Building the First Industrial Empire in Another World

A day later, in the morning. Victor and Ernest were in the office of Mr. Hollen and Hollen was staring at the two.

"What is this all about? Why is your father here?" Hollen asked, looking at Ernest.

"My father here wants to understand the situation better," Ernest replied calmly.

The situation became awkward the moment Victor insisted on coming along this morning.

At first, Ernest planned to handle everything himself.

But after last night’s conversation, Victor clearly remained unconvinced about the whole office arrangement.

Which honestly made sense.

From his perspective, his son worked one day inside the forge and suddenly got summoned upstairs by the owner himself.

That sounded suspicious no matter how you looked at it.

Victor stood quietly near the office door with his arms crossed.

Compared to the organized office space, his soot-stained work clothes and rough appearance looked completely out of place here.

The difference between laborers and management became painfully obvious upstairs again.

Meanwhile downstairs workers were probably already sweating beside roaring furnaces this early in the morning.

Hollen leaned back slightly against his chair afterward while looking between father and son.

Then finally, the owner sighed.

"Fine."

He gestured toward the chairs.

"Sit."

Victor hesitated briefly before carefully sitting down.

Ernest noticed something subtle immediately.

Victor looked uncomfortable inside the office. Not physically but socially.

Like he did not belong here.

Hollen grabbed the signed parchment from yesterday afterward before placing it atop the desk.

"Your son demonstrated literacy and arithmetic skills yesterday."

Victor immediately frowned.

"He really can read?"

Even now the man still sounded doubtful.

Hollen snorted softly.

"Better than half the merchants I deal with."

That definitely caught Victor off guard.

The man blinked once before slowly looking toward Ernest.

Meanwhile Hollen continued.

"He also identified inventory inconsistencies inside my ledger within minutes."

Now Victor looked genuinely confused.

"...Inventory?"

Ernest could practically see the gap in understanding here.

Victor spent years physically producing goods inside the forge.

But administrative systems?

Accounting?

Inventory tracking?

Those were completely different worlds.

Hollen tapped the ledger lightly afterward.

"Missing materials. Incorrect counts. Poor record organization."

The owner looked toward Ernest briefly.

"Your son noticed mistakes my previous clerk failed to catch."

Silence followed immediately afterward.

Victor stared at Ernest strangely now.

Not suspiciously anymore.

More like he genuinely did not know how to process this situation.

Because yesterday, Ernest was just another weak child laborer struggling to pump bellows.

Now suddenly?

The forge owner himself was praising his skills upstairs.

"...So what exactly will he do?"

"Office work," Hollen answered directly.

"Inventory records. Merchant requests. Basic arithmetic. Organizing ledgers."

Then the owner narrowed his eyes slightly.

"And when needed, he’ll still assist downstairs."

Fair compromise honestly.

Hollen eventually grabbed another parchment before sliding it across the desk toward Victor.

"I already prepared a written agreement."

Victor immediately looked startled.

"A written... agreement?"

Even contracts themselves probably felt unusual for ordinary workers like him.

Most laborers likely relied entirely on verbal arrangements.

Hollen crossed his arms afterward.

"Your son insisted on it."

That earned Ernest another stare from Victor.

At this point, Ernest probably looked like a completely different person compared to the original Ernest his parents remembered.

Still, Victor slowly picked up the parchment afterward.

And while the man could not fully read the contents himself...

He carefully traced the written signature near the bottom anyway.

Ernest Teucher.

His son’s name.

"So he’ll just sign it and he’ll work under you in this room?"

"That’s exactly it, his salary though will be higher than yours since he is more useful upstairs than downstairs," Hollen finished bluntly.

The room suddenly became quiet again afterward.

more useful upstairs than downstairs," Hollen finished bluntly.

The room suddenly became quiet again afterward.

Hollen leaned back slightly against his chair afterward.

"Eighteen thousand riels monthly."

Silence.

Complete silence.

Victor genuinely froze.

Even Ernest noticed Hollen watching Victor carefully now.

Probably expecting disbelief.

The reaction was justified.

Victor himself only earned around nine thousand riels monthly after years of furnace labor and physical exhaustion.

Meanwhile Ernest secured double that amount after a single day.

The contrast honestly sounded absurd even to modern Ernest.

Victor slowly looked toward Ernest afterward.

"...Eighteen?"

Ernest suddenly felt slightly guilty.

Because sitting inside a cooler office organizing ledgers while earning twice his father’s salary after one day probably sounded deeply unfair from Victor’s perspective.

And technically?

It was.

But that was also the brutal reality of skill value.

Knowledge scaled differently from physical labor.

One skilled administrator could save businesses more money than several laborers physically produced.

Even in modern industries, engineers, accountants, and managers often earned far more than factory workers despite doing less physically demanding work.

Hollen suddenly spoke again while pointing toward the ledger.

"Your son’s skills potentially save me money."

Then toward the forge downstairs.

"A strong laborer can be replaced but with a mind like your son, it’s rare. So are you ready to sign the contract?"

Victor slowly looked toward Ernest after hearing that question and eventually gave a slow nod.

"...If you think he’s truly useful upstairs, then let him work there."

Hollen grunted softly afterward before sliding the parchment across the desk toward Ernest again.

"Then sign it properly."

Slowly, Ernest picked up the pen, which was a feather pen and dipped the tip on the ink. Seconds later, he signed.