"Huff…Huff."
In order to survive in this new world, Ernest has to resort to the old ways, and that is working manually. Despite his youthful appearance in this new body, the work was grueling, especially for someone who had only recently been a frail, elderly man. The transition from being bedridden to handling heavy, physical labor took a toll on him, but Ernest was determined to adapt and survive.
He secured a job as a construction worker, a role crucial in the post-war rebuilding efforts in Crentis. The city was littered with debris and ruined structures, and the workforce was urgently needed to clear rubble, repair roads, and reconstruct buildings. Every day, Ernest and his fellow workers faced the monumental task of piecing the city back together, brick by brick.
However, despite all the hards works, the salary was meager. Ernest earned just enough to scrape by each day. His daily wages could afford him a basic loaf of bread and a small cup of coffee, the simplest of meals to sustain him through the long hours of physical labor. There was nothing left after these essentials—no savings, just survival.
Shelter was another challenge. With funds too limited to afford proper accommodation and much of the city still in ruins, Ernest found himself seeking refuge in an abandoned building that had partially survived the bombing. The structure was dilapidated, with gaping holes in the walls and no running water or electricity. It provided minimal protection from the elements, but it was better than sleeping in the open streets.
Each night, Ernest would return to this makeshift shelter, his body aching from the day's work. He laid out a worn blanket on the cold, hard floor, where he would curl up to sleep. The nights were often cold, and the thin walls did little to keep out the chill. Ernest would wrap himself tightly, trying to preserve every bit of warmth as he rested and braced for another day.
Yet as the day passes by, the prices of commodities start to increase steadily. Inflation gripped the city, driven by the aftermath of war and the strain on the economy. Basic necessities became increasingly expensive, stretching Ernest's meager earnings even further. The cost of bread rose, making it harder for him to afford even the most fundamental sustenance. A cup of coffee, once a small comfort amidst the toil, now seemed like an extravagance.
"Yow Ernest, how about we spend our dime in the beer hall?"
Since he doesn't know the real name of the body he is possessing, he uses his previous name as his name here in this world.
He turned to his colleague, a burly man named Tom, who had suggested the visit to the beer hall.
"It's tempting, Tom, but I was thinking of saving the last of my money for something more important. The way prices are going up, who knows what we'll need it for tomorrow?"
Tom laughed heartily, a booming sound that momentarily drowned out the background noise of the construction site.
"Ernest, my friend, the food prices are rising every day. Tomorrow, we might not even afford a loaf of bread with what we earn. At least with beer, we know we're getting our money's worth today."
Ernest knew Tom was right in his own way. The economy was so unstable that today's wages might not buy half as much tomorrow. The thought of spending his hard-earned money on something as frivolous as beer was against his better judgment, but the promise of a brief respite from their grim reality was too appealing to dismiss outright.
"Alright, Tom," Ernest conceded reluctantly.
"Let's go then. A bit of a break might do us some good."
The two men dusted off their clothes as best they could and made their way to the nearby beer hall. It was a modest establishment, frequented by other workers like themselves, looking for a momentary escape. The hall was filled with the thick aroma of malt and hops, and…it was loud!
"Ah rabble-rousers," Tom grumbled as they approached a small stage at one end of the hall. A man in a black suit stood at a podium, his voice barely audible over the chatter and laughter of the patrons. Ernest and Tom found a spot near the back, their beers in hand, as they turned their attention to the speaker.
The man was gesturing broadly, his face earnest but his delivery lacking any real conviction or flair. "And so, my friends, we must come together, unite as one... um, force. A force that will, you know, propel us into, ah, a brighter, um, future," he stammered, his eyes flicking nervously to a sheaf of papers in front of him.
A few patrons near the stage listened half-heartedly, while others continued their conversations unabated, ignoring the speaker completely. The man's speech was disjointed, filled with pauses and repetitive phrases that did little to capture the audience's attention.
"Look at this guy," Tom whispered to Ernest, a smirk on his face. "He can't even string a sentence together without tripping over his own words."
Ernest nodded, his expression one of mild amusement mixed with pity. "It's tough to listen when the message gets lost in the delivery," he replied. They both sipped their beers, their attention drifting away from the faltering speaker.
The man in the black suit seemed to sense the disinterest of the crowd and attempted to inject some enthusiasm into his voice. "We face many challenges, yes, great challenges! But, um, together, we will overcome them because... because we are strong, yes, strong like, uh, like steel!" His voice rose slightly, but it was clear he was struggling.
A few patrons chuckled, not at the content of the speech but at the awkwardness of its presentation. Ernest watched as the man shuffled his papers, his face flushing with embarrassment.
"Maybe he has good ideas," Ernest commented quietly to Tom, "but he sure doesn't know how to sell them to his audience."
"Yeah," Tom agreed, taking another drink. "Poor guy. But what can you do? It's hard to listen to someone who can't make his point clear."
"Well, I may have an idea for that," Ernest said.
In his previous life, this is where he started his journey to power. From a beer hall, making a speech. In order to become a supreme ruler you must believe yourself that you can. Ernest is confident that he can achieve it, but confidence alone won't cut it. He needed followers and the people inside the beer hall could become his first allies.
With this thought in mind, Ernest pushed back his chair and strode towards the platform, an unexpected determination in his step. His previous life had given him ample experience in addressing a crowd, and now, instinctively, he felt it was his moment to command the room.
As he reached the stage, the man in the black suit glanced up, surprised by the sudden intrusion. Before he could react, Ernest gently but firmly took the microphone from his hand. The man stepped back, bewildered but unresisting, as Ernest turned to face the audience.
"May I have your attention, gentlemen."