.

Like it had already become part of daily life.

The family eating separately.

Victor arriving late.

Anna finally sat down across from him.

"Eat before it gets cold."

Ernest nodded before taking a spoonful of stew, and then ate it. The taste was bland, lacking flavor, and would taste nice if it had salt or seasonings.

But after several days in this world, he slowly started adapting.

A little.

As they quietly ate, the only sounds inside the house were spoons lightly hitting wooden bowls and the crackling of firewood from the stove nearby.

Then suddenly, the front door opened. Heavy footsteps followed immediately afterward.

Victor.

Ernest instinctively looked toward the entrance.

His father stepped inside the house looking even more exhausted than before.

Soot covered parts of his shirt and forearms while sweat darkened the fabric around his chest and neck. His boots were muddy again, and his shoulders visibly sagged from fatigue.

The man looked like someone who had spent the entire day fighting the world itself.

Victor closed the door behind him before noticing Ernest already seated at the table.

For a brief second, surprise crossed his face.

"You're here…"

His voice sounded rough and tired.

"I'm feeling better," Ernest replied.

Victor stared at him for another moment before giving a small nod.

"That's good. That means you can start working with me tomorrow."

Oh yeah that's right, Ernest recalled that kids in this era would work at a young age to support their families.

There was no such thing as a "childhood" here the way modern people understood it.

If a family was poor, everyone worked.

Even children.

Especially children.

Ernest blinked slightly while staring at Victor.

"…Tomorrow?"

Victor walked toward the table before sitting down heavily on the chair.

"You already rested," he said while removing his gloves. "Can't afford to lose more time."

"Dear, he just had fever," Anna said softly.

Victor sighed while rubbing his forehead.

"I know."

His voice lacked anger.

Only exhaustion.

The man looked like he barely had enough energy left to even continue the conversation.

Still, he continued.

"But we already lost a lot of time."

Anna lowered her gaze slightly after hearing that.

And honestly, Ernest understood both sides immediately.

Anna worried because her son almost died from fever.

Victor worried because their family could barely survive financially.

Neither of them were wrong.

That was simply how brutal poverty was.

One sickness alone could destabilize an entire household.

Victor finally grabbed the bowl Anna handed him before quietly eating.

For several moments, nobody spoke.

Only the crackling of the firewood and the faint sound of spoons touching wooden bowls filled the room.

Then Victor suddenly looked toward Ernest again.

"You'll only do simple work tomorrow."

Ernest blinked slightly.

"Simple work?"

"Cleaning tools. Carrying smaller things. Working the bellows if needed."

Yeah, he recalled his father working at a blacksmith workshop. If that's the case, that would have been the work of the original Ernest. He also recalled how the original Ernest worked there.

And it was arduously hard.

Very hard.

The inherited memories became clearer the moment Victor mentioned the forge again.

The heat.

The smoke.

The constant hammering sounds that rang inside the workshop from morning until evening.

Even the original Ernest's small body used to ache after work.

Pumping the bellows alone was exhausting. It required constant movement to keep airflow feeding the furnace. And when the blacksmith worked on larger projects, the heat inside the forge became unbearable.

Then there was the carrying.

Coal.

Iron ingots.

Buckets of water.

Finished tools.

Even "simple work" still demanded physical effort.

And the original Ernest was only around ten years old.

Honestly, modern labor laws would probably classify this as child abuse instantly.

Ernest quietly looked down at his thin arms again.

This body was still weak from sickness and years of poor nutrition.

Working at a forge tomorrow would probably hurt like hell.

Still…

Part of him was genuinely curious.

A real medieval blacksmith workshop.

As a mechanical engineer, that was fascinating.

Primitive metallurgy was still metallurgy.

Even if their methods lacked precision and industrial efficiency, it remained the foundation of engineering.

Without blacksmiths, civilizations could not advance.

Metalworking was one of the pillars of civilization itself.

Victor continued eating silently before suddenly speaking again.

"Master Hollen's been in a bad mood lately."

Anna sighed softly.

"Again?"

Victor nodded.

"His assistant just left him, leaving him with a huge pile of paperworks. And he couldn't find a single one who could read or write."

Paperwork.

That word immediately caught Ernest's attention.

A blacksmith workshop handling enough business to require paperwork meant they probably dealt with contracts, delivery records, material inventories, or merchant requests.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Victor took another bite of stew before continuing.

"The merchants keep complaining because orders are delayed."

Anna shook her head lightly.

"Well, if nobody can organize the requests properly…"

Victor grunted.

"Master Hollen's wasting time searching through stacks of papers every day now."

Ernest quietly listened while eating.

Then suddenly, something clicked inside his head.

Wait.

If literacy was rare among commoners…

Then even basic reading and writing already held value in the labor market.

Actually, that made perfect sense.

A skilled craftsman who could also handle records and contracts would become far more useful than ordinary workers. They do inventory tracking, order management, material records, and even primitive businesses still required organization.

And he could read and write. He could sign up for it. But he knew that if he applied for it, his family would grow suspicious. Like sure he has a background from reading and writing in his earlier years but to become fully literate? That would raise too many questions immediately.

Especially Victor.

The man was tired most of the time, but he was not stupid.

If Ernest suddenly walked into the forge tomorrow and started reading merchant documents fluently after years of being practically illiterate, people would definitely notice.

And in a world this primitive, standing out too much could become dangerous.

Ernest quietly continued eating while thinking carefully.

He needed to move slowly.

Very slowly.

Back on Earth, intelligence and talent usually earned praise.

Here?

Acting strangely could easily make people suspicious.

Especially when literacy itself was uncommon among commoners.

Victor suddenly let out another tired sigh.

"Master Hollen nearly smashed his desk earlier," he muttered. "Spent half the morning looking for an order slip."

Anna shook her head lightly.

"That bad?"

Victor nodded.

"He keeps mixing merchant requests together."

Victor continued eating while grumbling under his breath.

"He says literate workers are impossible to find unless you're rich enough to hire merchant sons or church people."

Merchant sons.

Church people.

Again, literacy remained tied to wealth and status.

Actually, the more Ernest learned about this world, the more he realized knowledge itself functioned almost like a class barrier.

If commoners could not read, then they stayed trapped in labor work.

Meanwhile merchants and nobles handled contracts, records, accounting, and trade.

Education literally changed social mobility.

Back on Earth, people constantly complained about school.

Meanwhile here?

People would probably kill for the opportunity to become literate.

Victor suddenly glanced toward Ernest.

"You still remember some letters, right?"

Ernest froze slightly for a split second.

Careful.

Very careful.

"…A little," he answered cautiously.

Victor nodded once.

"Hm."

Then he pointed slightly with his spoon.

"Master Hollen said if someone could at least sort papers properly, he'd pay extra. But I knew you won't be able to live up to his expectations so don't."

Well why bring it up in the first place? That is the words Ernest wanted to say to his father.

"Tomorrow, don't forget, you are going to work," Victor said.

"Yes father," Ernest acknowledged.

Victor gave a small grunt before finishing the rest of his stew in silence.

The room slowly became quieter afterward as only two of them were left, him and his mother, Anna.

"Ernest, if you think you can't do it, I can just speak to your father," Anna said.

Ernest shook his head. "There's no need for that, mother. I think I can work tomorrow. I'll be careful and won't push myself too far."

"I'm glad to hear that."

The First Day at the Forge

A day later, it was early in the morning. Ernest doesn't know how early as there was no clock here.

But he knew it was early in the morning as his father himself, Victor, came to his room and personally woke him up.

Or more specifically, shook him awake.

"Wake up."

Victor's rough voice cut through the darkness of the room.

Ernest groaned slightly as he felt his shoulder being pushed again.

"We're leaving soon."

Honestly, it felt like he had only slept for two hours.

Ernest slowly pushed himself upward while rubbing his eyes.

His body still felt tired.

And cold.

The early morning air inside the wooden house was freezing compared to daytime.

Victor already stood near the door fully dressed for work.

His heavy boots were on, gloves tucked near his belt, and his thick work clothes already carried faint black stains from old soot that probably never fully washed away anymore.

"Move faster," Victor said bluntly. "The forge opens early."

No "good morning."

No gentle wake-up.

Straight to work.

Honestly, it perfectly matched the era.

People here did not have the luxury of slowly easing into mornings.

Work dictated everything.

Ernest forced himself out of bed afterward and nearly shivered when his bare feet touched the cold wooden floor.

No heaters either.

He quickly changed clothes while Victor waited near the doorway.

The clothes themselves still felt rough against his skin. Thick linen, slightly stiff from repeated use and hand washing.

Modern fabric technology truly spoiled humanity.

Victor watched him silently for several seconds before speaking again.

"You'll eat at the workshop."

Ernest paused briefly.

"There's breakfast there?"

Victor grunted.

"Bread and soup if Master Hollen's wife cooks enough."

That sounded less like breakfast and more like survival rations.

Still, Ernest nodded.

"Got it."

Victor turned around afterward and started walking towards the door. His mother was also awake, waiting by the door.

Anna held a small cloth bundle in her hands.

Probably extra bread for later.

Anna walked closer before fixing the collar of Ernest's rough linen shirt slightly.

"Don't push yourself too hard," she said softly.

Victor immediately grunted from near the door.

"If he stops every few minutes, he'll never learn."

Anna frowned slightly at him.

"He just recovered from fever."

"And he recovered already," Victor replied bluntly.

Honestly, hearing them argue about him felt strange.

Not because they hated each other.

Actually, it was the opposite.

This was just stress.

Poverty forced people into difficult positions constantly.

Victor could not afford softness because softness did not pay for food.

Meanwhile Anna still worried because she almost lost her son just days ago.

Neither of them were wrong.

Victor finally opened the door afterward.

Cold morning air immediately entered the house.

Ernest instinctively shivered slightly.

Outside was still dark blue with only faint traces of sunrise appearing at the horizon.

The streets were quieter compared to daytime, though not completely empty.

A few workers already walked through the road carrying tools, sacks, or buckets.

Early laborers.

People whose lives depended on waking before the sun.

Victor stepped outside first.

"Come."

Ernest quickly followed behind him.

Anna remained near the doorway watching them.

"Be careful," she told Ernest.

"I will."

Victor simply started walking afterward without wasting another second.

And honestly?

The man walked fast.

Very fast.

Ernest almost immediately realized this was normal for Victor.

The forge probably sat far enough from their house that walking consumed a decent amount of time daily.

The cold morning air bit against Ernest's skin while they moved through the dim streets.

Several houses still remained dark, though smoke already rose from a few chimneys nearby.

Some people were already awake preparing bread, opening stalls, or hauling goods through carts.

Even before sunrise, the city was slowly beginning to move.

Victor remained silent for most of the walk.

Not awkward silence.

Just… tired silence.

The kind of silence from someone whose body already knew the routine so well that conversation became unnecessary.

Ernest quietly observed everything around him while walking beside his father.

Without the busy crowds from yesterday's market, the city looked different this early in the morning.

More raw.

More industrial almost.

Workers gathered near intersections waiting for employers.

Carts loaded with coal rolled through the streets.

A butcher was already cleaning yesterday's blood from outside his stall using buckets of water.

Then finally, after several more minutes of walking, Victor spoke again.

"When we arrive, don't touch things unless told."

Ernest nodded.

"Okay."

"And don't stand behind anyone swinging a hammer."

"…That sounds oddly specific."

Victor glanced at him briefly.

"One boy lost teeth that way."

"I see…"

Several more minutes passed before Ernest finally heard it. The sound of metal striking metal echoed faintly through the streets even from a distance away.

Ernest immediately looked ahead.

Then he saw it.

The forge.

Honestly, calling it a "workshop" almost felt too small for what stood in front of him.

The building itself was massive compared to the surrounding structures nearby. Thick stone walls reinforced the lower sections while dark smoke continuously rose from several chimneys protruding from the roof.

The entire place looked alive.

Workers moved constantly around the entrance carrying iron bars, buckets of water, sacks of coal, wooden crates, and finished tools.

Some pushed carts.

Others unloaded materials manually.

And above all of it, the sound of hammering never stopped.

Heat radiated outward even from outside the forge.

Ernest could already feel it against his skin despite the cold morning air.

Honestly, the sight genuinely impressed him.

Primitive?

Absolutely.

But this place was still industry.

Real industry.

The foundation of manufacturing itself.

Victor finally slowed his pace slightly as they approached the entrance.

"Don't stand in the middle," he warned. "You'll get run over."

Not even two seconds later, a worker carrying glowing hot metal rushed past them with thick gloves while another man followed behind holding large tongs.

Right.

Workplace hazards everywhere.

Ernest quickly stepped aside.

As they entered through the large open entrance, the heat hit him immediately.

"Jesus…" he muttered unconsciously.

Inside, the forge was enormous.

Much larger than he expected.

Multiple furnaces burned simultaneously across the workshop while blacksmiths hammered heated metal atop anvils nonstop.

The entire interior glowed orange from firelight.

Smoke drifted upward toward ceiling vents while sparks occasionally scattered through the air whenever hammers struck iron.

And it was loud.

Ernest's engineering instincts immediately activated.

His eyes moved everywhere.

Large charcoal furnaces lined one side of the building.

Bellows systems manually operated by workers.

Cooling barrels filled with water.

Storage racks holding iron bars and finished products.

Primitive workflow systems.

Primitive material handling.

But still surprisingly organized considering the era.

Then his attention shifted toward the workers themselves.

Most were huge.

Broad shoulders.

Burn scars.

Thick forearms.

Years of manual labor had practically reshaped their bodies.

And suddenly, Ernest understood something very clearly.

This was not an environment meant for children.

Yet children still worked here anyway because poverty gave people no choice.

Victor continued walking deeper into the forge while Ernest followed closely behind.

Several workers glanced briefly toward Ernest before returning to their tasks.

Probably recognizing him as Victor's son.

Then eventually, they reached a larger workstation near the center of the forge.

A massive man stood there hammering glowing iron repeatedly atop an anvil.

Each strike looked powerful enough to crack stone.

Sweat poured down the man's arms while sparks flew around him constantly.

The sheer physical strength behind every hammer strike honestly shocked Ernest.

Even with proper technique, this still required brutal endurance.

Finally, the man stopped hammering before plunging the glowing metal into a water barrel.

SSSSSSSS—

Steam exploded upward immediately.

The man then looked toward Victor.

"You're late."

Victor snorted softly.

"Sun barely rose."

The large man's eyes shifted toward Ernest afterward.

"…So this is the boy?"

Ernest instinctively straightened slightly.

Victor nodded once.

"He recovered already."

The man stared at Ernest for several seconds.

Honestly, under the forge lighting, the blacksmith looked intimidating as hell.

Burn scars covered parts of his arms while soot stained almost every piece of clothing he wore.

Then finally, the man grunted.

"Hm."

He pointed toward a corner stacked with tools afterward.

"Then start with cleaning those."

"Now?" Ernest asked.

"Yes, now!"

Ernest quickly walked toward the corner afterward while trying not to get in anyone's way.

The closer he got to the work area, the hotter it became.

Honestly, it felt like standing near an open oven nonstop.

Sweat already started forming on his forehead despite it still being early in the morning.

Then he finally reached the pile of tools. Hammers, tongs, chisels, and punches.

Several pieces were covered in soot, ash, and surface rust.

Beside the pile sat a wooden bucket filled with water along with rough cloth and what looked like an old wire brush.

Primitive cleaning station.

Ernest crouched slightly before picking up one of the hammers.

Heavy.

Much heavier than he expected.

The wooden handle itself felt rough from years of use while the iron head carried small dents and scratches everywhere.

Honestly, these tools looked abused.

But that made sense.

This forge probably used them daily without rest.

Ernest dipped the cloth into the water bucket before wiping the hammer carefully.

Black soot immediately stained the rag.

"So this is going to be my daily life huh?"

...

Hours passed, Ernest was sweating buckets.

Honestly, this forge made him realize just how spoiled modern industry had become.

Back in the 21st century, Ernest had visited foundries and machine shops before during internships and plant visits as a mechanical engineering student. Those places were still hot, loud, and physically demanding, but compared to this?

This was another world entirely.

Modern foundries had exhaust ventilation systems sucking smoke away from workers.

Industrial blowers circulated air.

Hydraulic lifts carried heavy materials.

Forklifts transported loads.

Workers wore proper gloves, helmets, boots, ear protection, and heat-resistant clothing.

There were safety signs everywhere.

Emergency shutoffs.

Safety rails.

Standardized workflow systems.

And even then, modern workers still complained about the heat.

Meanwhile here?

Nothing existed except human bodies and brute force.

The heat inside the forge never stopped.

The furnaces continuously roared while waves of hot air rolled through the workshop nonstop. Smoke drifted across the ceiling with only crude vents allowing some of it to escape.

There was no ventilation system.

No exhaust fans.

Workers simply breathed the smoke daily like it was normal.

Metal striking metal echoed endlessly throughout the forge. Sparks flew constantly while workers shouted over furnaces and hammering sounds.

Honestly, OSHA would probably shut this place down within five minutes.

Ernest wiped sweat from his forehead again while cleaning another soot-covered hammer.

His arms already ached badly.

And the day was not even over yet.

The worst task so far was definitely the bellows.

At first glance, it looked simple.

Just pull and push the large wooden handles to feed air into the furnace.

But after actually doing it?

Jesus Christ.

The resistance alone was exhausting.

Modern furnaces used electric blowers and automated airflow systems calibrated precisely for combustion efficiency.

This one relied entirely on human muscle.

Every pull forced oxygen into the furnace, causing the charcoal flames to roar brighter and hotter.

Meanwhile the furnace blasted heat directly into his face nonstop.

And nobody gave him breaks.

Not because people were cruel.

This was simply normal life here.

Everyone inside the forge suffered.

A worker nearby hauled iron bars repeatedly with his bare arms while another hammered glowing metal endlessly beside the anvil. Sweat poured from all of them constantly.

Compared to those men, Ernest was barely doing half the workload.

Still, this eleven-year-old body was weak.

Painfully weak.

Years of malnutrition combined with recent sickness left him with little endurance.

By midday, small blisters had already formed on his palms from rough tool handles and repetitive bellows work.

His back hurt too.

Even carrying water buckets became exhausting after enough repetition.

"I can't…I can't live my second life like this," Ernest grunted as he dragged another bucket of water across the workshop floor.

"Boy! Move faster!"

A loud voice immediately shouted from behind him.

Ernest nearly flinched.

One of the workers waved impatiently toward another furnace.

"Bring more coal over there!"

"Right away!" Ernest replied quickly.

Honestly, the forge never stopped moving.

The moment he finished one task, another worker immediately shouted another order at him.

"Bellows!"

"Water bucket!"

"Move those tongs!"

"Clean that hammer!"

"Coal! Hurry!"

Ernest quickly carried the bucket toward the cooling barrel before another voice yelled again.

"Not there! Furnace Two!"

"…Seriously?" Ernest muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"

He immediately changed direction.

Honestly, he felt less like a worker and more like a machine being ordered around nonstop.

Except unlike machines, his body was reaching its limit.

Sweat soaked through his rough linen shirt completely while soot stained parts of his arms and face. His breathing had already become heavier too.

And the worst part?

The workers around him barely looked tired.

Well… not exactly.

They were tired.

Exhausted even.

But their bodies had already adapted to this environment through years of labor.

Meanwhile Ernest's current body still looked like it could snap in half from strong wind.

Then suddenly, another shout.

"Boy!"

Ernest turned immediately.

A blacksmith pointed toward several iron rods stacked near the wall.

"Bring those here!"

Ernest looked at the rods.

Then at the furnace.

Then back at the rods.

"All of them?"

The worker frowned.

"You planning to stand there all day?"

Ernest quickly hurried toward the pile before bending down and grabbing several rods carefully.

Everything inside this forge was ridiculously heavy.

Even the tools felt like workout equipment.

He carried the iron rods slowly toward the workstation while trying not to trip over scattered tools or buckets.

Ernest finally placed the iron rods beside the workstation before slightly straightening his back.

Big mistake.

Pain immediately shot through his lower back.

"…Ow."

"Boy! Bellows!"

Of course.

No rest again.

Ernest dragged himself back toward the furnace again before grabbing the bellows handle with tired arms.

Hot air blasted against his face immediately as the furnace flames roared brighter.

Sweat dripped down his chin nonstop now.

Honestly, he already felt like collapsing.

Then while working the bellows, Ernest's eyes wandered across the forge again.

And eventually, they landed on Victor.

For the first time since arriving here, Ernest truly saw his father working properly.

The man stood near another anvil deeper inside the workshop alongside two other workers. His arms moved constantly while handling heated iron with thick tongs.

Unlike Ernest's exhausted and awkward movements, Victor moved with experience carved into his body through years of repetition.

Back at home, Victor mostly looked like a tired and irritable man barely holding himself together.

But inside the forge?

He looked different.

Like this brutal environment was the only place where his body truly knew what to do instinctively.

The man grabbed the heated iron again using tongs before repositioning it atop the anvil.

Sweat poured from Victor's forehead while soot stained his skin and clothes almost completely.

And yet he never stopped moving.

Hours later, the forge somehow became even busier.

More workers entered.

More furnaces burned.

More orders arrived.

The noise inside the workshop grew almost unbearable now.

And Ernest?

He was reaching his limit.

His arms felt numb from repetitive labor while his shirt clung to his body completely soaked in sweat. Even breathing felt difficult because of the heat and smoke filling the forge constantly.

Still, he kept moving.

Because nobody else stopped either.

At one point, Ernest was carrying another stack of smaller iron tools toward a workstation when someone suddenly bumped hard into his shoulder.

THUD.

The tools nearly slipped from his arms.

"Watch where you're going!"

A sharp voice immediately barked.

Ernest quickly looked up.

Standing in front of him was a man who looked completely different from everyone else inside the forge.

Clean.

Well-dressed.

And not covered in soot.

The man wore a dark vest beneath a long coat made from much finer fabric than what ordinary workers wore. His leather boots looked polished despite the dirty workshop floor while a pocket watch chain hung faintly from his waist.

A merchant.

No.

Based on how the nearby workers immediately became quieter around him…

This was probably the owner himself.

Mr. Hollen.

The owner of the forge.

The man frowned deeply while looking at Ernest.

"…Victor's boy?"

Ernest quickly straightened.

"Yes sir."

Mr. Hollen glanced toward the nearly dropped tools before clicking his tongue in annoyance.

"You trying to break those?"

"No sir."

"Then hold them properly."

Mr. Hollen looked Ernest up and down afterward.

"You recovered from your fever and this is the speed you move at?"

Honestly, Ernest almost wanted to laugh.

Speed?

He already felt like his body was dying.

But obviously, he kept quiet.

The owner pointed toward another section of the forge.

"Those tools should've been there already."

"Sorry sir."

Mr. Hollen rubbed his forehead tiredly before walking away while shouting at another worker about delayed merchant orders.

Meanwhile Ernest remained standing there holding the tools.

Sweating.

Exhausted.

And honestly? He was desperate.

His arms already trembled slightly from fatigue while his palms burned from fresh blisters. Every breath tasted like smoke and charcoal.

No.

He could not do this every single day.

Not like this.

Not with this body.

If he continued working purely as labor here, he would eventually become just like everyone else in the forge.

Broken down slowly over years until his body gave out.

And Ernest refused that.

Absolutely refused it.

His eyes slowly shifted toward the upper section of the forge where Mr. Hollen disappeared earlier.

Office.

That was probably his office.

Ernest stared at it for several seconds.

Then slowly looked around the workshop again.

Workers endlessly hauling materials.

Hammering iron.

Pumping bellows.

Breathing smoke.

An entire industrial system barely functioning through human suffering alone.

And somewhere inside that chaos, Ernest noticed something.

The workers feared Mr. Hollen.

But they also relied on him.

Because unlike the laborers, the owner handled organization. Such as merchant dealings, money, orders, paperworks, and especially management.

He thought about Mr. Hollen lost his secretary and how it was a blow to his face.

He needed another path.

Because there was no way he was surviving years of this kind of labor.

Not physically.

Taking a deep breath, Ernest finally placed the tools down carefully before wiping sweat from his forehead.

Then slowly…

He started walking toward the upper office area.

The moment several workers noticed where he was going, confused looks immediately appeared on their faces.

"Where's the boy going?"

"Did someone call him?"

"No idea."

Ernest ignored them and continued walking.

His legs already felt heavy from exhaustion while the heat inside the forge made every step miserable.

Eventually, he reached the wooden staircase leading upward toward the office overlooking part of the workshop.

Compared to the forge floor below, the upper area looked quieter and cleaner too.

Already, the difference between management and labor became obvious.

Ernest stopped outside the office door briefly.

Then knocked carefully.

Several seconds passed.

Then from inside.

"What?"

Mr. Hollen's irritated voice answered immediately.

Ernest slowly opened the door afterward.

Inside, the office looked cramped but far more organized compared to the chaos below.

Stacks of papers sat atop the desk alongside ledgers, ink bottles, and rolled documents. A small shelf nearby contained several books while merchant notes were scattered across another table.

And right in the middle of it sat Mr. Hollen himself rubbing his forehead tiredly while reviewing paperwork.

The owner immediately frowned upon seeing Ernest.

"Why are you here?"

Ernest almost backed out immediately.

The man looked stressed enough already.

Still, Ernest forced himself to speak.

"Sir… I want to ask something."

Mr. Hollen leaned back slightly against his chair.

"Well?"

Ernest hesitated briefly.

Then finally gathered his courage.

"Is there another kind of work I can do here besides labor?"

The Negotiation

Hollen raised his brow upon hearing Ernest's words.

"Another work you say? There is already work for you, and that is to be a laborer in my foundry."

"Yes sir I know that, but I don't think I'll survive the work."

"For someone of your status, I don't think you have any other choice to make a living. Just like your father who spent years working here," Hollen replied bluntly.

The man leaned back slightly against his chair while looking Ernest up and down again.

Honestly, under the cleaner lighting of the office, Ernest probably looked miserable.

Sweat-soaked clothes.

Soot-covered arms.

Messy hair plastered to his forehead.

And most importantly?

An exhausted eleven-year-old body barely standing upright.

Hollen suddenly let out a dry chuckle.

"What exactly are you expecting here, boy?"

Ernest stayed quiet.

The owner continued.

"You think I keep spare noble jobs hidden somewhere upstairs?"

"No sir."

Hollen gestured broadly toward the forge below.

"Look outside that window."

Ernest slowly glanced toward the office window overlooking the workshop.

Workers continued hauling coal.

Hammering iron.

Pumping bellows.

Moving materials endlessly through smoke and heat.

Hollen's voice spoke again behind him.

"That forge runs because men destroy their bodies inside it every day."

The owner stood afterward before walking toward the window as well.

"Your father started younger than you."

That honestly surprised Ernest slightly.

Younger?

Jesus Christ.

Hollen crossed his arms while staring down toward the workshop floor.

"Could barely lift a hammer properly back then," he muttered. "Now look at him."

Ernest followed his gaze and saw Victor below working near the anvil again without stopping.

"You know why men like your father survive here?"

Ernest stayed silent.

"Because they understand reality."

The owner's tone became sharper afterward.

"The world doesn't care if work is hard."

He pointed toward the forge again.

"Coal still needs moving."

"Hammers still need swinging."

"Orders still need finishing."

"And merchants still want their goods delivered on time."

The owner snorted softly.

"Then reality beats it out of them eventually."

Ernest quietly clenched his tired hands slightly.

Honestly, if this were the old him from Earth, he probably would have stayed silent completely.

But now?

He could not.

Because unlike everyone else here…

He actually did possess knowledge valuable enough to change things eventually.

The issue was proving it without sounding insane.

Hollen dropped the papers back onto the desk roughly.

"So tell me."

His eyes narrowed slightly toward Ernest.

"What exactly makes you different from every other workers their downstairs?"

"Well for starters sir, I can read and write," Ernest revealed.

Hollen's eyes widened slightly at the declaration. And then let out a scoff.

"You? You can read and write? That's impossible."

"Then why don't you test me? Not only read and write, I can do arithmetic," Ernest challenged.

Hollen stared at Ernest momentarily, assessing him. Where did he get the confidence that he could do what he had just declared? He knew Victor's son, it's like father and son. They were uneducated and poor. Sure there are churches teaching children but not to a proficient degree.

But, he was curious as well, to see if this kid can read and write and do basic arithmetics. Because if he could do that, then it's like finding a treasure. But if he is lying or fooling around, he'll kick him on the spot.

"Very well, let's test that skill of yours," Hollen said as he grabbed one parchment. "Come here, I want you to read this aloud."

Ernest slowly stepped closer toward the desk and grabbed the document.

The moment Ernest looked at the parchment closely, he immediately noticed how rough the handwriting was.

Honestly, it barely resembled the clean and organized writing styles taught in modern schools.

The ink spread unevenly across the paper while several letters looked cramped together. Some words slanted downward awkwardly as if the writer had been rushing while standing.

Merchant handwriting perhaps.

Or maybe a courier.

Still, Ernest could read enough of it.

Thankfully.

Because if he failed now after confidently challenging Hollen, he was absolutely getting thrown back downstairs hauling coal again.

He quietly inhaled before beginning.

"Order request from Merchant Calder…" Ernest read slowly.

Hollen remained silent.

Ernest continued.

"…delivery of twenty iron nails bundles delayed due to missing charcoal shipment from East River suppliers…remaining payment to be settled upon completion before Harvest Festival."

Then he lowered the parchment slowly.

Hollen stared at him.

Not mockingly anymore.

Actually staring at him.

The owner slowly straightened his posture afterward.

"…Again," he ordered.

This time, Ernest felt slightly more confident.

He grabbed another parchment from the desk and read it aloud as well.

Merchant requests.

Iron orders.

Delayed deliveries.

Inventory numbers.

He read it all fluently.

"You actually can read…" he muttered quietly.

Ernest carefully placed the parchment back onto the desk.

"Yes sir."

Hollen narrowed his eyes slightly afterward.

"Arithmetic too, you said?"

"Yes sir."

The owner immediately grabbed a spare parchment before quickly scribbling several numbers using ink.

"If one merchant orders twelve horseshoes and another orders nineteen, how many total?"

"Thirty-one."

Hollen immediately followed with another question.

"If each horseshoe costs three hundred riels, how much for all thirty-one?"

Ernest answered almost instantly.

"Nine thousand three hundred riels."

"Wait, how did you do that? How can you calculate so fast?"

"I'm a very talented person sir," Ernest said. "If you want, I can check your ledger to see if there are mistakes?"

Hollen stared at Ernest for several long seconds after hearing that suggestion.

"My ledger?"

Honestly, the owner sounded both suspicious and offended at the same time.

Which honestly made sense.

Accounting records were important.

Especially for businesses handling merchant contracts and expensive materials like iron and coal.

Still, curiosity slowly won over Hollen's pride.

The man eventually grabbed a thick leather-bound ledger resting near the edge of his desk before dropping it heavily in front of Ernest.

THUD.

Dust puffed upward slightly.

"Fine," Hollen muttered while crossing his arms. "Go ahead."

Ernest carefully opened the ledger afterward.

The moment he saw the contents, his engineering and analytical instincts immediately activated.

The bookkeeping system was primitive.

Very primitive.

There were no standardized tables.

No structured columns.

No balance tracking systems.

Everything was handwritten in long flowing entries mixed together across pages.

Material deliveries.

Merchant orders.

Labor payments.

Coal purchases.

Iron stock counts.

All crammed together inconsistently.

Some pages tracked quantities using bundles while others used weight estimates.

Actually, from an operations management perspective, this was a disaster.

Then suddenly, Ernest stopped at one page.

"Hm."

Hollen immediately narrowed his eyes.

"What?"

Ernest pointed toward several entries.

"These numbers don't match."

The owner frowned slightly before stepping closer.

"What are you talking about?"

Ernest pointed carefully.

"Here."

He tapped one merchant delivery record.

"This says Merchant Calder ordered twenty bundles of iron nails."

Then another line below.

"But the inventory deduction here only removed sixteen bundles worth of iron."

Hollen blinked slightly.

Ernest continued.

"And this charcoal purchase…"

He flipped another page.

"You recorded two large coal deliveries from East River suppliers."

Another page flipped.

"But furnace fuel consumption records only account for one shipment."

Now Hollen's expression changed completely.

The owner quickly grabbed the ledger himself before scanning the pages.

"…Wait."

He flipped back and forth repeatedly now.

Then his eyes widened slightly.

"By the gods."

Hollen suddenly looked back toward Ernest sharply.

"How did you notice that?"

"I'm a very talented person sir," Ernest simply replied.

Hollen slowly sat back down afterward while still gripping the ledger tightly.

"Do you know how much money these mistakes could cost me?"

Actually? Potentially a lot. Lost inventory, undetected theft, incorrect merchant billing, production inefficiencies, and material waste.

"So did I pass?"

Hollen sighed. "You pass."

...

Hearing that, Ernest was relieved he passed the test despite how basic it was.

"Okay, let's now talk about the compensation," Ernest began. "My father earns roughly 8 thousand to 10 thousand riel per month. For someone of my talent, and the potential to fix your messy record, I want to know how much you are willing to pay me."

The moment those words left Ernest's mouth, Hollen stared at him in disbelief.

Then the owner suddenly laughed.

Not a small chuckle either.

An actual laugh.

"You negotiate too?"

Honestly, Ernest could not blame him for reacting that way.

An eleven-year-old laborer's son standing inside a forge office while discussing wages and compensation like some merchant clerk sounded ridiculous in this world.

Still, Ernest remained calm.

Because back on Earth, negotiating value was normal.

Especially in engineering and business environments.

Hollen leaned back against his chair while shaking his head slightly.

"By the gods… what did that church teach you?"

"Useful things apparently," Ernest replied.

That actually made Hollen snort again.

The owner crossed his arms afterward while studying him carefully.

"You know most grown men here would just accept whatever I offer?"

Ernest believed that immediately.

People trapped in poverty rarely possessed bargaining power.

Especially laborers.

But Ernest also understood something Hollen clearly noticed already.

He was valuable.

Very valuable.

A literate worker alone already held worth.

A literate worker capable of identifying accounting inconsistencies and inventory discrepancies?

That was even rarer.

Hollen eventually sighed before opening the ledger again.

"Your father earns around nine thousand riels on average," he muttered. "Sometimes slightly more if merchant orders are high."

Hollen tapped the desk lightly afterward.

"You're still a child."

Fair.

"But…"

The owner glanced toward the chaotic pile of merchant records again.

"…you're also useful."

"Twelve thousand riels monthly."

Ernest immediately calculated internally.

Roughly thirty percent higher than Victor's wage. But it's still too low.

"Come on sir, you can do better than that," Ernest said. "Is that really what you have to offer for someone of my skillsets?"

"Look kid, just because you can read and write and do quick arithmetic doesn't mean I'll have to pay you like some noble accountant."

Hollen's tone became firmer afterward.

"You still have no experience."

That was fair.

From Hollen's perspective, Ernest was still an eleven-year-old child who suddenly revealed unexpected skills out of nowhere.

Useful?

Yes.

Proven reliable long-term?

Not yet.

Still, Ernest pushed further.

"But I already found multiple inconsistencies in your ledger within minutes," he pointed out. "And based on your reaction earlier, those mistakes could've cost you a lot of money."

Hollen clicked his tongue softly.

The fact that he did not deny it immediately already told Ernest enough.

The owner leaned back heavily against his chair afterward while rubbing his forehead again.

"You really don't know when to stop talking."

"That's because I know my value."

Hollen could not even fully refute it.

Because Ernest already demonstrated abilities far beyond ordinary workers downstairs.

The owner narrowed his eyes slightly afterward.

"You think reading numbers suddenly makes you irreplaceable?"

"No sir."

Ernest shook his head calmly.

"But I think losing inventory and merchant records costs more than paying me properly."

Silence.

Actually, from a business standpoint, Ernest was correct.

Even simple inventory discrepancies could snowball into operational losses over time.

Especially in metalworking industries where raw material costs mattered heavily.

A forge constantly leaking resources through poor recordkeeping would eventually bleed money.

Hollen clearly understood that too.

The man drummed his fingers lightly against the desk while thinking.

"Okay, how about eighteen thousand riels? That's twice the salary of your father. Plus, if you prove yourself useful in the coming days, I might consider raising your salary. How about that?"

Ernest stayed quiet for several seconds after hearing the offer.

Eighteen thousand riels.

For an ordinary commoner in this world, that amount was already extremely high.

Twice Victor's salary.

And Victor practically destroyed his body daily inside the forge to earn his wages.

"Okay, that seems like a fair offer. I can accept that. So do we have a contract that will bind our agreement?" Ernest asked.

The moment he said that, Hollen stared at him again.

"…A contract?"

"Yes sir," he said calmly. "Something written. So both sides clearly understand the terms."

Hollen leaned back against his chair again while studying him carefully.

"You really think like a merchant."

"I do."

Hollen rubbed his chin slightly afterward.

"We normally don't bother writing contracts for workers."

"That's because most workers can't read," Ernest replied.

That immediately shut the owner up for a moment.

Fair point.

Hollen eventually snorted softly.

"By the gods, you really don't act like Victor's son."

If only you knew, Ernest thought internally.

"I can't prepare anything yet so how about we do the signing tomorrow? I'll draft the contract today and tomorrow you'll sign and then you can start."

Ernest whistled. "That's even better."