Ernest gasped for air as he jolted his upper body up straight. He looked around and found himself in a dark alley. 

"Where am I?" he muttered a question to himself. Earlier, he was on his bed, bidding farewell to his loved ones as his death grew near. Yet when he closed his eyes, he suddenly felt a sensation that prompted him to open his eyes and find himself in this mysterious place. 

He looked down below and saw that his body was different. He knew because that was not his body. He was 92 years old yet what he was seeing was that of a body of a seemingly teenage man dressed in a military uniform and a thin constitution. 

"What's happening?" he uttered with a groan. He tried standing up and it wasn't easy. It's like the body has no energy at all. Yet he persisted and managed to stand up.

As Ernest stepped out of the dark alley, he immediately noticed the extensive damage that surrounded him. The buildings bore the scars of war, with their structures pockmarked from shrapnel and large sections of walls missing, likely blasted away by bombs. Windows were shattered or absent, with only jagged glass remaining in the twisted metal frames. 

The street was lined with people queuing for food from a truck. The individuals in line wore expressions of resignation; their clothing was functional and threadbare. Old-fashioned cars navigated the rubble-strewn streets. The engines of these vehicles coughed and sputtered, yet they continued to serve as a lifeline for the city's inhabitants, transporting goods and people through the war-torn landscape.

And one thing he noticed was their hair. They are all white! Is it some sort of dye? Or a fashion trend? Yet it doesn't look artificial, rather it looks natural.

Based on his surroundings, he deduced he was in the world during a second industrial revolution era. It looked like he had transmigrated to another world. 

As for the body he is now possessing, there's no available data on him. There are no memories to access to figure out who it belonged to prior to his transmigration. 

Well, he died and transmigrated, at least from that he should be grateful.

Walking out of the alley, he bumped into a child who was running across his path, chasing after a worn-out soccer ball. The child skidded to a stop, staring up at Ernest with wide, curious eyes. He was a young boy, no older than eight, with the same stark white hair that Ernest had observed on everyone else. It cascaded over his forehead, untouched by any hint of youth's usual color.

Ernest cleared his throat, bending down to the child's level. "Excuse me," he started cautiously. "Could you tell me where I am? And what country is this?"

Information gathering was crucial at this point. He needed to know where he was and act accordingly.

The boy looked puzzled, his brow furrowing as he glanced up at Ernest's military uniform. 

"You're a soldier, aren't you? How do you not know where you are?" he asked confusedly. But after a brief pause, he shrugged and answered anyway, "This is Crentia, the capital of the Kingdom of Crentis. Today's date is May 15, 1945."

Ernest's mind reeled. None of this made sense—the place, the date, none of it aligned with his last memories. 

"Then why is everything in ruins?" 

"Are you out of your mind sir? We just lost the war, of course, the city is in ruins," the boy replied, almost matter-of-factly, as if explaining something very obvious. He then quickly turned his attention back to his soccer ball, giving it a kick and chasing after it, leaving Ernest to process the information.

Ernest stood still for a moment, absorbing the harsh reality that had been so casually laid out by a child. The Kingdom of Crentis had just lost a war, which explained the widespread devastation, the ration lines, and the weary expressions of its people.

How nostalgic, this is where he rose from power and became the supreme ruler of an empire that dominated the entire world in his previous life. 

Ernest asked another passerby. In order for them not to get confused, he'd say that he had lost his memories and wanted to catch up with today's news and understand the current situation. The passerby, an elderly man with a gentle demeanor, paused and took a moment to assess Ernest's sincere expression before he began explaining.

"The Empire of Crentis was defeated by coalition forces," he explained and continued. "In the west, we faced the Kingdom of Fontaine, an island empire north of Francois, and the Albion Empire. To the east, the vast Empire of Orosz stretched its influence, while across the sea, the United States of Fredonia played a pivotal role. To the south, we were pressed by the Kingdom of Sicilia. Our only ally, the Empire of Danubia to the south, suffered a similar fate."

The man sighed deeply, continuing, "After the surrender, the terms imposed on Crentis were severe. Under the Treaty of Fontaine, our empire was forced to relinquish all colonial territories, pay enormous reparations, and severely reduce our military capabilities. We're now restricted to a standing army of just 100,000 men, and we are forbidden from maintaining an air force."

He looked around, gesturing to the surrounding destruction. "Many of our border regions were carved up to create new nations — Polonia, Magyar, Bohemia, Slovenia, and Dacia — as buffer states to prevent future conflicts."

Ernest listened intently, absorbing every piece of information. The geopolitical landscape was drastically different from anything in his past life's history. This was a new world, with new rules, and he was starting at a point of great disadvantage.

"What about the leadership? Who holds office?" Ernest asked.

"The Empire of Crentis is an autocratic state so all powers were centralized, but now, we're transitioning to a constitutional monarchy. The royal family still holds a ceremonial role, but real political power is shifting to a parliamentary system."

That's all the information he needed. 

"Thank you for answering my question sir," Ernest said. It was a rare display of gratitude for him as he never said those words to someone else before. "I will take my leave now sir." 

Walking down the streets, an idea dawned on him. This is a fresh start to his new life. And he doesn't want to remain in a pitiful state. He missed the fame, glory, and power he had once in his previous life. No, rather than missing it, he was addicted to it. 

That's it! He is going to rise to power once again.