My foot stepped onto the ground outside the threshold. This was the first time I truly saw this world with my own eyes. Not just a flash from Friedrich's memories or a limited view from the window.
The biting spring air immediately ambushed me. Honestly, it was colder and damper than I'd expected. I quickly pulled Friedrich's thick, dark brown wool jacket tighter around me.
The fabric was coarse and had a distinct smell. A mix of fireplace smoke, old sweat, and something like linseed oil. But at least it was warm.
The temperature outside seemed no more than ten degrees. My very breath condensed into thin white mist.
I turned slowly. My eyes swept across the surroundings.
The houses along this street were mostly made of stone and wood. Large stones stacked neatly. Cemented with white mortar that was peeling in places.
The wood was dark and sturdy. It looked capable of withstanding time far longer than many lightweight panel houses in my old world.
Thick thatched roofs. Some were blackened at the peaks. There was an ancient strength here. Something that felt more resilient than the materials inside modern buildings.
People passed by. The majority of men wore tunics reaching down to their knees or thighs. Layered with vests. With tight trousers tied off below the knee.
Wide-brimmed hats adorned most heads. Women in simple long dresses. High collars. Somber colors: mud brown, stone gray, faded forest green.
Almost no bright colors. From what I remembered of market chatter Friedrich had overheard, light-colored fabric cost a fortune. Several Thalers. An impossible price for most people here.
But there were a few different men. They wore long coats down to their knees. Buttons tightly fastened from neck to waist. Pure black.
The cuts were neat, almost elegant. Similar to the Victorian-era style I'd seen in history books or movies with a similar theme.
I started walking. My feet, in leather boots with thinning soles, trod on the road surface here. It seemed like a mix of gravel, dirt, and something resembling asphalt.
Wet and slippery.
My eyes kept moving. Catching every detail like a hungry camera. It was like watching a documentary about the Age of Enlightenment. But seeing it firsthand, it felt far from "enlightened."
It still felt very... medieval.
The streets were filled with puddles of dirty water standing in the hollows of the stones. Trash like food scraps, pottery shards, torn cloth littered the edges. Mixed with mud.
The smell of wood smoke billowed from hundreds of chimneys. Creating a layer of grayish haze in the air. That smell mixed with other, less pleasant aromas. Animal dung. Something rotting. And human sweat.
As someone from a modern city with sewage systems and waste management, this sight and smell made me a little nauseous.
But beneath that discomfort, there was a strange acceptance. Clearly, this was due to Friedrich's memories. Making all of this feel ordinary, even familiar.
I kept walking, a strange feeling creeping up my spine.
It was like time travel.
Pictures of old European cities from textbooks came to life before my eyes. Horse-drawn wooden carts rolled past. The drivers shouting something.
Shops with simple wooden signs. Selling everyday goods. People in worn-out clothing walked with their own purposes.
My eyes darted around. Staring in every direction like a tourist just off the boat.
Then I saw them. Two old men with thick beards. Sitting on a wooden bench in front of a shop whose window was full of bread in various shapes.
"By the way, did you hear that the Parish Priest found Leopold... flayed?" The old man gossiped seriously while deeply engrossed in his game.
Between them, there was a wooden board with lines and squares. They were throwing small wooden dice. Moving pieces.
Dice. A board. Properties?
My heart pounded. That... actually looked a lot like Monopoly.
"How can this exist?" I whispered to myself. "Why would it be here?"
My head was filled with jostling questions. But before the confusion could turn into panic, a memory emerged calmly. Like an answer that had been waiting.
Quasi e Acquista. A board game popularized by Woland around sixteen hundred years ago.
The way to play was similar. Roll dice. Move. Buy "territories" instead of properties. Just the name and a few rules were different.
I sighed. Processing that information. Woland again.
The man whose name was used for the calendar. He also created a board game? This world was truly strange and astonishing.
I guessed it was due to cultural evolution or something. Maybe. Because it didn't really make sense for a board game that could only exist if capitalism were running to be here, unless there was some interference.
I decided to ignore that oddity for now. I had my own purpose at the moment.
These feet kept walking. Passing by everyday scenes. Houses with smoking chimneys. Children running around with simple wooden toys.
A drunk young man lay in a gutter. Mumbling deliriously. A woman in a dress too thin for this weather stood on a corner. Her eyes searching. Smiling thinly at passing men.
I quickly looked away.
Finally, the crowd began to thicken. The noise grew louder. I arrived at a more open area. The city center, or at least the main market.
"Come see our fresh fish!" shouted a merchant with a cart full of fish whose eyes were still clear.
"Warm bread to keep you going all day! Only 1 Pfennig, buy from us!" a fat woman with a stained apron yelled. Holding up a round loaf that was still steaming.
"Freshly picked, fine vegetables!"
"Potatoes, Potatoes, Potatoes! The best from Animburg!"
Street vendors lined up. Their voices competed, filling the air. Some passersby stopped. Examined the goods carefully. Haggled over prices.
Others walked quickly. Faces serious. Maybe workers running late. Some men stood at the edge. Wearing their best clothes neatly pressed coats. Hats pressed down, waving their hands or holding small boards that read "Hard Worker Seeking Employment."
I inhaled the air, now thick with the smell of fish, bread, sweat, and horse manure. I looked down. Tried not to make eye contact.
A few vendors approached. Enthusiastically offering their wares. I just shook my head quickly. Kept walking.
My hand reached into my jacket pocket. Made sure the four Pfennig coins were still there. My fingers pressed on the coins through the fabric.
In a crowd like this, there were bound to be thieves. I saw some children in tattered clothes with eyes too old for their age lurking among the crowd. Their hands were quick and slick.
Then a sound emerged among the market cries. A song. A hoarse man's voice. Accompanied by the simple strumming of an instrument like a small guitar.
"Es braust der Ruf aus Lawe's Hall, wie Sturm und Eis am Julitikwall: Zum Lanitum, zum alten Rhein! Was will das Erbe, treu und fein?"
(The call resounds from Lawe's Hall, like storm and ice at Julitikwall: To Lanitum, to the old Rhine! What will the heritage, loyal and fine?)
The lyrics were in Rethian. But the melody... sounded like a military march, which might indeed be popular in this era.
Based on Friedrich's memories, the title of this song was "Die Wacht am Rhein"?
This was a song about the unification of the Lahelu Empire. About Lawe with Emperor Van Kóck unifying Lanitum. About the Rhine. A patriotic song or historical chant.
The singer was an old, one-legged busker, continuing with the next verses. Fast tempo. Full of spirit. People threw coins into his upturned hat.
I walked past him. My eyes were drawn to a building in the distance.
A massive cathedral. Towering over the surrounding low buildings. Gothic style. With pointed spires. Stained glass windows, though from here they were just blurry colors.
On one of its towers, there was a large clock with many hands. An astronomical clock, I guessed?
But what caught my attention was the cross at the top of the tallest spire. Its shape was strange. The horizontal bar was indeed long. But there was another, shorter bar below it. Slanted.
And at its ends, there were small circles. Like symbols of the sun or the world. It wasn't an ordinary cross.
That symbol felt ancient. Foreign. And full of meaning I didn't understand. A brief shudder of unease jolted me. Like seeing something I wasn't supposed to know.
But then, a label appeared calmly in my mind. It was the emblem of the Glaubenkirche and the Wahrheitskirche. The symbol of salvation and sacrifice.
That's how people here understood it. I sighed. Chased away that strange feeling. Different religion, different symbol. Of course.
I looked away from the cathedral. Focused ahead.
At the end of the street, after passing through the sea of market crowds, there was a complex of more magnificent buildings. The stones were large. Neatly cut. A solid light gray color.
The architecture was different. Cleaner. More planned. Similar to the noble houses or government buildings I'd seen in paintings.
There was an open courtyard surrounded by low iron fences. And to the right of that complex, a large wooden sign was displayed with intricate lettering.
Compagnie Maritime de Weimar.
That's when I realized. My breath became shorter. Not because of the cold air or the smell. But because this was real.
A job interview.
Even in another world. I, had to do a job interview!
My feet felt heavy as I stepped closer to the complex gate. But I kept walking. Because in any world, the first step to survival is getting a job.
After a few steps through the courtyard filled with fine gravel, I finally found the main building of the Compagnie Maritime de Weimar.
The building was taller than the others. With a large, simply carved wooden door and tall paneled windows.
I took a deep breath. The cold air stung my lungs. Then I pushed open the heavy door.
The sound of low creaking hinges. I entered.
The atmosphere changed drastically. The cold outside was replaced by warmth emanating from a large fireplace in the corner of the room.
But the first thing that caught my attention wasn't the warmth. It was the man sitting on a wooden bench right next to the door.
He was a guard. Stocky build. Filled the bench perfectly. A fierce face. With a square jaw and a nose like an eagle's beak.
His mustache was thick. Neatly trimmed. And the same color as his dark brown hair.
But the most striking feature was his eyes. They looked green, like moss on wet stone.
He wore a thick, dark green wool jacket. With shiny brass buttons. His large hands were folded in his lap.
Those green eyes looked at me instantly. His gaze was systematic. Starting from my muddy boots. Moving up to my thick cloth trousers. My brown jacket. Until finally meeting my eyes.
That process took about three seconds. Then he nodded. Once. Briefly.
"Name?"
His voice was deep. Echoed in this high-ceilinged room. He stared at me. Waiting. Without a smile or any expression.
I was startled for a few seconds. The question was simple. But it came too directly. Too without warning.
But I quickly realized. This was procedure. This was expected.
"Friedrich Wolff," I said. My voice sounded flatter than I expected. My blue eyes stared back at those green eyes. Trying not to blink.
"From where?" After scratching something in the small notebook he held, he immediately fired the next question. No pleasantries. No change in his upright posture at all.
"Gobsburgs City," I answered quickly. I wanted this over with quickly. I wanted to get in, register, and get out from under the scrutiny of those measuring green eyes.
He copied it down again in his notebook. The pen scratched across the paper with a squeaking sound. Then his mouth, hidden beneath that thick mustache, moved again.
"Alone or accompanied?" His green eyes narrowed slightly. As if trying to read more than what I was saying.
"Alone."
He nodded again. Then, with a subtle head movement, he gestured inside.
"Straight to the reception desk. The first one on the left."
I nodded back. Then walked past him. I could feel his gaze following my back until I turned.
The inner room turned out to be more spacious than I'd expected. The ceiling was high. Supported by transverse dark wooden beams.
The floor was polished oak planks with a faint sheen. Although there were muddy footprints from other shoes.
Along the walls, there were rows of chairs with high backs. Made from the same oak. Sturdy. Heavy. And looked comfortable.
But what made me pause for a moment were the paintings. Many of them. Filling almost every empty space on the walls.
Most were portraits of men in formal attire. Their gazes serious. The backgrounds vague.
Some were seascapes. Large sailing ships battling waves. Busy harbors under gray skies. Maps with intricate lines.
The artistic detail was incredible. Every ripple on the waves. Every fold of a sail. Every wrinkle on a face. All meticulously painted.
The light from the tall windows and the hanging oil lamps in the center of the room made the oil paint colors seem alive.
The smell here was different from outside. The smell of wood polish. Beeswax. And something else. Ink. The sharp, distinctive smell of ink.
At the end of the room, there was a long desk with a curved front. That was the reception desk. Behind it sat a man.
I walked closer. The sound of my boots on the wooden floor was noisy in the silence of this room. Only the sound of a pen scratching paper and the occasional creak of wood from the chairs could be heard.
The man behind the desk was perhaps in his thirties. Blonde hair. Neatly combed back. Pale skin.
He was looking down. Writing something in a ledger with a quill pen he held in a way that looked very practiced. He didn't look up as I approached.
I stopped in front of the desk. Now I could see him more clearly. A long face. With a thin nose and thin lips.
His eyes were black. And when he finally lifted his head, those eyes stared at me with a bored expression. Almost indifferent.
No welcoming smile. No nod. Just a flat stare.
"Name?" his voice was flat. Without intonation.
"Friedrich Wolff."
He started writing in the ledger. His hand moved quickly. "Origin?"
"Gobsburgs. Auster State."
"Interest?" He still wasn't looking at me. Focused on his writing.
"Ship work. Carpentry or cargo."
The pen continued scratching on the paper. Then he nodded. Once. "Sit. You will be called."
He pointed to the row of chairs along the wall with the tip of his pen. Without lifting his gaze.
I turned around. Chose a seat near the window. The wood was hard but comfortable. I sat down. Placed my hands in my lap. And tried to look calm.
And that's when, in the silence broken only by the sound of pens and occasional sighs from others also waiting, a question struck me. Suddenly.
Why... was I applying?
That question filled my head like water suddenly flooding a previously dry space.
All this time, since I woke up transmigrated, I had just been going with the flow. Eating because Friedrich usually ate. Washing dishes because that's what was done.
Leaving the house, walking to the city center, heading to this building. All because it was Friedrich's plan. I was like a puppet whose strings were pulled by this body's memories and habits.
But if I thought about it again... actually, there was almost no benefit for me in applying to a colony company!
My goal was to return to Earth. Not to seek wealth in this new world. Not to explore foreign archipelagos. Not to become rich like Friedrich dreamed.
I should be, my first step should be to find out why I could be here. To look for clues about transmigration. To find a way home.
Not sitting in this waiting room, waiting for a job interview as a ship's carpenter!
Besides, I truly knew nothing about being a soldier or oppressing other nations.
I didn't even know what this colony company actually did. Did they build peaceful settlements? Or did they seize land, enslave indigenous people? I didn't know.
Wait... come to think of it, wasn't all of this happening because of Friedrich's original instincts?
I had simply been swept away by the current of his desires, his plans, his habits. Since waking up, I had almost entirely acted on the instinct to apply because Friedrich had indeed wanted to apply before.
I had never truly made my own decision.
That uncomfortable feeling tickled my throat. I felt stupid. I was chasing someone else's goal in a world that wasn't mine.
"Friedrich Wolff."
That voice broke my daydream. Another man's voice. From the door at the end of the room. A young man with round glasses and a gray suit was looking towards the chairs. Holding a wooden clipboard.
My name was called. Interview time.
I stood up. My legs felt a bit stiff. In my head, a decision was made. I wouldn't take this interview seriously. There was no benefit.
I would just go through it. Then leave. Find another way. Find the answers I truly needed.
I stepped towards the man with glasses. My steps were steady. The interview room was beyond the door he pointed to.
The door closed behind me with a soft 'click'.
----
Author note: Die Wacht am Rhein (The Guardian of the Rhine) is a song that was once the unofficial national anthem of the German Empire. It was written after the outbreak of the Rhine crisis during the reign of Thiers König.