Waking up from his bed with enough satisfaction to yawn widely, he was greeted by the noise of the occupants of bustling Kargoth residential areas. Though the big market square was still far ahead, there were still few vendors around. He was not even fully awake, and yet he could hear the loud distant noices of cart wheels grinding stone, and someone closeby arguing about some shipment record tallies before the day had even properly begun. For a moment, he forgot where he was.
But looking at the cracked, water-strained ceiling above him reminded him of the miserable life he had found himself ever since the day before.
'Right.'
He was still in the different world, carrying a different body. It was becoming more of his reality now. He stared at the oversized sleeve covering half his hand. It was not what he had gotten used to very well. He even had difficulties stretching his feeble body throughout the night.
Oh, he even remembered waking up at the middle of the night to pee outside the lodging. It was then he met something unexpectedly, which startled him down to his senses. The whole world seemed less of the usual dark night he expected, and instead looked more of a day without the direct sunlight. At that moment last night, he had forgotten what he came outside to do. His... his head couldn't contain it all anymore!
... Because why the hell would a single world brimming with humans possess two moons?
In his reflection about lastnight, his stomach growled again. He had expected to meet darkness outside, only to see one small pale bluish moon and a larger silver moon hanging on the dark sky...
'Okay, that's enough. Last night's gone.' He shrugged off the memory as he swung his legs off the bed carefully. His body still felt fragile though. The bread was what he ate yesterday... what this body ate yesterday. And he had purchased that small loaf with money... so if he was gonna eat food, not just food, but sufficient food today, he needed money first.
He splashed his face with water from the cracked basin. It was cold enough to make him inhale sharply. He turned his face and looked up at the mirror before him. The face in the cracked mirror still startled him slightly.
"You're stuck with me," he muttered to it. It turned out that it was not going to be easy getting quite acquainted with this horrible face. He needed to feed it to keep its sinister appearance away.
He left the lodging with the intention of looking for a random work. Anything would suffice, as long as there's income.
Coming outside, his eyes were fed by with the familiar vista of the Victorian-Era world again. Walking by a side of the street, he was observing the day's activities, in the hope to find something doing. Vendors were setting up their markets in orderly rows, and carts would occasionally enter from and to the eastern road. Also with the way he saw things among the guards posted at various points, they were obviously rotating positions every few hours. Sound of metalworks were heard farther west, where the smoke thickened in the sky. Then the smell of bread assaulted his nostrils unannounced again. What a pitiful reminder that he needed to get a work quickly! Because he was getting more of these loafs, the soft ones this time. His hungry self was almost relishing in a meal that wasn't even bought yet.
'When did I ever become like this?'
He then stood at the edge of the main road, scanning the activities going on some distance away. Men were unloading crates from a heavy wagon stamped with a crest, which carried an insignia of crossed hammers over a crown. Below the insignia read Blackforge.
'Blackforge? What does that represent?'
He sighted two men struggling with a crate near the back of the crate loads.
'Here's an opportunity.' Without hesitation, he approached the two struggling men.
"Need help?" he asked as soon as he got there.
One of them looked him over, straining his veins as he kept struggling with the heavy load.
"Can you lift?"
"Ofc–" But then he abruptly stopped his speech midway. He looked at himself and thought for a few seconds.
"I can try."
However, the second struggling man snorted.
"Trying doesn't move iron."
But still yet, he stepped aside for him.
"Lift from that end."
He followed his instruction without any response. The crate... was heavier than expected!
'Argh! Not giving up!' His arms began trembling almost immediately he joined in lifting the load.
'Don't you dare drop it. Don't embarrass yourself. Or no sweet bread today!'
He adjusted his grip and pushed upward with more resolve, putting more power into his lower body.
'Better.'
They had successfully moved it together onto a dolly. That didn't stop the first man from grunting approvingly though.
"Not useless then."
Hearing that, he appreciated the comment and was happy that he'd help lift more.
'Not useless.' That felt like progress to him.
The three of them continued the strenous unloading of crates after crates and in the process, his hands were gradually getting burned. Even his shoulders were screaming pain, but he was not going to stop because of mere pain.
As time went on continuing in this strenous task, sweat accumulated into the oversized shirt, clinging to his back. That though, was not going to make him stop. If he stopped, someone else would take his place. And he would have to walk a long distance before seeing an opportunity like this. So, he was not giving this up. Never!
After nearly an hour, one of the men placed a bank note into his palm.
"For the hour."
He received it with appreciation.
"Thank you." However, he was stunningly overjoyed.
'A note!'
This was his first time receiving a note! This was a huge progress for him! With joy welling up his face, he read the inscriptions written on the note bill. The writings were strange to him, but weirdly enough, he could read and decipher them easily.
'Central Iron Crown Bank. One Dosh.' The Dosh sigh was two strokes on a strange letter that looked similar to the letter D. According to his calculations and based on his spending on the previous day, five smaller coins equals one bigger coin. And a hundred bigger coins equal one Dosh!
But then again, he saw the man sharing many Dosh notes with the other. Before he could call onto them, the men had already turned away.
He stared at the Dosh note briefly, feeling disappointed in the men. Though the note was a big amount for him, he received an unfair reward. He was cheated, and that was the fact. Anyway, he was satisfied with this he had for now, at least. And this didn't mean he had ended the work for the day. He could eat the loads of food later.
He moved toward another cart, and then another. And another, and another. Soon, he fell into the rhythm.
Lift, carry and stack. In the process of the day's work, he avoided the carts and guards. Even when some men came to instill arguments so as to extort some money from the workers, he didn't indulge in the arguments. And he didn't need attention from anyone.
Around midday in the middle of work, someone behind him suddenly called out.
"Oi, Anvil!"
He was not going to answer, but his instincts were sharply telling him that he was the one being referred to. Still doubting, he dropped the crate from his grip and turned his head slowly. And there, a broad-shouldered man with a scar across his jaw was waving at him from beside a different stack of crates.
"You deaf or pretending?" the man called out. "Get over here." However, his own mind was racing.
'Anvil... so that's—'
He walked over carrying a neutral facade, pretending not to look confused.
"Yes?"
The man frowned slightly.
"You hit your head or something? You were hauling with us last week."
'Last week...'
He... Anvil, forced a neutral expression.
"Right. Just… didn't hear you properly."
The man shrugged.
"Help with these. Same rate as last time's."
... And that was how he learned... that the owner of this body had already been working here.
Anvil.
Then why was he found begging by the roadside?
He almost asked the man to repeat it, just to hear it again, but that would look suspicious.
Instead, he nodded and kept the name to his mind.
After exchanging pleasantries, they worked in silence for a while. Then the man spoke casually.
"You hear the talk?"
"What talk?" Anvil asked carefully.
"About you."
Anvil's grip tightened slightly on the crate.
"What about me?"
The man smirked.
"They say you've got the wrong sort of name."
Anvil didn't know what to say to that.
"The Anvils," the man continued, lowering his voice slightly. "Up in Ironhold. The big family that controls factories, rail, and even half the southern trade routes."
Ironhold... that seemed like the name of another nearby city. He stored that name away.
"And?" Anvil asked.
"And," the man shrugged, "folks think you're some stray branch. An illegitimate sort of stuff. You know what I mean."
Anvil almost laughed at that.
"If I were from a big family," he said dryly, "would I be here?"
The man grinned. "Fair point."
According to this man, the Anvils were a vast family. They were very influential in most parts of Ironhold.
And he shared the name.
Was that a mere coincidence? Was it?
Now feeling a hint of suspicion, Anvil doubted that anything was coincidence anymore. After they were done discussing, they resumed the work of lifting and carrying until late afternoon.
By late afternoon, they were both exhausted. But still, he stayed. He wanted... needed to earn more.
When it was near sunset, a thin merchant with sharp eyes approached the two of them.
"You there," the merchant said, pointing towards Anvil. "Carry these to West Lane. I'll pay double the usual."
'Double?'
His senses sharpened on hearing this.
"I'll do it," Anvil said almost immediately.
His friend didn't drag the task with him. He wasn't the one being called anyway.
The crates weren't too heavy individually, but there were many, and so the stress of carrying each of them would surely accumulate after conveying them all. Lifting the loads, he loaded them onto a handcart and began pushing with all his strength. His oversized shirt was now drenched in sweat that he had to squeeze out some sweats at some point.
West Lane though, was farther than he expected. After throes of pushing and pushing, he finally reached the destination. It was a storage building with faded red doors. The merchant came over and unlocked its doors.
"Inside," he instructed after opening the doors.
Anvil, now tired from the strain of the day, managed to carry the crates in, one by one. When he finished, he wiped plenty sweat from his forehead.
"That'll be double," he said cautiously.
The merchant didn't even respond him and instead tossed a bag into his palms.
"C-coins?" Anvil was shocked. He traced the amount of coins in the bags and... these coins weren't even up to the standard rate of one Dosh!
"Are you kidding m–"
"–boy, I knew what I counted. Now, get out." The merchant said as he lighted a cigarette in his mouth.
'I must have made a wrong estimate, haha.'
Anvil didn't argue any longer and stepped outside the building. On getting outside, he opened the small cloth bag and recounted the coins... he suddenly felt his stomach churn.
'Half a Dosh!'
The total coins he counted were half a Dosh, not even up to the standard price! Is that a fraud strategy now?
Fuming with frustrated anger, he turned back toward the building. Unfortunately, the red doors were already locked.
'Just now?'
However, Anvil was not going to accept defeat so easily. This was the second time in a day, his first day of work here in this strange world. He angrily knocked the door continuously, but only the damp echo of his knocks were what responded. No one opened up. This was very brutal. It pained him to the bones. He worked his body, soul and mind into this. At least the merchant should be benevolent enough to behold his body condition.
His jaw tightened as he felt pained deeply in his heart.
He had been cheated twice on his first work day. Was this a sign, or was this the way the world here works?
If that is the case, then most people involved in these fraudulent activities were probably first victims of these frauds. The world must have taught a lot of them to respond with the same brutality.
But he was not going to be a part to this. He was not going to let the brutal forge of this world remould him. No matter what, even if he was in an entirely different world or if he was now a different personality entirely. He felt so pained, but it wasn't about the amount anyways. He was learning the process of how things worked here. He was learning the styles of the world.
He concluded that as long as humans were the inhabitants of the world, they were bound to be naturally wicked. Whether a different world or not.
He was not going to blame anybody. Some people could take up this chance to become revengers, but he would not. He would keep striving until... until he gets back to his real world, maybe. He didn't know for now.
Anvil stood there longer than necessary. He was feeling extremely disappointed, angry and sad. His anger flared up sharply, but they were useless.
But then his senses reminded him that he was merely a labourer. He could shout or cause a scene, but what then? A beggar laborer accusing a merchant? He'd lose. There's no doubt about it. He could even get jailed for that reason if he considered their reactions.
He exhaled slowly. He had learnt his lesson. He was not ever going to accept vague promises. It was now going to be payment before service. He turned away sadly. It was good that he knew the city wasn't kind to anyone to labourers like him. It only rewarded attention.
As he walked back toward the market district, the sky darkened gradually. And there they were again.
The two moons he saw last night slowly erupted out of the horizon, which made the sky appear with a colourful bluish hue mixed with the pale silvery brightness of the bigger moon.
The moons... seemed slightly closer than yesterday. He stopped briefly to look, because he noticed it.
"Anvil!" someone shouted from further down the street.
He flinched and looked away from the sky, toward the voice. But he saw nobody.
'Who called?'
As he did, he heard two merchants arguing nearby. He moved closer to listen in on their argument.
"Shipment's delayed," one muttered. "Ironhold's tightening inspections."
"They can't afford to," the other replied. "Southern routes are their lifeline. Frostgate won't wait forever."
He could hear three names. Ironhold, the name of the city he heard earlier... Frostgate.... Southern routes... those meant trade routes, don't they? And trade routes in this world meant movement. This was an opportunity. An opportunity for him to escape, he thought.
But escape what? The world could actually cntain the same brutality everywhere. He suddenly didn't know why that thought felt important. But it somehow did.
Returning to his lodging, he placed the coins on a small desk he hadn't noticed on his first arrival here, and counted them carefully. He earned quite a substantial amount of money, enough to subtly transform his lifestyle for the mean time.
Three Dosh notes, twelve shillings and five shards of total coins. The bigger coins meant shillings. The smaller coins were shards. The shards were too insignificant, so he was going to give them out as alms.
'That sounds ironic.'
By evaluating his earnings generally, he had earned much more than the single shilling coin of yesterday. He laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling again.
"Anvil," he murmured quietly. That's the name he was being referred to for now.
Outside, somewhere in the distance, a long low train whistle blew. It was heading south of Kargoth toward Ironhold.
He then closed his eyes. Tomorrow, he would work smarter. Because if Ironhold controlled the central routes leading to Frostgate,
And the Anvils were very influential across Ironhold…
Then sharing their name might not stay harmless forever.
Therefore, he was also beginning to understand something about Kargoth city. It was like a grinder that grounds patiently.
And anything caught between its gears either hardened…
Or broke.