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. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

"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?"