Chapter 4: Promotion and Pay Raise

Unmarried young ladies could only have their fingertips touched lightly by a gentleman’s forehead; married women, on the other hand, should receive a gentlemanly kiss on the back of the hand.

Charlot Mecklenburg had heard that this senior had once been engaged, but the engagement was annulled for reasons known to all. Now, still single, Charlot opted for a forehead touch to her fingertips—a gesture of refined courtesy befitting a gentleman.

Menielman lowered her voice and said, “Come work under me.”

Charlot’s expression subtly showed resistance, and he asked in a low voice, “A demotion and transfer?”

His indignant question was actually a strategy—advancing by retreating.

For lower-ranking civil servants like clerks, promotions typically occurred every three years. However, if transferred to a new post, the promotion timeline would reset.

Within the imperial government, there was a saying: “A transfer without a promotion is equivalent to a demotion.”

Menielman gave a cold snort and asked, “When is your next promotion due?”

Charlot responded without hesitation, “In a month and a half, I should be promoted to Third-class Civil Servant.”

Charlot’s graduation from Sheffield University was genuine, and that degree had secured him a position in the central government’s office as a clerk with a high salary. However, as someone from a merchant family with no political connections, he had spent two years in the office without any additional promotions, waiting in line and following protocol for advancement.

As a transmigrator, Charlot possessed courage and audacity far exceeding the natives of this world. Claiming to already have a slightly higher rank and asserting he would soon rise further was nothing short of bold—practically reckless.

Menielman rang a small bell in the room. Shortly after, a middle-aged officer entered. Menielman pointed at Charlot and said, “Transfer this man to Kilmainham Prison as the Chief Clerk of my office.”

Having integrated the memories of his predecessor, Charlot had already been shocked by the corruption and darkness of the imperial bureaucracy. But when this corruption benefited him personally, turning him into a beneficiary of nepotistic office politics, his outward expression was one of surprise, while internally, he was elated—any thought of resistance dissolved completely.

Charlot had initially believed that the senior’s promise of a Second-class Civil Servant rank, along with the assurance of future promotions, was already an incredible deal. If she were to directly grant him the title of Third-class Civil Servant, it would be a significant leap forward. But to his astonishment, Menielman offered him the position of Chief Clerk.

The Empire’s bureaucratic system was exceedingly intricate, divided into fifty-three tiers.

Clerks, the most numerous type of government employee, ranged from First-class Civil Servants at the 41st tier to Fifth-class Civil Servants at the 37th tier, the ceiling of their career progression. Beyond that, further advancement required a change in position, with Chief Clerk being the most common path.

Both a First-class Chief Clerk and a Fifth-class Civil Servant were at the 37th tier, but their futures diverged sharply. The former enjoyed a bright path forward, while the latter saw no further prospects.

Charlot, leaping from a First-class Civil Servant at the 41st tier to a First-class Chief Clerk at the 37th tier, seemingly rose only four levels. Yet in truth, this included an implicit cross-tier promotion, amounting to a leap of five levels.

As an aside, it took Mrs. Aldegonde, who held the ultimate authority over her office, twenty-one long years to climb from an Assistant Clerk at the 45th tier to a Fifth-class Civil Servant at the 37th tier. Unable to secure a position transfer, she would most likely hold that post until retirement.

Charlot wanted to say something grand, such as, “I vow to serve my senior to the death.” Or perhaps, “I pay my respects to my lord and benefactor.” Even the classic, “After wandering through two lives across two worlds without finding a true leader, if Senior does not abandon me, I would gladly call you my adopted mother.” But considering the cultural context of this world, he regretfully dismissed these thoughts and instead smiled politely, saying, “I will rely on your guidance, Senior Menielman.”

Menielman gave a slight nod and said, “You must be exhausted today. Go home and rest. Move to the prison tomorrow. You’ll need to work overtime in the coming days, so be sure to bring enough personal items.”

Charlot didn’t mind.

Overtime?

As if he hadn’t worked overtime in his previous life.

His high school math teacher hadn’t faced a 9-9-6 work schedule, but staying up late grading papers was a routine part of the job. The workload was just as intense.

Seeing that Menielman had nothing further to add, Charlot left the office and exited Kilmainham Prison in a hurry.

There were no public carriages that stopped on demand in the Marne District.

Charlot had to walk to another district before encountering a public carriage. He hailed it and returned to his residence in the Alexander District.

Though the Alexander District was far less prestigious than Val-de-Vas, it was still one of the top seven districts in Strasbourg, home primarily to affluent merchants. The area was quite bustling, with several large shopping centers and markets.

Charlot rented an apartment in the Alexander District.

The apartment, built by the Savings Union and named the Savings Union Apartments, catered specifically to single young people with a certain level of savings. The living conditions were excellent, and the provided services were highly comprehensive.

This was Charlot’s “first” visit to the apartment. The last time he had come here, he had been a different person altogether.

Feigning familiarity despite his apprehension, Charlot entered the apartment building.

The elderly doorman smiled kindly at him without asking any questions.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Charlot climbed to the second floor. Being on a low street-facing floor made the apartment slightly noisier but also a bit cheaper.

He unlocked the door and pushed it open, shaking his head at the sight before him.

The room was quite messy. The previous owner had not been a tidy person.

Besides the haphazardly scattered men’s clothing, there were also some disordered women’s garments.

According to his memories, these belonged to different women, though their appearances and names were now blurry.

Charlot tidied up casually, separating the men’s clothes from the women’s. He planned to wash “his” clothes the next morning and throw out everything that didn’t belong to “him.”

Collapsing onto a rattan chair in the room, Charlot suddenly felt emotionally overwhelmed. He didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to move—he just wanted to sit quietly for a moment.

He had transmigrated into this strange and unfamiliar world, taking on a new identity.

This was a world where gods existed.

And he was undeniably a heretic.

Charlot Mecklenburg lived every minute fearing that a stranger might suddenly appear on the street, cry out in the name of the gods to punish him, drag him to a stake, douse him in oil, and set him ablaze.

Oh, and then there were the evil gods!

His predecessor had died summoning one of those.

In this world, every one of them was a “danger.”

Even the slightest mistake in handling things could lead to spiritual contamination, turning him into a monster—or worse, wiping him out entirely.

The weight on Charlot’s shoulders was beyond words.

Today marked his first day back from vacation and his attempt at a new life.

He had chosen to adapt to this world rather than fight it.

And today, he had achieved an exceptionally promising beginning.

A beginning that even exceeded his own expectations.

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