《Aris the Wizard of Doom》
Chapter 1: Aris
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Chapter 2: Mutated Ai
Fred, still with a handkerchief pressed to his nose, looked around. "Not one of them is strong or has potential," he said aloud. Some of the kids sank into dejection immediately, while others lost hope altogether. Fred thought to himself, I suppose I¡¯ll take a few, At least that way, I can say I brought some manpower back to the family.
¡°You, you, and you,¡± Fred called out, pointing at the children one by one. He was selecting those who were somehow better than the rest; stronger, healthier, or simply more presentable. Hope flickered in the eyes of the remaining children, and some hurried to straighten their backs, puffing out their chests in a desperate attempt to look more robust.
But for the malnourished ones like Aris, no amount of effort could hide their frail bodies. No matter how they tried, they remained weak, their thin bodies betraying them. And as they strained to make themselves seem worthy, the selected ones smirked, their gazes filled with scorn. To them, the struggling weak kids looked like fools.
¡°What do I need to do to be selected? Think, think, Aris,¡± he encouraged himself. But the reality was grim, and he struggled to come up with a real solution. His malnourished body was a significant barrier; no matter what he told himself, his body would always betray him. He wouldn''t even be considered for the menial task of cleaning swords.
¡°I have to do something about my body,¡± Aris thought, but then reality struck him once more: ¡°What good will watery porridge do for me? Without proper food, I will never be healthy.¡±
¡°The main problem is the food,¡± he concluded. His gaze shifted to the chief slave manager, who was notably overweight. ¡°I can work with this,¡± Aris thought, devising a plan to obtain more food from the chief slave manager.
After ten minutes, Fred finished his selection, choosing ten children who, despite their malnourished state, had the strongest bodies. Without another word, he turned and left, the chosen ones following behind him along with the chief slave manager.
As soon as Fred and his group disappeared from sight, the two enforcers of the chief slave manager turned their attention back to the injured boy.
¡°So, you think you¡¯re safe just because Sir Fred spared you?¡± one of them sneered.
The boy¡¯s face paled. He immediately dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his dirt-streaked cheeks. ¡°Please, sir! I beg you! I won¡¯t do it again!¡± he wailed, his voice trembling with terror.
But the two men didn¡¯t care. They had heard countless pleas before, what did it matter?
Without hesitation, they picked up a discarded stick from the ground and struck him. Again and again.
The other children kept their heads down, pretending not to see. Some clenched their fists, others trembled, but none dared to interfere. Helping had never even crossed their minds.
Aris could hear the screams, but his instincts warned him that if he took a single step toward the child being punished, he would face dire consequences. He knew his own body was in much worse condition than the kid''s, and he would likely be seriously injured¡ªor worse¡ªif he got hit. ¡°I have to leave this place,¡± Aris thought to himself, filled with determination.
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After five minutes, the two enforcers finally stopped their beating. One of them scoffed, glaring down at the motionless boy.
¡°Hmph. Let¡¯s see you try that again.¡±
Then, turning to the rest of the children, he pointed a finger at the beaten boy.
¡°If any of you dare to step out of line like he did, you won¡¯t be fed for a week. And trust me, your punishment will be far worse than his.¡±
The threat hung in the air like a death sentence. The other children stiffened, their eyes filled with silent fear, but no one spoke. No one dared to.
¡°This is worse than my previous world,¡± Aris thought bitterly. ¡°What kind of hell have I been reborn into?¡±
His fists clenched as frustration and despair threatened to consume him. If he was destined to be reborn, why couldn¡¯t it have been in his old world? Why here?
But he quickly pushed those thoughts away. No. This is pointless. ¡°I won¡¯t give up.¡± His resolve hardened. ¡°No matter what it takes, I will survive.¡±
As for the monthly quota records, you¡¯re lucky,¡± one of the enforcers sneered. ¡°Sir Fred has waived them.¡±
A murmur of relief spread through the children. Some had already braced themselves for the worst¡ªbeing sent to the mines.
¡°And do you know why he waived it?¡± the enforcer continued, his tone mocking. ¡°Because Sir Fred is a kind man. So, you should be grateful. Now, thank him.¡±
¡°Thank you, Sir Fred,¡± the children said in unison, their voices weak and uncertain. ¡°Louder!¡± barked one of the enforcers.
¡°THANK YOU, SIR FRED!!¡± the children screamed, their voices echoing across the slave quarters. The enforcer smirked in satisfaction. ¡°Good. Now go eat your breakfast and get to work.¡±
As the enforcers walked away, the children slowly dispersed. Aris turned to leave, but out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a boy crouching beside the beaten child. The boy¡¯s small frame trembled as he sobbed, his words muffled by his cries.
¡°His brother?¡± Aris guessed.
For a brief moment, he hesitated, watching the heartbreaking scene. But he quickly looked away. There was nothing he could do. Survival came first. Without another thought, he continued toward the food distribution area.
After a short three-minute walk, he arrived at an open clearing where a massive cooking pot sat over a weak fire. Behind it stood a mildly fat man, his clothes stained with grease and his hair unkempt. The stench of sweat clung to him, and his yellowed teeth peeked through his half-open mouth.
Aris stepped into the line, gripping a small, worn bowl, one of the few things he had inherited from his parents. The children ahead of him stood in silent misery, their faces hollow and lifeless. The line moved slowly, each child receiving the same thin, watery porridge.
When Aris¡¯s turn finally came, he handed over his bowl. The fat man ladled a portion into it without care, some of the liquid spilling over the edges. Aris took it without a word and moved toward his usual spot.
Sitting down, he stared at the murky porridge. It was little more than warm water with a few grains floating in it. His stomach churned, not from hunger but from the memory of his past life. The worst food I ever ate was instant noodles, he thought bitterly. And even that was a luxury compared to this.
[Warning! Detected harmful substances in the food. Consumption is not advisable.]
Aris froze. His eyes widened as he jolted upright, nearly spilling the watery porridge.
What¡ what was that?
His heart pounded in his chest. That voice, it was unmistakable.
Isn¡¯t that¡ my AI chip?
¡°No,¡± he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. ¡°That¡¯s impossible.¡±
For ten days, he had accepted his new reality. His body was different, his world was different. Only his soul had crossed over, he was sure of it. There was no way something physical could have followed him here.
But if¡ if it really did¡
His thoughts trailed off as a cold shiver ran down his spine. Hesitantly, he lifted the bowl to his lips, testing the voice.
[Warning! Detected harmful substances in the food. Consumption is not advisable.]
The message came again, clear and undeniable. Aris¡¯s grip tightened around the bowl. It¡¯s real¡
A surge of emotions flooded him; fear, hope, and something deeper. If his AI chip was truly here, then he wasn¡¯t as powerless as he thought.
Aris glanced around, making sure no one was watching. The other kids were too busy gulping down their watery porridge to pay him any attention. His lips curled into a grin, and a quiet, breathless chuckle escaped him.
¡°Heh¡ hehehe¡¡± His heart pounded with excitement. He couldn¡¯t believe it. His AI chip, his lifeline from his past life was here.
¡°Zona,¡± he whispered.
[Yes. How may I help you?]
A shiver ran down his spine. It wasn¡¯t an illusion. It wasn¡¯t a hallucination. It¡¯s real.
¡°Are you¡ in my brain?¡± he asked internally, his thoughts racing.
[No.]
His excitement faltered for a moment. No?
Confusion settled in. AI chips were always implanted in the brain, there was no other way for them to function. Was it different now? Had somethingchanged with his rebirth?
¡°Zona, where is your physical form?¡± Aris asked. ¡°And which part of my body are you implanted in?¡±
[I do not have a physical form. I am part of your soul.]
¡°What?¡± Aris blurted out, his words louder than intended. The other kids, who had been eating their porridge in silence, immediately looked at him. A few murmured under their breath, and some even shook their heads.
¡°He¡¯s gone insane,¡± one of them muttered. Another nodded. ¡°It happens¡ overwork and all that.¡±
Aris took a sip of porridge to hide his smile. His stomach grumbled from hunger, but the excitement he felt overshadowed it. He remembered that in his previous life, proving the existence of the soul was one of the most challenging topics; it was something that couldn¡¯t be seen and could only be speculated about. Yet now, the soul had been proven to exist, and his AI chip had mutated, merging with his soul to create something entirely new.
Chapter 3: Stats and strategy
Aris glanced at the half-drunk porridge, his excitement fading. ¡°Zona, what¡¯s wrong with this watery porridge?¡± he asked inwardly. He recalled the warning that the AI had given earlier, that it was not fit to be eaten due to harmful substances. [ Analysis indicates the food contains detectable traces of toxic contaminants. Potential sources include preparation procedures or inadequate hygiene. Prolonged consumption poses a risk of chronic poisoning. Projected effects encompass a gradual degradation of liver and kidney function.]
¡°No wonder we¡¯re so weak and malnourished,¡± he muttered, his eyes shifting to the other slaves. The sight of the cook made him feel utterly repulsed. The thought of someone so unclean preparing their food made his stomach turn. ¡°A stable workforce means sustained production. But instead, they waste resources on constant replacements ¡± he thought. But then again, who would waste good food and skilled cooks on slaves when they could simply discard them when they were no longer useful?
He glanced at the watery porridge, a wave of nausea rising within him, but his stomach grumbled in protest, reminding him of his hunger. A gnawing hesitation held him back. Could he really risk it? He closed his eyes, trying to push aside the unease, and forced himself to swallow the porridge. The AI chip¡¯s warnings continued to echo in his mind, but his circumstances left him no choice. If he didn¡¯t eat, he¡¯d grow weaker. With three reluctant gulps, he finished the porridge. He stood, washed the bowl, and returned it to the side of his worn-out bed.
After that, he moved toward, the farm, the farm was not that large from what he had seen but he guessed that maybe there were other farms in another place like this place. The farm was a rice farm and Aris could see the bent workers who were kids, they had no tools to speed up their work and most of the work was done in hand. If the workers were adults they would have constantly sighed and groaned due to back pain from this demanding work.
He entered the farm and stood at the edge of the paddies, his gaze scanning the disorganized scene before him. The paddies were unevenly flooded, some with stagnant, murky water, others dry and cracked. The rice plants were scattered in no particular order, growing in mismatched rows. It was chaos, and it was clear that the workers too didn''t know what they were doing.
He noticed the kid''s tired faces, their clothes tattered, some with open wounds on their legs, but still they waded into the water to plant the rice. The conditions were harsh, and it was easy to see the inefficiency of the operation.
¡°I can use this,¡± Aris thought, his mind already working on a plan. He didn¡¯t need to fix everything himself; he couldn¡¯t, even if he wanted to, but he could capitalize his knowledge to his advantage. If he pointed out the flaws to the chief slave manager, he might gain favor and secure better food, or perhaps even better treatment. But the chief manager was narrow-minded and cruel; if a slave dared to tell him what to do, punishment would certainly follow. Aris knew he needed to find a way to get the man¡¯s attention without drawing his wrath.
¡°What are you dazing for get into your paddy, ¡° said one of the enforcers who saw Aris looking around, and Aris immediately ran to the paddies as he began planting the rice. Aris scanned the area for the chief slave manager and spotted him reclining on a chair under a tree. A plate with a few fruits, including grapes and apples, rested nearby. Beside him stood his follower, lazily waving a fan, occasionally pausing between motions.
The other enforcer kept a watchful eye on the slave kids as they toiled in the fields. Aris shifted his focus back to planting, carefully spacing the seeds apart and ensuring the paddies had enough water. After some time, they were granted a brief ten-minute rest before being sent back to work.
When lunch arrived, they were given nothing but hard bread and water before being sent back to work. After eleven grueling hours of labor, with only thirty-minute breaks in between, the day finally came to an end. Exhausted, Aris sat at the edge of his paddy, his body aching. He let out a slow breath, his gaze fixed on the fields. ¡°Now, we wait for three to seven days,¡± he thought as he looked at his work.
¡¡¡¡¡¡
Aris and his fellow slave kids returned to the quarters, their bodies worn from the day¡¯s labor. Some were so exhausted that they collapsed into sleep, skipping supper entirely.
When the meal arrived, they were given beans. Aris took his portion and made his way to his usual spot beneath a tree. Sitting down, he held the bowl in his hands, hesitating for a moment before bringing a spoonful close to his mouth, testing it cautiously.
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This time, no warning came from the AI chip. Instead, its mechanical voice echoed in his mind:
[Further intake of beans can increase your body¡¯s health.] Without hesitation, Aris began to eat.
¡°Zona,¡± he whispered internally, keeping his excitement in check. ¡°Can you show my body condition in stats, like a game?¡±
[Affirmative.Analyzing¡ Analyzing¡ Body condition displayed below.]
Body Stats: Strength: 0.2 : Physique: 0.2 : Agility: 0.3
Aris blinked in surprise. Seeing his stats laid out in front of him made it feel more tangible as if he could track his improvements. But still, the question lingered in his mind: Would the beans really make a difference? He couldn¡¯t see any immediate changes, but now that he had his stats laid out, he could focus on seeing gradual progress.
¡°Zona,¡± he muttered, his mind calculating. ¡°How long will it take for my body to improve with proper nutrition? Will these beans make a difference?¡±
[Bean consumption will result in a gradual increase in physical statistics. This is attributable to improved nutritional intake, muscle tissue repair, and energy reserve replenishment. The timeframe for noticeable changes ranges from days to weeks, contingent upon consistent consumption. Immediate physical alterations are not expected.]
Aris nodded to himself. This was more of a long-term solution. His body wouldn¡¯t suddenly transform overnight, but it was a start.
¡°Alright,¡± he thought, gripping the bowl of beans. ¡°I¡¯ll stick with it. My strength needs to improve, staying weak isn¡¯t an option in a place like this.¡±
Two minutes later, he finished eating the beans and glanced at his stats, now displayed on a floating panel in front of him. The AI chip allowed him to track his progress by monitoring his body in real-time. There was no immediate change¡ªhis stats still read: strength: 0.2, physique: 0.2, agility: 0.3.
He wasn¡¯t disappointed by the numbers as he knew he had a long way till he could see change. He rose and went to the well, he washed his bowl and returned to his bed. Laying on his back, he stared at the ceiling. Bunk beds and single beds surrounded him and he could hear the sound of the kids turning on their beds. All day, he hadn¡¯t spoken to anyone, not because he didn¡¯t want to, but because the body¡¯s owner hadn¡¯t had any friends. His only friend had died from sickness.
He stared at the ceiling for ten minutes, lost in thought, contemplating various ways to escape his current situation. The most viable plan seemed to be the one involving the rice farm. By sharing his knowledge with the chief slave manager, he could earn the opportunity for better food. Once his body became healthier, he could aim to join the squire¡¯s camp and train to become a soldier or knight and then go from there.
The next day, Aris followed his usual routine, visiting the well, brushing, and then returning to the house. After a few minutes of resting, he decided to take a walk around the area and also test the AI chip¡¯s scanning abilities, curious to see if any changes had occurred since his previous life.
As he wandered into a grassy field with a few wild herbs growing, the AI continuously scanned the surroundings in an omnidirectional manner, its range limited to one meter. Aris paused, mentally processing the information, it wasn¡¯t overwhelming, but enough for him to assess.
He crouched down and touched one of the wild herbs. The AI immediately responded, [New herb detected, not in the database. Analyzing¡] After a brief moment, it continued, [ Detected properties: Mild muscle relief. Temporary numbing of stiffness. Effects are short-lived and ineffective for serious pain or injury.] The AI¡¯s mechanical voice echoed in his mind.
¡°This is new,¡± Aris thought, his tone neutral as he plucked the herb. He glanced at another one and touched it. The AI¡¯s voice echoed in his mind again: [ New herb detected, not in the database: Analyzing properties. Soothing topical properties detected. Effective for minor cuts or skin irritation. Low healing effect. Does not promote regeneration or recovery.] Aris nodded to himself. ¡°Useful for small injuries, but not much more.¡±
After testing a few more herbs, all with mild pain-relieving or soothing effects, Aris spotted something unusual out of the corner of his eye. A purple herb with slender leaves. Curious, he crouched down and touched it.
The AI immediately spoke in his mind: [ New herb detected, not in the database: Analyzing properties. Neurotoxic alkaloids present. Causes dizziness, nausea, and paralysis upon ingestion. Prolonged exposure can lead to unconsciousness or death. Highly dangerous; use with extreme caution.] Aris frowned, taking note. ¡°Definitely not something to play with.¡±
After twenty minutes of searching, Aris found only one poisonous herb, while the rest were useful for pain relief and soothing. He collected three of the healing herbs and made his way back to the front of the houses. He Stood among the other slave kids as he waited after ten minutes the enforcer arrived and began his usual speech, full of threats. The message was clear: any escape attempt would be met with severe consequences.
Aris¡¯s mind flashed to a memory inherited from the body he now occupied, a slave kid who had tried to escape. The attempt had been brief, and the boy was found just hours later and he was beaten to death In front of the other slaves, a cruel lesson meant to deter anyone else.
Around him, the other children trembled, the enforcer¡¯s words dragging up painful memories. Their fear was noticeable, a shared terror that had been etched into their minds.
After five minutes, he concluded his rant with a dismissive wave of his hand, signaling them to head to breakfast, just the usual breakfast.
Aris sat beneath the tree, holding the bowl of watery-porridge, his mind racing with the thought of the toxic porridge and the healing herbs he had gathered. ¡°What would happen if I added the healing herbs to the watery porridge?¡± he mused. ¡°Could the herbs offset the toxins and even increase its nutritional value?¡±
He immediately turned inward, activating the AI chip. A moment later, the familiar mechanical voice echoed in his mind.
[ Analyzing¡ Processing¡ Addition of healing herbs to porridge: Potential temporary alleviation of harmful effects detected. Likely to reduce mild discomfort and nausea. Complete neutralization of toxins not achievable. Long-term consumption still poses risk. Nutritional enhancement: Herbs contain minimal nutritional value. Primarily offer relief, not sustenance.]
Aris frowned slightly but continued listening.
[Adjusting quantities and ratios: Potential improvement in immediate digestibility detected. May reduce some toxic symptoms temporarily. Relief provided is limited. Core issue¡ªporridge toxicity¡ªremains unless food source is altered.]
Aris gave a slight nod, internalizing the AI¡¯s analysis. It wasn¡¯t an ideal solution, but if the herbs could make the porridge more tolerable, it might provide some temporary relief until he could find a more permanent way to improve his situation. He resolved to add the herbs in precise amounts, taking the AI¡¯s guidance into account. It wouldn¡¯t solve everything, but for the time being, it was the most practical option.
Chapter 4: The price of failure
Following the AI chip''s guidelines, he took the herbs and crushed them with a stone until they became smaller crumbs. He then added the crushed herbs to the porridge and instructed the AI to analyze it.
[Analyzing¡ Processing¡ Partial neutralization of toxic compounds detected. Toxicity levels reduced by forty percent. Minimal nutritional enhancement observed. Bitter compounds introduced. Overall safety improved, but long-term consumption remains inadvisable.]
This did not faze Aris, and he ate the porridge. ¡°Nothing changed in the taste; it only got more bitter,¡± he thought as he gulped it down. He felt a little clearer-minded, though he wasn''t sure if it was an illusion or if his mind truly became sharper.
Then, he went to the well to wash his bowl. As he approached, he noticed three kids standing by the wall, engaged in conversation. Their hushed voices and animated expressions piqued his curiosity.
Drawing closer, he heard whispers of their discussion. They were talking about knights. Intrigued, he slowed his pace, pretending to busy himself with his bowl while discreetly listening in.
¡°I heard that knights can beat one hundred men in a single fight!¡± one of the kids declared with wide eyes.
¡°Ha! That¡¯s nothing!¡± another chimed in. ¡°I heard they can split a river with a single swing of their sword!¡±
¡°And they can even fight dragons with their bare hands!¡± the third added, clearly in awe.
Aris rolled his eyes inwardly. The conversation was so exaggerated it bordered on absurdity. No single person could defeat a hundred men under normal circumstances. Splitting a river with a sword? Ridiculous. Fighting dragons barehanded?
Do dragons even exist in this world? He had no way of knowing. But if they did, no mere mortal could hope to fight one with their bare hands.
¡°They¡¯re just kids,¡± Aris thought, stepping back slightly and continuing to wash his bowl at the well. ¡°They don¡¯t know any better. They¡¯ve probably never seen a real fight, and where did they even hear these absurd rumors from.¡±
His eyes flicked to the trio as they continued their exaggerated discussion. He kept his expression neutral, not bothering to correct them. Arguing with them would only waste his time and risk drawingunnecessary attention to himself.
¡°If knights have this kind of legend surrounding them,¡± he mused quietly, ¡°then they¡¯re more useful as symbols than as real beings. But what if they were real? What if what people are saying is true?¡± He pondered this because he knew nothing about the outside world. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was true, but a part of him hoped it was. The very thought of splitting ariver in two seemed almost fictional. But then again, wasn¡¯t his rebirth just as impossible?
If he could return to life, then who was to say there weren¡¯t people out there capable of feats beyond reason? With that thought, he finished cleaning hisbowl, not bothering to entertain their nonsense anyfurther. He moved on to the house and stored his bowl under his bed.
Aris went to the farm, a two-kilometer walk, to plant rice again. As he entered his paddy, he activated the AI to scan the condition of his seeds. The results came back: ninety percent of the seeds were viable, while the remaining ten percent would fail togerminate due to their age and poor quality. It wasn¡¯t something he could control, as the seeds were assigned to him. If he had a choice, he would¡¯ve selected better quality seeds to ensure a higher yield.
Curious, he turned his attention to the paddy of the boy next to him and initiated a scan.
[Scanning¡ 70% of seeds wasted. Only 20% expected to germinate successfully. Reason: oxygen deprivation caused by excessive water levels.] Aris looked at the boy who was wading in the murky water, The kid winced occasionally, closing his eyes in pain, likely from the wound on his leg.
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Aris hesitated. Should I say something? Would he even listen? The boy would likely dismiss his words or even assume he was trying to mislead him. Mosthere had no reason to trust one another. Helping others wasn¡¯t something Aris had the luxury to concern himself with.
After a brief pause, he spoke in a neutral tone. ¡°Your water¡¯s too high. The seeds won¡¯t sprout.¡± The boy blinked, staring at him momentarily before looking down at the water. Aris didn¡¯t wait for a response. He had already done more than necessary. Without another word, he turned back to his own work, letting the matter drop.
The kid examined his water, then glanced at Aris, confusion flickering in his eyes. ¡°What does he mean by ¡®water level is high¡¯?¡± he thought. He looked around at the other slave kids¡ªsome had water levels barely reaching their ankles, while others had it up to their knees. He dismissed Aris¡¯s words, not fully understanding their significance. The pain in his leg clouded his judgment, making it hard to think clearly.
¡°So he chose not to take my advice,¡± Aris thought, glancing at the kid for a moment before returning to his own work. Time passed, and soon it was time to finish for the day. Aris inspected his paddy once more. He carefully scanned the field thrice, ensuring no issues or potential problems existed. After thoroughly checking, he found nothing out of the ordinary. Satisfied, he left with the other kids, heading back to the slave quarters.
¡¡¡¡.
Aris returned to the farm the next day, surveying the surrounding paddies. It quickly became apparent that his field would yield the most rice, which was precisely what he wanted. As the days passed, a week later, the seeds finally germinated. Aris¡¯s crops had now entered the seedling stage. In this phase, his primary task was maintaining the water levels, so he came daily to keep the paddy in check.
He also remembered to seek out herbs that could help with his nutrition. Using the guidance of the AI, he collected dozens of herbs and added them to his breakfast and supper. For lunch, he remained at the farm; he could not carry the wild herbs with him. If he were seen doing so, it would draw unwanted attention from the other slave kids, the enforcers, or, worst of all, the chief slave manager.
The following week, Aris carefully managed the water levels, and soon, the seedlings¡¯ leaves emerged, stretching toward the surface. The plants thrived over the next three weeks, growing healthier and stronger as they progressed into the next stage.
At the end of the month, the usual quota recording took place, and Aris stood among the other slave kids in front of the dilapidated houses. One of theenforcers was droning on about rules and behavior, his voice a constant stream of orders. ¡°Brainwashing,¡± Aris thought, observing how the enforcers worked tirelessly to embed their words into the kids'' minds. The more they drilled this into the kids¡¯s heads, the more they would come to accept it as unquestionable truth. And as they grow, they¡¯d work for them willingly, without ever desiring freedom.
After five minutes of this brainwashing, the other enforcer came up with a book, and those who didn''t reach their quotas were in this book. He immediately said numbers, ¡°Number 557, your seeds have all died; you will be sent to the mines for two weeks.¡± A sharp gasp cut through the crowd. The boy in question was a malnourished boy, and he staggered forward, his face pale with terror. ¡°Please, sir! Please! Please don¡¯t send me there! I¡ªI¡¯ll do better next time! I swear!¡± He collapsed to his knees, his hands gripping the enforcer¡¯s boots as he sobbed.
The enforcer sneered in disgust. ¡°Pathetic.¡± Without hesitation, he swung his stick down with a sickening crack. The boy¡¯s head snapped to the side as he tumbled onto the dirt, blood splattering from his nose and lips.
The boy¡¯s body convulsed with the strike, pain exploding through him like fire. His breath came in ragged gasps, but the more he cried, the more complex the enforcer¡¯s stick came down.
"It hurts! It hurts! Please stop!¡± His thoughts swirled with agony. He clutched at the enforcer¡¯s leg again in desperation, his fingers trembling and his instincts screaming for him to beg again. But before he could, the enforcer struck again, and this time, he hit his ribs, which sent him sprawling to the ground, and his vision blurred.
¡° I¡ I can¡¯t breathe¡¡±
His body refused to move. Every muscle ached, throbbing under the blows. He tried to curl into himself, to shield his head, but it didn¡¯t matter. The pain kept coming.
The beating stopped as quickly as it had started. He lay there, frozen, his ears ringing, his body shaking with each painful tremor. His breath came in short, jagged gasps, each one sharp and agonizing against his ribs. Above him, the enforcer¡¯s voice seemed far away, cold and distant, but the words barely made sense. It felt as though everything had gone quiet, like he was underwater, struggling to breathe, the shock of the pain still lingering in his chest.
The other slave children stood frozen, their faces pale, their eyes darting between the boy on the ground and the enforcers. None dared to speak, but their thoughts screamed in silent terror.
¡°That could have been me.¡±
¡°The mines¡ No one comes back the same. Some don¡¯t come back at all.¡±
¡°Why did he beg? He should¡¯ve just taken the punishment. Crying only makes it worse.¡±
¡°If I fail my quota next time¡ will they send me too?¡±
Some of the younger ones trembled, biting their lips until they bled, struggling to hold back their fear. Others stared at the ground, barely daring to breathe, as if staying still and silent might make them invisible and might keep them safe.
A few, the ones who had been here the longest, only watched with empty eyes. No fear. No sadness. Just quiet acceptance. Because in this place, mercy did not exist.
Aris kept his head down, his fists clenched by his sides. His heart pounded, but he didn¡¯t show it. ¡°This is what happens when you fail, he thought. This is what happens to the weak.¡±
His mind raced, but he forced himself to stay calm. He had to focus. I need to get out of here. Then, the AI¡¯s voice cut through his thoughts. [Abnormally high fear detected. Suppressing¡]
The fear inside him seemed to fade, not gone but distant. It was like a wall had been put up inside him, blocking out the panic. The AI had suppressed it, and now he could think clearly again.
He exhaled slowly. His body was tense, but his mind was sharp. ¡°I need to leave this place.¡±That thought was as clear as the air he was breathing. There was no other choice.
Chapter 5: Rewards
After that, the enforcer continued, ¡°Number 356, half of your seeds germinated. You¡¯ll stay in the mines for three days.¡± When the boy heard this, he trembled, struggling to keep himself from begging. The enforcer noticed his silence and proceeded, seeing that the boy wasn¡¯t causing a fuss. ¡°Number 167¡ Number 148¡¡± He called out several more numbers, and after three minutes, he finished. Then he added, ¡°Follow me. I¡¯ll take you to the mines.¡± The words felt more like a death sentence than an order as if they were being sent to the execution ground.
After they had left, another enforcer arrived with a new book. This time, they were awarding those who had performed well in rice planting. ¡°Number 345, you met your quota and exceeded expectations; you will be rewarded with an extra portion of food for one week.¡± A hushed whispers rippled through the gathered slaves. Extra food¡ªin this place, that was as valuable as gold. When the boy heard this, he felt a surge of happiness and couldn¡¯t stop himself from smiling. ¡°Extra portion for a week,¡± he thought, beaming with joy, his previous fear overridden by the joy.
The extra portion would make a difference. With more energy, his work would be easier, his body would be stronger, and his efficiency would be higher. In theory, he could exceed next month¡¯s quota without issue.
However, Aris saw through it. Exceeding quotas was a trap. The moment he performed too well, expectations would rise. If he produced ten sacks of rice one month, the next, they¡¯d demand eleven. The enforcers would push him harder, watching closely, ensuring he never slacked. The cycle would continue: work harder, earn more, work even harder¡ªuntil exhaustion set in, and eventually, failure. And failure meant punishment.
It was a system designed to keep them all in line. Rewards weren¡¯t a kindness; they were a leash.
Then the enforcer continued, ¡°Number 105, Your yield was the second-highest. You will be given an extra portion of food and a piece of fruit for one week.¡±
A hushed murmur spread through the gathered slaves again. Fruit? That was a luxury, something only the chief slave manager and the higher-ups ever ate. For most of them, the idea of tasting something sweet and fresh was almost unimaginable.
A few of the older kids kept their expressions neutral, but their eyes flickered with envy and curiosity. The younger ones, however, couldn¡¯t hide their reactions. Some whispered excitedly, while others clenched their fists, resentment seething beneath their ragged bodies.
¡°Number 234, you met your quota and exceeded it by miles. You will also be rewarded with an extra portion and three fruits for two weeks,¡± the enforcer announced.
Aris, number 234, maintained a facade of happiness as murmurs spread among the gathered children. Some, especially the older ones, cast envious glances his way.
The boy Aris had advised stared at him, regret flashing in his eyes. If only he had listened, he could have been the second-best. Clenching his fists, he muttered to himself, ¡°Next time¡ next time.¡± As if Aris would help him again.
After that, the enforcer listed a few more numbers before concluding. He then dismissed them, and the children scattered toward breakfast. Those who hadn¡¯t received rewards cast envious glances at those who had. Some even considered stealing their food, but none dared¡ªtaking what the enforcers gave was an unspoken line they wouldn¡¯t cross.
Aris took his portion of porridge and settled beneath his usual tree. He rolled the orange in his palm, deep in thought.
¡°Zona, what herbs should I mix with this fruit to reduce the porridge¡¯s toxicity? And is it even possible to reduce the toxicity?¡± he asked.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
[ mixing the orange with detoxifying herbs can elevate seventy percent toxicity in the porridge]
[To neutralize seventy percent of the porridge¡¯s toxicity, combine the following herbs: Frostroot, Grayspire Leaf, and Bloodthorn Vine.]
Aris visualized the images of the herbs provided by the AI, along with the names assigned to distinguish between them.
[Use Frostroot as the primary detoxifier. Two parts of Frostroot powder for every five parts of porridge. Apply this ratio to neutralize the majority of the toxic compounds.]
[Next, add Grayspire Leaf. It mitigates the digestive discomfort caused by toxins. One part of Grayspire Leaf powder for every five parts of porridge]
[Finally, incorporate Bloodthorn Vine. This herb accelerates the removal of toxins from the body. Use one part of Bloodthorn Vine for every six parts of porridge.]
[Crush and grind all herbs into powder. Mix thoroughly. Allow the mixture to infuse for several minutes. This process will reduce toxicity by seventy percent, making the porridge safer for consumption]
Aris now had one healing herb and two oranges. However, he quickly realized he lacked the necessary ingredients to create the planned detoxifying mixture. He would have to search for the remaining herbs another time.
For now, he chose a simple solution. He peeled one the oranges, tearing it into pieces and mixing it into his porridge with the herb. The slight sweetness made the meal a bit easier on both his tongue and stomach.
¡°Not bad,¡± Aris thought as he took a sip of the porridge. The faint sweetness dulled the usual bitterness, making it easier to swallow. ¡°It¡¯s been a while since I tasted anything other than bland gruel.¡±
But nostalgia was pointless. Craving luxury wouldn¡¯t change his situation. What mattered was survival and, eventually, escape.
This was a reminder. The world outside had real food and real choices. Here, even the slightest improvement felt like a privilege. He couldn¡¯t let himself grow used to it. ¡°I have to get out.¡±
Aris finished the porridge and glanced toward the other slave kids. Some of them were looking at him with curiosity. One of them whispered, ¡°Did you see that? He¡ he got three fruits. No one¡¯s ever gotten that before.¡±
¡°Shh! Don¡¯t speak too loud. Someone might hear you. Don¡¯t get us in trouble,¡± another kid hissed, glancing around nervously.
Whispers of envy spread through the group. ¡°Three fruits¡ that¡¯s¡ more than we can ever get. My mom said she only tasted an apple when she was young. And he gets three fruits¡ for two weeks¡¡± The boy trailed off, realizing he couldn¡¯t complain to anyone.
¡°Maybe it¡¯s just a one-time occurrence¡ just like the few before him, nothing to get excited about,¡± another muttered, a hint of quiet resignation in his voice.
¡°Yeah¡ just one of those things,¡± someone else added, trying to lift the mood. ¡°Don¡¯t lose hope. We can be better than him, too.¡±
What they didn¡¯t realize was that they were all being pushed harder, manipulated into working for the chance of rewards they¡¯d likely never see. Aris knew it, but there was nothing he could do. The system was against them all.
Aris walked to the fields, his mind focused on the work ahead. He looked over his first paddy and checked for any problems. Finding none, he moved to the second paddy the enforcer had given him. His thoughts were confirmed¡ªthe better you did, the higher the expectations. Aris had done well and received rewards, but now the price was clear: more work, more responsibility.
The other kids watched him closely, some with hostile smiles. Among them was Number 105, a thirteen-year-old boy who was a bit healthier than most of the others. Though still thin, he wasn¡¯t as malnourished as the rest. He had once been the top performer, respected by the others, and even earned an extra fruit. But now, Aris had taken his place. The loss bothered him, but he didn¡¯t speak of it.
The other kids knew the pattern. They had seen it happen before. The better you did, the more they expected from you. Kids who had once received the best food and praise were sent to the mines when they failed to meet the higher demands. They knew what was at stake but also understood that the temporary rewards were worth the struggle. So they pushed themselves harder, hoping to survive the increasing pressure.
Aris understood this but couldn¡¯t ignore the growing weight of his expectations. The cycle had started, and there was no way out.
Aris got into the paddy. As he entered the paddy, the other kids watched him closely, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and malice. He moved through the paddy field with a quiet precision, his actions guided by the AI in his mind. The other kids, working in the same field, watched him curiously, unsure of what he was doing. Aris¡¯s method was nothing like the chaotic planting they were used to.
The AI¡¯s voice echoed in his mind, instructing him on the exact distance between each seed, ensuring that they would not compete for water or oxygen. ¡°Place the seeds two inches apart in neat rows. This will allow for better root development and water absorption.¡±
As Aris bent down, he followed the AI¡¯s guidance to the letter, carefully pressing the seeds into the soil. The kids around him, including Number 105, observed with puzzled expressions. They had always just thrown seeds into the mud, letting them grow as best they could. But Aris¡¯s every move was deliberate, almost calculated.
¡°Adjust the water level to a precise depth,¡± the AI instructed. Aris reached for the water, checking the flow and regulating the height to keep it consistent, just enough to nourish the seeds but not too much to drown them. He repeated this process, ensuring each field section received just the right amount of moisture.
Number 105, who had been eyeing Aris from a distance, frowned. ¡°What¡¯s he doing? Why¡¯s he bothering with all this extra stuff? It¡¯s just rice.¡±
The other kids whispered among themselves. ¡°He¡¯s planting so carefully¡ Is he really that stupid, or is he trying to show off?¡±
But Aris didn¡¯t notice their stares or the murmurings. He just followed the AI¡¯s instructions and was fully focused on the task. He knew that this method, though unconventional in their eyes, was the key to maximizing the yield¡ªsomething the other kids could never understand.
Chapter 6: Seeds of Doubt
The chief slave manager, who was lounging beneath his usual tree, sipped lazily from his cup, his eyes scanning the fields. ¡°Hmm,¡± he caught sight of a group of children whispering among themselves, their attention fixated on Aris. His brow furrowed in annoyance as he glanced at his attendant, who was leisurely fanning him. ¡°What¡¯s going on over there?¡± he asked, his voice irritated.
The enforcer glanced up and shrugged. ¡°They¡¯re just working, sir.¡±
¡°Working?¡± The chief¡¯s voice grew sharper, a low growl in his throat. ¡°No, they¡¯re not working. They¡¯re gawking. Gawking at that boy. Why aren¡¯t they doing their jobs?¡± He slammed his cup down, splashing the liquid. ¡°This is unacceptable. They need to be punished.¡±
The other enforcer, a few meters away, had been idly flipping through a book, seemingly unaware of the chief slave manager''s anger. When he heard the chief¡¯s bellow, he jolted upright, startled. He watched helplessly as the chief struggled to get out of his chair, grumbling in frustration.
Breathless from his hurried run, the enforcer finally reached the chief slave manager. He steadied himself, his chest heaving as he asked, ¡°What¡¯s wrong, sir?¡±
The chief slave manager¡¯s glare was sharp as he pointed toward the field. ¡°What did I tell you?¡±
The enforcer swallowed, trying to calm his breath. ¡°To watch the slaves and make sure they¡¯re working¡ and to record their progress.¡±
The chief slave manager grunted in frustration, gesturing broadly toward the group of children. ¡°Then explain to me why they¡¯re standing around gossiping like a bunch of old women instead of working.¡±
The enforcer¡¯s eyes followed the chief¡¯s pointed finger, and he saw the children crowded together, whispering and watching Aris. A flicker of anger passed through him. Damn fools, he thought bitterly, but he kept his face neutral, not daring to show weakness.
¡°Damn, these kids. Don¡¯t they ever learn? Are they trying to get me punished? The enforcer¡¯s jaw tightened as he watched the scene unfold. I can¡¯t go back to that place¡ I did too much to get here.¡±
His mind flickered back to the mines¡ªthe suffocating darkness, the unknown dangers lurking in the darkness of the mines, and the lash of barbed whips against his back whenever he faltered. The memory alone made his skin crawl.
I can¡¯t go back to being a slave. He thought.
His grip tightened, his nails digging into his palm. No matter what, he wouldn¡¯t let these brats ruin what he had clawed his way up to achieve.
¡°I¡¯ll deal with them, sir. They won¡¯t dare slack off or talk during work hours again,¡± the enforcer said quickly, his voice thick with eagerness to appease.
The chief slave manager shot him a sharp look. ¡°You¡¯d better. And don¡¯t let me catch you slacking again, either.¡±
His gaze shifted toward Aris, who was working in silence, completely focused. His brows furrowed. ¡°Find out why they¡¯re all looking at him,¡± he said, pointing a thick finger toward Aris.
The enforcer nodded and moved toward the group. His voice cut through the murmurs like a whip. ¡°What the hell are you all staring at? Get back to work!¡±
The children flinched. Some caught off guard, hurriedly returned to planting. Others, who had already been working, stiffened, keeping their heads down to avoid drawing attention.
¡°You,¡± he pointed to number 105, ¡°what is happening here?¡± Number 105 immediately lowered his head, a sly glint flashing in his eyes. Now¡¯s my chance. I¡¯ll exaggerate his mistakes and make him look bad.
¡°Sir Enforcer, number 234, is foolishly planting the rice. He¡¯s doing it all wrong and is not following the technique you taught us. ¡°
¡°What way ?¡± the enforcer asked. The kid pointed at Aris, who was following the AI guidance. He observed Aris planting the seeds in precise rows, spacing them accurately¡ªvastly different from how the other kids were doing it. The other kids would grab handfuls of seeds and scatter them across the paddies, then stomp on them sometimes to make them stick to the ground. They prioritized speed over careful planting.
This method allowed them to meet their monthly quotas but resulted in lower yields, weaker crops, and wasted seeds. Sometimes, these wasted seeds were even given back to the kids to replant in hopes of achieving even a slight increase in yield.
The enforcer strode toward Aris, who was still absorbed in his work. Though his hands moved with precision, his mind remained alert, using the AI¡¯s scanning ability to monitor his surroundings.
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The enforcer stopped at the edge of the paddies, his eyes narrowing as he noticed Aris¡¯s number tattooed on his arm.
¡°You, number 234, come here.¡±
Aris glanced up and saw the enforcer waiting, his gaze sharp. He immediately broke into a run, knowing full well that hesitation would only lead to more trouble.
At least he¡¯s sensible, the enforcer thought to himself. If Aris had walked instead of running, he would¡¯ve made up some excuse to punish him for laziness, an offense he often fabricated to vent his frustrations.
Aris stopped in front of the enforcer and, with practiced politeness, said, ¡°How may I be of service to the esteemed enforcer?¡±
The enforcer¡¯s anger subsided slightly at the formal address but quickly regained his composure. ¡°What are you doing?¡±
¡°I was planting, sir.¡± Aris¡¯s response was calm and measured. ¡°And how were you planting? Why aren¡¯t you using the technique we taught you?¡± The enforcer¡¯s voice was sharp, demanding an explanation.
Aris inwardly scoffed at the question, his thoughts veering toward sarcasm. You call that a technique? But on the outside, he remained composed.
Aris pointed toward his first paddy, a subtle but confident smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ¡°Sir, can you see that the seeds in my paddy have almost ninety percent germinated?¡±
The enforcer scrutinized the situation and remarked, "Indeed, the seeds have germinated, which is why you were recognized as the top performer this month. I recall that your paddy was almost fully sprouted, a stark contrast to the others. But what does this have to do with your planting method?" The enforcer''s expression remained skeptical.
Seeing the enforcer¡¯s confusion, Aris continued, ¡°Through trial and error, sir, I discovered that when the seeds are spaced evenly, they have a higher germination rate. You can see that the ones I planted with space between them have sprouted well.¡± He lowered his gaze slightly, feigning modesty.
The enforcer remained silent, his eyes shifting between Aris''s plot and the others. Aris''s words had piqued his interest, and he felt a genuine curiosity for the first time. The way the seeds thrived didn¡¯t align with the usual cultivation technique we were using.
¡°Follow me to the chief slave manager,¡± the enforcer finally said, his voice a little sharper, as if needing confirmation or validation for what he had seen. He couldn¡¯t argue with the results, but the enforcer knew the chief would need to decide whether this method was worth considering.
Aris nodded, his mind already moving ahead. This would be his chance to make his case. Whatever happened next, he knew that he had planted the seed of doubt in the enforcer¡¯s mind.
The enforcer and Aris arrived before the chief slave manager after a brief, tense walk. Aris immediately dropped to one knee, his posture respectful as he bowed his head. ¡°It¡¯s an honor to meet you, sir,¡± he said, his voice steady.
The chief slave manager, who had been lounging under the shade of his usual tree, eyed Aris with mild curiosity. His frown lessened a little bit when he saw Aris as a humble, submissive, and obedient slave. The enforcer, standing beside Aris, cleared his throat before speaking.
¡°Sir, we have an issue with the way the children areplanting. Number 234 has been using an unconventional method.¡± He glanced at Aris, who remained kneeling and then continued. ¡°He told me that he¡¯s been spacing his seeds with precision, and the germination rate of his seeds is nearly ninety percent. I thought you might want to see this for yourself.¡±
The chief slave manager raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. ¡°Ninety percent, you say?¡± he murmured, his gaze shifting toward Aris, who was still kneeling.
Aris didn¡¯t flinch, holding his ground. ¡°Yes, sir by accident I¡¯ve found that spacing the seeds evenly improves their chances of germinating. And the results speak for themselves.¡±
The chief slave manager leaned forward slightly, his curiosity turning to skepticism. ¡°You¡¯re suggesting that this method of yours is better than the way we¡¯ve been doing things?¡± His tone was stern, but there was a flicker of intrigue behind his eyes.
Aris, still kneeling, glanced up at the chief slave manager with a composed, almost respectful expression. He could feel the chief¡¯s skepticism, but he knew how to turn it to his advantage.
¡°Sir, I would never presume to challenge the methods that have served the camp,¡± Aris began, his voice smooth and measured. ¡°However, I simply wished to share an observation. The results speak forthemselves.¡± He gestured toward his paddy, where the ninety percent germination was now plainly visible.
He allowed the silence to settle in for a moment, watching the chief¡¯s gaze flicker toward the paddies.
¡°Of course, if you believe the traditional method is more effective, I¡¯ll gladly go back to what I was taught. However, with all due respect, perhaps a slight adjustment could lead to better results that would benefit us all.¡± Aris¡¯s words lingered in the air, just persuasive enough to plant a seed of doubt in the chief¡¯s mind without directly questioning his authority.
Aris maintained a humble tone, but there was a slight shift in his posture, a subtle confidence that the chief would subconsciously notice, and the message was clear: Aris was suggesting an improvement, not staging a rebellion.
¡°Of course, it¡¯s entirely your decision, sir,¡± Aris added, lowering his gaze slightly. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dream of disrespecting your judgment.¡± His words were designed to reinforce the idea that the chief was still in control, even as Aris manipulated the situation in his favor.
By not outright challenging the chief, Aris allowed the chief to think the idea was his own. It was a form of psychological manipulation: the chief wouldn¡¯t feel threatened because he wasn¡¯t being directly contradicted, but the seed of doubt about the current methods was planted.
The chief slave manager¡¯s mind churned with conflicting thoughts as he stood before Aris. The past months had been a relentless grind. The monthly quotas, always impossible to meet, had resulted in his salary being slashed to 35 silver coins, a far cry from the decent amount he once earned. The Vales family, especially the spoiled young master, had made it clear that only results mattered, no matter how the crops were grown or how much effort went into the process. It was all about the final yield.
His thoughts lingered on the last confrontation he had with the young master. When he asked for guidance on how to improve the production, the young master simply dismissed him with a wave, uninterested in the mechanics of farming and only caring about the numbers.
The chief slave manager had tried to seek advice from the other chief managers in neighboring camps, but each one had refused to share any secrets. They were too protective of their methods, too wary of anyone gaining an advantage over them. In this cutthroat world of slave management, there was no room for generosity. It was every man for himself.
And now, before him, stood a malnourished slave boy, no older than the others, claiming to have discovered a method that could increase the yield. The audacity of it. It felt almost like a joke. How could this weak, underfed child know something the chief slave manager didn¡¯t? Yet, the results were undeniable, the paddy was nearly fully germinated, something the chief slave manager had never seen in such a short period.
Aris, meanwhile, stood silently, but his eyes were sharp, and he was. Using Zona¡¯s advanced capabilities, the AI chip scanned the chief slave manager¡¯s microexpressions, those subtle, fleeting changes that the human eye would miss. The AI carefully analyzed every wrinkle, twitch of the brow, and shift in posture, feeding him real-time data on the man¡¯s emotional state.
The skepticism was clear, but so was the underlying hope. A small, buried part of the chief slave manager was desperate for a solution¡ªdesperate for a way to redeem himself in the eyes of the young master. After all, his position and livelihood were on the line. The threat of further pay cuts was a constant shadow over him.
Aris realized then that he had the upper hand, not just because of the results in front of them, but because he could sense and see the deeper fear in the chief slave manager. Fear of failure, fear of losing his position, and fear of becoming irrelevant to the Vales family¡¯s interests.
So Aris waited patiently, watching the chief slave manager¡¯s inner conflict play out. The man might have been tough on the outside, but the cracks were starting to show. Hope and desperation had a way of making people flexible when their backs were against the wall.
Aris could almost hear the silent negotiation in the air, the chief slave manager wanting to believe in the potential solution but unwilling to let his guard down too easily. Hope, after all, was a dangerous thing when it came with a price.
Finally, the chief slave manager¡¯s gaze sharpened, and he looked directly at Aris. His voice was low, tinged with an edge of doubt. ¡°So¡ what is it that you¡¯ve done differently?¡± he asked, unwilling to fully commit but unable to dismiss the possibility.
Aris allowed himself a small, knowing smile. The seed of curiosity had been planted. Now, it was time to nurture it.