"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.

...

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.

...

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.