《DEMONIC WIZARD》 Chapter 1: Aris You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. 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. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. 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. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. 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 drawing unnecessary 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 his bowl, 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 to germinate 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. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. 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. Most here 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¡­¡± he said weakly. 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 must 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. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. [ 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. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. 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. Chapter 7: The first step Aris kept his head slightly lowered, his expression respectful but steady. ¡°Esteemed sir, I simply tried spacing the seeds apart rather than scattering them randomly," he said, pointing toward his paddy. "By giving each seed enough room, they can absorb more nutrients and aren''t competing as intensely. As a result, the germination rate became higher.¡± The chief slave manager frowned, his fingers tapping against his armrest. ¡°Spacing them apart? That just sounds like it takes longer. We don¡¯t have time for slow methods, we have quotas to meet.¡± Aris nodded in understanding. ¡°That¡¯s true, sir. The planting process takes a bit longer. However, this method leads to significantly improved yields. There is less wasted seed and the crops are stronger. Instead of having to replant failed batches, you will get more usable rice from the first cycle.¡± The chief slave manager narrowed his eyes. ¡°Are you certain about this?¡± he asked. Although deep down he knew the answer was yes, doubt and the weight of potential failure pressed on him. If the yield didn¡¯t improve, if he couldn¡¯t deliver results, the young master would cast him aside without a second thought making him lose his source of income. And that wasn¡¯t just a loss of salary, it was a loss of power. He had grown used to being treated like a king here, lording over slaves and enforcers alike. If he fell from favor, the respect, the fear, the authority he wielded would vanish overnight. And that was something he could not afford. Aris gestured again toward his paddy. ¡°The proof is already there, sir. Nearly ninety percent of my seeds have sprouted. Compare that to the others, where many will fail and have to be replanted.¡± The chief slave manager waved his hand at the enforcer and said, ¡°Go get me one of his sprouts.¡± The enforcer immediately hurried toward Aris¡¯s paddy and plucked a sprout. The other slave kids glanced over in curiosity, wondering why he did so, but no one would explain anything to them, let alone waste their time. The enforcer returned to the chief slave manager and handed over the sprout. Garron Bale, the chief slave manager, examined it. When he saw how healthy it was, he felt a sense of satisfaction. He thought to himself, ¡°If all of the seeds can grow this well, then I will be saved.¡± A rare smile escaped Garron, and Aris, reading Garron¡¯s expression, immediately knew he had won his gamble. The enforcers were also taken aback by Garron''s small smile. However, he quickly clicked his tongue in disapproval when he realized he had let his guard down, and he tried to return to his usual demeanor, saying, ¡°Impressive¡­ but what about the time lost? If the slaves take longer to plant, we¡¯ll fall behind.¡± Aris remained kneeling, his gaze lowered, but his mind was racing. He had expected this concern¡ªthe enforcers and the chief slave manager cared more about speed than efficiency. If they didn¡¯t meet the monthly quota, their salaries would be cut, and no amount of healthy crops could change that. He let a brief silence hang in the air, just long enough for Garron to dwell on the thought. Then, with a measured tone, he replied, ¡°Sir, it may take slightly longer at first, but once the method is learned, the difference in speed will be negligible. However¡­¡± Aris raised his head slightly, meeting Garron¡¯s eyes just enough to seem respectful, yet confident. ¡°The difference in yield will be undeniable. The current method wastes nearly half of the seeds, forcing us to replant later. But if we plant properly the first time, fewer seeds are needed, and more sprouts will survive. In the end, we won¡¯t just meet the quota¡ªwe¡¯ll exceed it.¡± Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Garron narrowed his eyes, rubbing his thumb over the sprout as if testing its strength. The logic was sound, but he was a man who had been burned before. He wasn¡¯t about to gamble his already meager salary and his status on a mere slave¡¯s word. ¡°Big words you have there,¡± he muttered. ¡°But you¡¯re forgetting something. If we slow down now, we risk failing this month¡¯s quota. Even if your method works, what do I tell the young master when I don¡¯t have the numbers to show for it?¡± Aris inwardly smirked. That was exactly the response he had expected. He kept his expression humble, his voice even. ¡°That is why I suggest a compromise, sir.¡± Garron arched a brow as he said ¡°compromise?¡± ¡°Let the others continue planting the usual way for now, but assign a small portion of land for my method¡ªjust enough to compare. If my crops fail, you lose nothing. But if they succeed¡­¡± Aris let his words trail off, allowing Garron to fill in the rest himself. The chief slave manager tapped his fingers against his armrest, his expression unreadable. The enforcers watched in silence, sensing the tension. Then, Garron let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. ¡°Hah¡­ A little rat and a little schemer, aren¡¯t you?¡± His smile didn¡¯t reach his eyes. Aris kept his head bowed. ¡°I only wish to serve, sir.¡± Garron studied him for a moment longer, then finally sighed. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll give you a patch of land. If this works, I will take the credit.¡± His tone darkened slightly. ¡°And if it fails, you¡¯ll wish you¡¯d never opened your mouth.¡± Aris lowered his head further, concealing the sharp glint in his eyes. ¡°I understand, sir. Thank you for your generosity,¡± he said, his voice laced with just the right amount of humility. Recognition wasn''t his goal, not yet. Credit meant nothing to him; even if he asked for it, he wouldn¡¯t receive any. If he remained trapped in the same miserable conditions, then credit was meaningless. What he truly sought was Garron¡¯s favor¡ªa foothold that would allow him to secure better food, gain small privileges, and gradually carve out a path upward and this was merely the first step.. He had won the first step. Now, he just had to make sure his method succeeded. Garron¡¯s gaze hardened as he turned to the enforcer. ¡°Go. Get him seeds and land. And make sure to remove him from the quota book. Create a new one, just for him,¡± he said, his voice steady and he continued ¡°Also, ensure he gets better food. He won¡¯t work well if he¡¯s this malnourished.¡± The enforcer nodded without hesitation. ¡°Understood, sir,¡± he replied quickly, his eyes now shifting to Aris. As Aris stood up, the enforcer¡¯s curiosity began to build. Aris¡¯s calm demeanor, his ability to converse with Garron with such confidence and clarity, was something the enforcer hadn¡¯t expected from a slave of his age. Most of the other children could barely speak a word in front of Garron, much less engaged in the kind of intellectual discussion Aris had demonstrated. The words Aris had used to explain his methods had been articulate, his reasoning sound. It was rare for a child, especially one so young, to possess such depth of thought. The enforcer, who had spent years overseeing these kids, found himself surprised by the contrast between Aris and the others. His curiosity was slightly piqued. The enforcer glanced at Aris as he thought Could there be more to this kid than meets the eye? and then turned sharply on his heel dismissing the thought as he had no time to dwell on it ¡°Follow me,¡± he ordered. Aris obeyed without hesitation, keeping his gaze forward as they walked. After a few minutes, they arrived at the edge of the farm, where ten empty paddies stretched before them. Aris¡¯s eyes flickered with understanding. ¡°So that¡¯s his game¡­¡± Even with the promise of better food, Garron was squeezing out every ounce of labor from him. Ten paddies¡ªfar more than the others have to manage. ¡°Garron is squeezing me dry, pushing me to the limit. He¡¯s testing how much I can handle, watching closely to decide if I¡¯m worth keeping around.¡± Aris wasn''t worried. Alone, he might have felt overwhelmed, but he wasn''t alone. The AI chip that was fused in his soul was already calculating the best methods and optimizing the planting strategy to ensure a high-quality rice yield. ¡°They think they¡¯re using me,¡± he thought. ¡°That¡¯s fine; I¡¯ll use them just the same.¡± ¡°This is your section now,¡± the enforcer said, arms crossed. ¡°Do your work. If your results aren¡¯t as good as you claim¡­¡± His gaze darkened. ¡°You¡¯ll be sent to the mines.¡± There was no need for further explanation. Everyone understood what that meant. Aris gave a respectful nod, but his mind remained sharp. Before he began, he looked at the enforcer and asked, ¡°Will I have protection?¡± The enforcer frowned. ¡°What for?¡± ¡°If others get jealous of the treatment I would be given,¡± Aris said, his voice calm, ¡°they might try to sabotage my work. Some may interfere just to spite me.¡± The enforcer¡¯s brows furrowed, and his mind immediately landed on Number 105. He knew exactly the kind of troublemaker Aris was talking about. He let out a sharp exhale, annoyed but acknowledging the truth in his words. ¡°I¡¯ll handle it,¡± the enforcer finally said. ¡°You just focus on your work.¡± He thought ¡°Let''s see if they dare to¡± Chapter 8: The Seeds of Survival ¡°When can I get the seeds?¡± Aris asked. The enforcer slowed his pace, casting a brief glance over his shoulder. ¡°Tomorrow,¡± he muttered. ¡°Along with your food.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± Aris responded, watching as the enforcer walked away toward the other working slave kids. He could guess what the enforcer would do, but he didn''t dwell on it. Aris studied the dry paddies for two minutes, then murmured inwardly, ¡°Zona.¡± Farming wasn¡¯t his expertise, so he wanted the AI to analyze the soil. In his past life, he had mastered multiple fields: genetic engineering, computer science, quantum physics, and engineering, to name a few. That was why people had called him a genius. Even the AI chip in his soul had been his creation, developed alongside a team of brilliant scientists. He recalled their greatest breakthrough, genetically modified humans. This discovery could have changed everything, opening the gates of the interstellar era, but he had never seen it in action. A sigh escaped him, heavy and weary, as if he were an old man. Everything he had painstakingly learned in his past life was now nearly useless. But worse than that was the thought creeping into his mind¡ªwhat if, with time, he forgot it all? He resolved, ¡°I need a way to store my knowledge before I lose it. " Then, a sudden idea struck him. He sat at the edge of the paddies, deep in thought. ¡°The AI had a storage function, didn¡¯t it?¡± He thought. ¡°Could I use it to preserve my memories?¡± Soil analysis no longer mattered. ¡°Zona, does the storage function still work?¡± he asked, his focus shifting entirely. [The storage feature is operational, but no connected system exists to access the memory.] Aris could guess what this meant, but he asked again, "Are you able to store my memories?" [I don¡¯t have that capability at the moment,] came Zona''s response. Aris felt a brief wave of dejection, but then his reality hit him as he thought. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter if I lose this knowledge. I don¡¯t have the luxury to dwell on that right now.¡± The thought snapped him out of his slump. He straightened up, activating the AI. A holographic interface appeared before him, displaying a grid of the paddies. The AI¡¯s mechanical voice filled his mind. [Scanning¡­] A series of data points appeared on the blue display. The best areas for planting rice were highlighted in green, while areas with poor soil quality were marked red. The AI provided a list of specific nutrients that the soil was lacking, along with recommendations for improvement. [Optimal Planting Zones: Zone A1: Ideal for early rice growth, high nutrient content. Zone B3: Moderate soil quality, needs improvement.] [Soil Improvement Recommendations Add organic matter to zones with poor water retention. Introduce nitrogen-based fertilizers to areas marked in red.] The AI gave him helpful information, which he understood right away. This help was very valuable to him and made him feel a little less stressed for now. Afterward, Aris sat down, deep in thought, weighing his next move. One option was to look for compost, but the problem was he didn¡¯t know where to find it. The only person he could ask was that filthy cook, whom he had no desire to approach. He knew he could acquire it if necessary, but he couldn¡¯t shake the doubt: Would the enforcers really provide him with the resources he needed? They had granted him land, but would they follow through with the rest of his requirements? The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. He also needed water to prepare the land. But again, he wondered if Garron and the enforcers would have the patience to wait for him to get everything ready. From what he¡¯d observed, they were not the patient type. If they were, they wouldn¡¯t have treated things so recklessly in the first place. Aris stood up, thinking, ¡°I have no other choice.¡± He walked towards the cook¡¯s quarters, located west of the slave quarters. The building was made of brick, but it was old and dirty, with soot covering the walls. Aris walked inside, and the smell of overcooked food and stale air hit him immediately. The cook, a grumpy man, was stirring a pot of beans. When he saw Aris, his face twisted with anger, and he pointed a knife at Aris. ¡°What is this? A slave daring to come into my kitchen? Get out now before I add you to my stew!¡± Aris didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°The chief slave manager gave me permission. I¡¯m here for his request,¡± he said calmly. The cook set the knife down with a sharp clatter, regarding Aris with suspicion. His eyes moved to the slave number etched into Aris¡¯s skin, and his posture relaxed a little after a brief moment. No slave would dare fabricate an order from the chief slave manager, not if they valued their life. ¡°What do you want?¡± the cook asked, his tone softer but still annoyed. Aris looked around the filthy kitchen. Rats scurried across the floor, their tiny claws tapping against the stone, while cockroaches skittered up the walls, their dark bodies shimmering in the dim light. The kitchen was thick with the rancid stench of rotting food and stale grease, and Aris¡¯s stomach churned in revolt. He tried to cover his nose, but the foul odor seeped into his lungs, suffocating him. He thought he might gag for a moment, but there was no escape. Resigned, he forced himself to breathe through his mouth, his throat tightening with each breath. Not caring about the filth, the cook continued to stir his pot, indifferent to the vermin and the stench that filled the kitchen. ¡°I need the leftover food,¡± Aris said, his voice flat. ¡°The food you throw away.¡± The cook scoffed as he stopped stirring. ¡°Leftovers? There¡¯s no such thing here. I don¡¯t waste food. Everything I cook gets served. What¡¯s left over? I will give it to you guys. You¡¯ll get the scraps.¡± Aris didn¡¯t show any emotion. ¡°What about the rotten food?¡± he asked, looking directly at the cook. The cook stared at him, confused. ¡°Rotten food? I recycle them and give them to you guys as food.¡± He waved his hand, trying to get rid of Aris. Aris¡¯s stomach turned at the cook¡¯s words, but he quickly masked his disgust. He knew better than to let his feelings show. The kitchen was already filthy, and the idea of eating recycled, spoiled food was revolting, but it was the only option available. ¡°I don¡¯t want to come back here for nothing,¡± Aris said his disgust masked. ¡°The chief slave manager told me to do this job right. I will, even if I have to use everything I can.¡± The cook hesitated, considering his options. If the kid caused trouble, the chief slave manager might come sniffing around, and I don¡¯t need that headache. With a sigh, he gave in. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll give you what I can, but don¡¯t expect anything special. And if you come back, don¡¯t act like you¡¯re in charge.¡± Aris nodded as he moved toward the corner of the kitchen where the rotten food or, specifically, the ''fertilizers¡® were; he took in the scene, the unpleasant sight of the rotting food and rats feasting on it, but he couldn¡¯t afford to be picky. He was in a situation where he had to use whatever was available, no matter how grim it was. As he stood there, an idea struck him. What if he could use the abundant rats here as fertilizer? Curiosity compelled him to take action. He turned to the cook, who had returned to stirring his pot, and asked, ¡°Hey, can I use these rats?¡± The cook didn¡¯t even look up at first. ¡°What for?¡± ¡°As a fertilizer,¡± Aris replied quickly, his voice steady. With a grunt, the cook stopped stirring, his eyes narrowed. ¡° ''Fertilizer? What in blazes is fertilizer?¡± Then, a knowing look crossed his face. He stared at Aris for a long moment, seemingly understanding something unspoken. ¡°So, you want to eat them, but you¡¯re embarrassed about it?¡± The cook chuckled to himself, shaking his head. Aris didn¡¯t flinch. He could see that the cook had misunderstood him, but he didn¡¯t care to correct him. The truth was, there was no shame in survival. He had lived in a world where everything was about efficiency and maximizing resources, and this was no different. The cook¡¯s face softened slightly, his expression betraying a mix of amusement and resignation. He had seen other slaves do worse things¡ªsome of them even came here to take the rats and sometimes the food he hoarded for himself. That was why he disliked the slave kids sneaking into his kitchen in the first place and stealing his food. Aris didn¡¯t mind the cook¡¯s assumptions. He had a plan, and if he could use the rats to his advantage, then that was all that mattered. He gathered the spoiled food and vegetables on a cloth he found in the kitchen. After a twenty-minute walk, he arrived at the paddies. Once there, he spread the fertilizer over the soil and began digging with a hoe. The ten paddies totaled one acre, which meant it would take him 30 to 40 days to work on all of them. Since he couldn¡¯t ask for help, he thought it best to start with just 200 square meters and plant rice there. Aris knew he couldn''t take care of an entire acre on his own, so he decided to focus on the 200 square meters first. ¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­.. Garron lay lazily under the tree, enjoying the shade. The enforcer, standing nearby and fanning him, couldn¡¯t help but ask. ¡°Sir,¡± the enforcer said carefully, ¡°why make him work on ten paddies when one person can barely handle one, and the time It would take four to seven months just to see the result.¡± Garron glanced up, his expression cold. ¡°Are you questioning my decisions?¡± His voice was sharp, and the enforcer quickly straightened, nervous. ¡°Please, sir¡­¡­ I just¡­ was curious. That''s all," the enforcer replied sweating nervously. Garron sat up slowly, his voice turning thoughtful. ¡°The kid¡¯s hungry for power. He thinks he can climb the ladder, just like I did once. I wanted more¡ªmore power, more wealth, more everything.¡± The enforcer hesitated, unsure whether he should ask more. ¡°Sir, if he¡­ succeeds, what then? What becomes of us?¡± Garron¡¯s expression hardened, his voice low and serious. ¡°If he gets to the top, he¡¯ll come after me. They all will, eventually. They fear me now, but they hate me too. If I show any weakness, they¡¯ll tear me down.¡± The enforcer stayed silent for a moment, processing Garron¡¯s words. But then he asked, ¡°But¡­ do you still want to climb that ladder? Do you still want that power?¡± Garron stared up at the sky, his tone quieter this time. ¡°No. When you reach a certain point, you realize your own blood ties you down. No matter what I do, I¡¯ll never have as much power as the young master. Unless¡­ I become a knight. But my body¡¯s too old for that now. I¡¯m not the same anymore.¡± The enforcer thought for a moment, then realized something. Garron still hadn¡¯t answered his original question. He kept his thoughts to himself, not daring to push further. Chapter 9: Leaving The slaves quarters Aris woke early, as usual, and followed his daily routine: a trip to the well, a quick wash, and brushing his teeth. Once finished he returned to the slave quarters, he stood in front of the worn out houses, waiting. The other kids emerged from the houses within minutes, joining him in the assembly. A few, like Aris, who had woken early, came to stand in silence from the outside, all of them waiting for the enforcer¡¯s daily ¡®brainwashing¡¯ speech. But today, something felt off. The enforcers, and even Garron, hadn¡¯t arrived at their usual time. Though it wasn¡¯t uncommon for Garron to skip a day, the absence of the enforcers was strange. The group waited for another twenty minutes, but still, no one showed. Some of the kids began to whisper among themselves, speculating on the cause of the delay. Ten minutes later, Garron and his two followers appeared, but they weren¡¯t alone. Fred, dressed in a black shirt and grey pants, trailed behind them. A handkerchief was tied around his nose, as if trying to shield himself from the foul stench of the slave quarters. Garron and his two followers were sweating, clearly nervous. ¡°What¡¯s he here for?¡± Garron wondered inwardly. ¡°It was only a few weeks ago that he took the slaves to the squire¡¯s station. And the monthly quotas aren¡¯t due for another week.¡± Though Garron wore a smile, inside he was a tangled mess of anxiety inside. The enforcers also shared his unease, but unlike him, they weren¡¯t hiding their discomfort. Fred scanned the slave kids in front of him, his eyes flicking from one to the next. ¡°None of them are fit to join the young master¡¯s squire camp,¡± he thought, his disdain barely hidden. These kids were nothing but dirty, ragged creatures with no value in his eyes. But the young master had insisted, demanding that Fred replenish his ¡°slave soldiers¡±¡ªand he had to pick few. Garron, eager to please, stepped forward, his voice dripping with false reverence. ¡°Sir Fred, it¡¯s truly an honor for someone of your stature to return to this miserable place. You should¡¯ve sent someone in your stead. I would¡¯ve taken care of everything.¡± He made sure to bow low, his eyes darting nervously. Fred may not have had real power, but his connection to the young master was enough to ruin Garron¡¯s life if he ever reported anything unfavorable. Better to stroke his ego now than risk the consequences later. Fred¡¯s eyes narrowed, but his face remained neutral. He wasn¡¯t one to be easily swayed by flattery. ¡°The young master needs more slave kids to replenish his ¡®soldiers,¡¯¡± he said, his tone flat. ¡°He ordered me to pick out the decent ones. But frankly, not a single one here is decent enough.¡± Garron blinked, confusion flickering in his eyes. ¡°But didn¡¯t you already take a few not too long ago? If you take more, there won¡¯t be anyone left to work the fields. My workforce will be decimated. How will I meet the monthly quotas?¡± Fred¡¯s expression remained unchanged as he shot a cold glance at Garron. ¡°That¡¯s not my problem. The young master¡¯s orders come first.¡± His gaze shifted back to the group of kids, dismissing Garron¡¯s worries as irrelevant. Garron¡¯s mind raced. ¡°If he takes more, I won¡¯t be able to meet the quotas. But I can¡¯t just let him take my workers¡­ His eyes roamed the crowd, settling on Aris, who was standing quietly among the other slave kids, then a plan began to form in Garron¡¯s mind ¡°This might work ¡° thought Garron. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. As Aris caught Garron¡¯s gaze, an unsettling feeling churned in his stomach. ¡°What¡¯s he planning?¡± Aris thought, wary. ¡°I¡¯m doing his work¡ªimproving both the quality and the quantity of his yield. If he doesn¡¯t want better results, then he wouldn¡¯t do what I fear he¡¯s about to do.¡± Garron pointed at Aris with an abrupt motion as he said ¡°You. Come here.¡± Aris hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, the eyes of every slave kid fixed on him. Whispers rippled through the crowd, curiosity blooming as to why he¡¯d been singled out. Fred, still scrutinizing the group, felt a stir of interest. ¡°What¡¯s Garron up to?¡± he thought, watching Aris closely. Aris stood between the assembled kids and Garron''s followers, while Fred was standing at the back of Garron. Aris neither spoke nor greeted Garron because he could guess what he was about to do. Garron moved closer to Aris and glanced back at Fred. Then he said, ¡°Sir Fred, this slave boy you see here is the most intelligent slave I have ever encountered. He learns quickly, follows orders without complaint, and understands things that none of the other kids here do. He¡¯s worth five of them combined.¡± Fred¡¯s gaze flickered toward Aris again, this time assessing him more carefully. Garron¡¯s words were likely exaggerated, but if even half of it was true, then this one could be more useful than the others. Seeing Fred¡¯s hesitation, Garron pressed on. ¡°I know you want strength, but think about it¡ªbrains and brawn together make the best warriors. This kid? He adapts, learns fast, and doesn¡¯t make the same mistake twice. With the right training, he¡¯ll rise above the rest. And unlike the others, he won¡¯t just be a sword on the battlefield¡ªhe¡¯ll be an asset.¡± Fred exhaled slowly. He wasn¡¯t interested in raising geniuses, but an intelligent fighter could be valuable. Strength alone didn¡¯t win battles¡ªstrategy and adaptability mattered too. If the boy truly had potential, he could be turned into something useful. And if he failed? Well, the young master would still have another body to throw at the enemy. ¡°Fine,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll take him.¡± Garron¡¯s shoulders relaxed slightly, though he kept his expression neutral. He had solved his problem¡ªhis workforce remained intact, and he wouldn¡¯t have to deal with the fallout of losing too many slaves. What happened to Aris from now on was no longer his concern. Aris However remained silent carefully analyzing the situation. ¡°Predictable,¡± he thought. He knew Garron was not that good but he thought that since they had something in common now something they were working toward together he would not betray him due to the benefits but Garron chose short-term benefits over long-term. Besides that Garron was self-serving person, it made sense that he¡¯d choose to sacrifice a single slave instead of losing several. And Fred? He wasn¡¯t making a rash decision either. He saw potential value and he knew Garron did not dare to lie to him or the young master, and that was enough for him to take action. ¡°It doesn¡¯t change anything. I was never planning to rot here forever. Becoming a squire was already part of my long-term goal after getting out¡ªbut plans are meaningless when reality moves faster than expected. At least I¡¯m leaving this hellhole ahead of schedule.¡± Aris thought. Fred stood before Aris, scrutinizing him more closely. At a glance, he looked no different from the other slave kids¡ªthin, dirty, and unremarkable. Yet, Fred chose to trust Garron¡¯s words. Not because he believed Garron to be honest, but because he knew Garron wouldn¡¯t dare to lie about something like this. Without further hesitation, Fred turned away. ¡°Follow me.¡± Aris obeyed without a word, and the two left the assembled slaves behind. One of the enforcers, the one assigned to give the boy his seeds, frowned in confusion. After a brief hesitation, he stepped closer to Garron and lowered his voice. ¡°Sir, what about the project he was supposed to do? And why did you praise him so much? You¡¯ve only spoken to him once. What if he¡¯s not as intelligent as you claimed? If he fails to meet expectations, won¡¯t that mean you lied to the young master?¡± Garron shot the enforcer a sidelong glance, amusement flickering in his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re overthinking it,¡± he said, his tone laced with mockery. ¡°Do you really think Fred cares whether the boy is as smart as I claimed? He just needed someone to take back, and I handed him the best option¡ªone that keeps my workforce intact.¡± He crossed his arms, watching as Fred and the boy disappeared into the distance. ¡°And if the boy turns out to be useless? That¡¯s Fred¡¯s problem, not mine. The young master gets his replacement, Fred gets what he came for, and I don¡¯t lose more bodies in the fields. It¡¯s a perfect trade.¡± A low chuckle escaped him. ¡°Besides, that one isn¡¯t like the others. He¡¯s got ambition¡ªhe won¡¯t just sit back and accept his fate. He¡¯ll either climb or die trying, and either way, it won¡¯t come back to bite me.¡± Finally, Garron turned to the enforcer, his voice taking on a sharper edge. ¡°So stop worrying. It¡¯s done.¡± ¡°What about the project he was about to do¡± the enforcer asked. Garron shot the enforcer an unimpressed look. ¡°The project?¡± He scoffed, rolling his eyes. ¡°What¡¯s more important¡ªone boy playing farmer or keeping the rest of the slaves in the fields?¡± He waved a hand dismissively, as if the question was beneath him. ¡°Even if his little experiment worked, what¡¯s it going to do? A few extra sacks of rice? Who cares when we lose ten times that because half the workforce is gone? The young master doesn¡¯t give a damn about some new planting method. He cares about quotas, and right now, I need bodies in the fields to hit them.¡± With a wicked smirk, he added, ¡°Besides, if the boy¡¯s as smart as I claim, he¡¯ll find a way to survive. If not, well¡­ that¡¯s Fred¡¯s problem now, not mine.¡± Without waiting for another word, Garron turned away, his mind already on the next issue. The enforcer, left with no choice, swallowed his doubts and fell silent, knowing better than to argue further. Chapter 10: Fortress Aris and Fred made their way toward the squire''s camp, the silence stretching between them was almost tangible. After about twenty minutes of walking over flat terrain dotted with small trees and shrubs, they reached a fortress. Though the fortress was not the largest building he saw it was nonetheless large enough to amaze him. Aris estimated the wall''s height to be around fifteen meters. The sturdy black walls of the fortress stood firm, and at the gates, two guards clad in iron armor with leather accents stood vigilant, keeping watch over the entrance to the fortress. The guards opened the gates as they saw Fred approaching with a single slave boy. "Why is he coming with only one slave boy?" one of the guards thought. Typically, Fred arrived with five to ten slave boys, and it wasn''t just Fred; other attendants of other young masters also brought along many slave boys to join their camps. The guards were curious about what was special about this particular slave boy, but they couldn''t ask Fred directly. However, they knew they would find out the reason soon enough as they always do. As Aris stepped inside the fortress, his eyes were drawn to the right, where a vast training ground stretched out, large enough to hold at least four hundred people. The ground was packed earth, worn smooth in some places and rough with scars in others, marked by the relentless footfalls of those who trained here daily. The faint scent of sweat and dust lingered in the air, mixing with the distant clang of steel on steel. Rows of training dummies stood like silent witnesses to countless drills, their wooden limbs scarred from repeated strikes. Some leaned at odd angles, their frames barely holding together after enduring blow after blow. Others had been hastily repaired, their battered surfaces still bearing fresh cuts. To the west of the training ground stood a row of straw targets set at varying distances. To the north, Aris spotted a group of kids his age training with swords under the watchful eyes of their instructors. They all wore grey t-shirts that reached their thighs, secured with belts that held their swords, along with black pants and brown boots. Most of them were fit, their bodies well-built from rigorous training. Seeing this, Aris felt a rare flicker of satisfaction. ¡°They¡¯re well-fed,¡± he thought. ¡°That means decent food¡ªreal food, not that toxic porridge.¡± A silent relief washed over him. ¡°At least I¡¯ll never have to eat that slop again.¡± His gaze lingered on the trainees, observing them more closely. Despite their strong physiques, their faces didn¡¯t reflect the same vigor. Their expressions were tense, their eyes hollow¡ªworn down by something beyond mere exhaustion. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s just the training,¡± Aris mused, though a nagging feeling told him there was more to it than that. Fred and Aris moved forward, leaving the training ground behind. As they walked, Aris glanced around, realizing how different the fortress felt from within. From the outside, it had seemed like an imposing, lifeless structure of stone and iron. But inside, it was a world of rigid order¡ªsoldiers drilling, squires training, the air thick with the scent of sweat and steel. Before he could take in more, they arrived at a small, dimly lit room. There was nothing inside but a wooden table and chair, where a middle-aged man sat hunched over a thick ledger. His face was marred by a terrible scar that ran from his temple down to his hollowed left cheek, splitting his useless eye in half. His right eye, sharp and watchful, flicked up as Fred entered. Fred stepped forward without hesitation. ¡°Record this one under my young master¡¯s camp,¡± he demanded. The man¡¯s gaze shifted to Aris, scrutinizing him for a moment. Then he finally spoke, his voice was rough, as if his throat had once been torn and never fully healed. ¡°One slave boy?¡± If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Aris, standing behind Fred thought, ¡°Did he damage his vocal cords?¡± Fred didn¡¯t seem to care for the man¡¯s doubts. ¡°Just register him,¡±he said, his voice flat. With a shrug, the man stopped questioning. He picked up a quill, dipped it into ink, and scrawled Aris¡¯s number into the ledger. Then the man yelled, ¡°Chris!¡± after finishing recording Aris. A boy, around twelve or thirteen years old, immediately entered the room and responded, ¡°Yes, sir.¡± ¡°Take this slave boy to the dormitory, get him his training clothes, and show him where he¡¯ll be sleeping,¡± the man ordered. After that Aris followed the kid. As they walked through the fortress, Aris glanced at the boy leading the way. Chris looked to be around twelve or thirteen, with an easy-going expression and a slight bounce in his step. Unlike the grim faces Aris had seen on the training ground, this kid didn¡¯t seem too burdened by his circumstances. Aris decided to probe for information. ¡°You¡¯ve been here long?¡± ¡°Two years,¡± the boy answered without hesitation. ¡°Name¡¯s Chris, by the way. What¡¯s yours?¡± Aris paused before replying. ¡°I don¡¯t have a name, just a number.¡± Chris stopped walking, turning to face him fully. ¡°What, seriously? You¡¯re still going by a number?¡± He scoffed, shaking his head. ¡°Look, once you¡¯re outta the slave quarters, you pick a name. Makes life easier.¡± Aris didn¡¯t respond to that as he already had a name for himself. Instead, he shifted the conversation. ¡°What¡¯s the training like here?¡± Chris grinned. ¡°Hell, at first. You wake up at dawn, train till your body feels like it¡¯s gonna fall apart, eat, then train some more. Instructors don¡¯t care if you¡¯re tired¡ªthey¡¯ll beat you for complaining. But after a while, your body gets used to it.¡± He flexed his arm with exaggerated pride. ¡°Now I barely feel sore.¡± Aris raised a brow. ¡°That¡¯s because your muscles are already built.¡± Chris laughed. ¡°Fair point. You¡¯ll get there, though.¡± Aris ignored the casual reassurance. He wasn¡¯t here to ¡®get there.¡¯ He was here to survive then grow in hierarchy of power.¡°What about the knights? Are they strict?¡± he asked instead. Chris let out a dry chuckle. ¡°Strict? Try ruthless. Some just enjoy making us suffer. Others will train you properly¡ªif you¡¯re worth their time.¡± His grin faded slightly. ¡°But if you¡¯re weak? You¡¯re just another body for the battlefield.¡± A flicker of understanding settled in Aris¡¯s mind. ¡°So, that¡¯s why they looked like that.¡± He recalled the hollow-eyed trainees he had seen earlier¡ªwell-fed but drained, worn down by more than exhaustion. Aris absorbed the information. ¡°How are the squires ranked?¡± Chris¡¯s face lit up at the question, clearly eager to explain. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s important. There¡¯s no official ranking, but everyone knows who¡¯s at the top. Strongest kids get better treatment, better gear, even a shot at being noticed by a real knight. The weak? They¡¯re just fodder they barely get the scraps.¡± He shot Aris a curious glance. ¡°What about you? You any good with a sword?¡± Aris gave a noncommittal shrug. ¡°I learn quickly.¡± Chris whistled. ¡°That¡¯s a dangerous thing to say here. Quick learners get noticed fast. Just make sure it¡¯s the right people noticing you.¡± Aris nodded thoughtfully, but before he could respond, Chris continued, his tone dropping a little. ¡°The food here¡¯s much better than the slave quarters. You don¡¯t get a ton, but it¡¯s real meat and white bread, not that porridge slop. But yeah, you gotta work for it. The higher you rank, the more you get. If you¡¯re lucky enough to be in a noble¡¯s camp, you¡¯ll be eating like royalty.¡± Aris pondered the thought. ¡°Am I in a noble¡¯s camp if I¡¯m registered under the so-called ''young master¡¯?¡±But he didn¡¯t ask about that. Instead, he asked, ¡°What happens to those who don¡¯t rank well?¡¯¡± Chris glanced at him, his eyes widening as if the answer was obvious. ¡°You¡¯ll still get food, but not as much. The higher the rank, the better the portion. It¡¯s all about your worth. If you make it to the higher camps, they treat you better. But most kids? We just fight to survive here, training for two years. And then? You go to war. Doesn¡¯t matter if you¡¯re ready or not.¡± Aris¡¯s mind whirled with the implications. ¡°So, if you make it into a noble¡¯s camp, you¡¯re safe?¡± Chris shook his head. ¡°Not really. Even if you¡¯re in a noble camp, you¡¯re still a soldier, still a weapon. You¡¯re just better fed, better equipped. After training, they send you to war. You either make it or you don¡¯t. It¡¯s all about how useful you are. Some kids never make it out of here. If you do, you might get lucky¡ªbecome a knight and leave the status of slave behind or something.¡± ¡°That¡¯s how it works here. But hey, at least you¡¯re not starving and not eating that slop¡± Chris said. Aris didn¡¯t reply, feeling the weight of the boy¡¯s words. The grim truth about the camp was sinking in. Survival meant proving your worth, and even that wasn¡¯t a guarantee of safety. ¡°Where do we sleep?¡± Aris asked, trying to redirect his thoughts. ¡°Oh, the dorms,¡± Chris said, eyes bright. ¡°It¡¯s not like the slave quarters, that¡¯s for sure. Not much space, but it¡¯s better. There are a lot of kids in each room, but it¡¯s warmer than those old houses that looked like they might fall anytime. You¡¯ll get a bunk and a blanket. It¡¯s not luxury, but it¡¯s better than what we had before.¡± Aris felt a slight relief. For once, his mind wasn¡¯t consumed by the harsh realities of the slave quarters. Here, he would receive better treatment, but not without a price. Everything had a cost. After five minutes, they had reached the dormitory. Chris pushed open the door, revealing rows of simple wooden beds lined up against the walls. A few boys were inside, either lying down or tending to their gear. Chris gestured to an empty bed. ¡°That one¡¯s yours. Get used to it¡ªit¡¯s the only personal space you¡¯ll get.¡± He then handed Aris a folded set of clothes he took from the corner of the dormitory.¡°Training gear. Wear it unless you wanna get chewed out first thing in the morning.¡± Aris took the clothes but had one last question. ¡°And what of those who don''t progress as quickly?" Chris¡¯s grin faded slightly. ¡°If you can¡¯t keep up, you get left behind. And if you¡¯re useless, you don¡¯t stay here long.¡± He didn¡¯t elaborate, but the implication was clear. Aris nodded, tucking away the information. He had expected as much, but hearing it confirmed made it all the more real. Chris, sensing the shift in mood, clapped him on the shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t think too much about it for now. Just focus on getting stronger. That¡¯s all that matters here.¡± With that, he turned and left, leaving Aris alone to settle in. Chapter 11: Calculated Defiance ¡°Get up! Get up!¡± A loud voice jolted Aris awake, pulling him from the best sleep he had experienced since arriving in this world. His eyes snapped open, still heavy with drowsiness. Though his vision was blurry, he quickly made out the figure of the instructor standing at the dormitory door. He looked more closely and noticed the rod in the instructor¡¯s hand. Without hesitation, Aris sprang from his bed and stood rigidly in front of the wooden bed, his posture straight, like a soldier awaiting further commands. Any trace of sleepiness vanished instantly as if it had never existed. The other squire recruits got out of bed as well. Aris glanced around and noticed that all of them were already dressed in their squire uniforms¡ªa grey shirt and black pants. However, none of them carried the swords they were carrying yesterday though he wasn¡¯t sure why. But that wasn¡¯t what truly worried him. What unsettled him was the fact that everyone was already dressed¡ªwhile he was not. ¡°Oh, what do we have here?¡± the instructor said as he stood at the door, his gaze locking onto Aris, who was still dressed in his worn-out t-shirt and ragged pants. Aris took a closer look at the man to see him clearly, the instructor was tall, muscular, and at least six feet in height. The instructor strode toward him, gripping his rod in a way that suggested he was ready to strike at any moment. A sense of unease settled in Aris¡¯s gut when he saw the instructor come toward him, Something bad was about to happen to him. His eyes darted toward the other recruits. Though the dim candlelight cast flickering shadows across the room, it was enough for him to make out their faces; and their expressions told him everything. Aris spotted Chris standing seven beds away, looking at him with an apologetic expression. ¡°Why didn¡¯t he warn me this would happen?¡± Aris thought bitterly. But then it hit him¡ªChris had warned him. ¡°Wear the gear unless you want to get chewed out first thing in the morning,¡± he remembered. At the time, Aris had brushed it off. Now, standing under the instructor¡¯s scrutinizing gaze, he realized his mistake. The instructor halted in front of Aris, his grip tightening on the stick. His eyes roamed over Aris¡¯s ragged clothes, then a slow, almost delighted smirk tugged at his lips. ¡°Well, look at this,¡± he mused, tapping the stick lightly against his palm. ¡°A lost little slave who doesn¡¯t even know how to dress himself.¡± A few chuckles rippled through the room, low and mocking. Aris¡¯s body tensed. He could feel the gaze of a dozen eyes on him, some waiting for what was about to unfold and some Judging. The instructor lifted the rod higher, readying to strike. Every instinct in Aris screamed to move, but hesitation clamped down on his limbs. Beg? Dodge? Stay still? He needed to decide, fast. ¡°What should I do?¡± Aris thought frantically, searching for a way to avoid the blow. If he got hit, he¡¯d be injured¡ªrendered useless until he recovered. And in this camp, as Chris had warned, there was no mercy. Now, he was experiencing that harsh reality firsthand. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Then, the AI chip¡¯s voice echoed in his mind. [Move two steps back in two seconds...countdown until impact: two, one.] Time seemed to slow as Aris could see the cruel expression on the instructor. Aris¡¯s body responded instinctively, following the AI¡¯s guidance. He stepped back¡ªone, two¡ªjust as the instructor¡¯s stick came swinging down, missing him by a hair¡¯s breadth. ¡°What was that?¡± Aris thought, his mind racing. The AI didn¡¯t have these abilities before¡­ But now wasn¡¯t the time to dwell on the AI¡¯s new capabilities. The instructor, certain his strike would land, felt nothing but empty air. ¡°Huh?¡± He frowned, momentarily thrown off. ¡°Did I miss? No¡­ That¡¯s impossible.¡± His grip on the rod tightened as he rationalized the failure. ¡°Maybe I didn¡¯t put enough force behind it¡­ or the dim lighting threw off my aim. That must be it.¡± Narrowing his eyes, he swung again¡ªthis time, fully focused. [Detected: Lethal attack. Duck immediately or risk severe injury.] The AI¡¯s warning rang in Aris¡¯s mind, and without hesitation, he dropped into a low crouch. Whoosh! The rod cut through the air just above him, missing by mere inches. The force of the strike stirred his hair, but Aris remained untouched. The squires waiting to witness the drama of Aris being struck were dumbfounded, their mouths agape, each displaying different reactions. ¡°Did he just dodge that? How did he move so fast?¡± one of the squires, who was watching intently, exclaimed, surprised and certain that Aris would be hit. ¡°Impossible! No one can avoid a strike like that so easily; it must be luck," thought the squire standing next to Aris. His experience was different from the others, as he could see the instructor''s expression clearly, so he knew there was no way he could be mistaken. ¡°How did he do that? Was it a trick? No one else has ever avoided a hit like that on their first time¡± Chris thought then he remembered Aris saying to him that he learns fast ¡° I will ask him later¡± he thought. The instructor¡¯s face twisted in anger. How? A mere slave¡ªa malnourished boy with no training¡ªhad just dodged his attack and twice at that. The air in the dimly lit room was thick with tension. Impossible. The instructor tightened his grip on the stick, his knuckles turning white. He could already feel the eyes of the squires on him. If he let this slide, they would start doubting him. Fear is what keeps them in line. ¡°If they see weakness, they¡¯ll start thinking they can challenge me,¡± he thought. Aris slowly straightened from his crouched position, his breath coming in quick bursts. His body trembled¡ªnot from fear, but from the adrenaline still coursing through him. His mind raced as he analyzed the situation. The instructor wasn¡¯t angry anymore, but he was in a far worse state; his pride had been hurt, and that meant Aris was in real danger. Aris¡¯s eyes darted to the instructor, who was already winding up for another strike. Dodging again would only push him further into a rage. This wasn¡¯t punishment anymore but a lesson and the instructor was ready to carve this lesson into Aris''s flesh. ¡°I need to take a hit,¡± Aris thought. He realized that he shouldn¡¯t dodge any longer; if he continued dodging, his adrenaline would wear off after just a couple more attempts. Furthermore, if he avoided another hit, the instructor would likely become even angrier and might not stop until he had broken a bone. However, Aris believed he could manage how much he was hit if he used Zona''s new ability effectively. The AI chip sensing his thoughts said in its mechanical voice[ Analysis: Incoming attack. Acceptable damage threshold: Upper back. Strategy: Collapse before impact to lessen force. ] The stick made a whooshing sound as it came down. Just before it hit him Aris let his legs go weak and fell forward as if he finally succumbed to exhaustion. His upper back bent slightly, meeting the strike at an angle rather than head-on. CRACK! Pain shot through his back, but because he fell, the hit wasn''t as strong as it could have been. If he had stood still, it would have been much worse. It still hurt, of course, because he had to make it look real. One of the squires made a sharp, surprised sound. The instructor frowned. He landed the blow but Aris fell like a rag doll instead of screaming in pain. Aris coughed, pressing his palms against the cold floor, his face twisted in just enough pain to look convincing. The instructor stood over him, still gripping the stick. Aris kept his head down and his body loose, appearing weak and helpless as if he wasn¡¯t worth hitting again. ¡°What the hell just happened?¡± the instructor thought, tightening his grip on the stick. The attack had landed, but something felt off. He believed the first two attacks had missed either due to luck or the dim light in the dorm, but this strike should have made Aris, an untrained slave boy, cry out in agony. But the way Aris moved was too smooth, too perfect. The first time and the second time, it might have been luck. But the third time? No one moves like that without training. Then, he deliberately let the stick hit him¡ªnot on his head or ribs, but on his back, the safest place to get struck. "Maybe it was just luck," the instructor told himself, but he couldn''t shake the feeling that Aris, this small slave boy, had chosen where to be hit. The thought was unbelievable, and it filled him with rage. This was not merely disobedience; it was a form of resistance disguised as obedience. It was a challenge hidden beneath a facade of compliance. A few seconds passed. "I should hit him until he cannot think anymore." he thought. But the dorm was quiet. The squires, who had expected Aris to crumble under punishment, now stared in surprise. Some even seemed impressed. ¡°Damn it. If I keep hitting him, they''ll think he''s a hero." Then, with a scoff, the instructor stepped back and said ¡°Tch. Get up.¡± Aris stood up, thinking about what just happened. He had taken a hit¡ªjust enough to satisfy the instructor¡¯s authority¡ªwhile ensuring he could still move it was a calculated loss and also a quiet victory. Chapter 12: The cost of defiance Aris pushed himself up, his face contorted in grimace of pain; or at least, that¡¯s what he let them see. Every Movement of his was stiff, he reached for the gear beside his wooden bed and began putting it on. Every movement of his was deliberate, his expression carefully controlled. Seeing Aris in pain a thin, cruel smile tugged at the instructor¡¯s lips, his eyes gleaming like a predator savoring its prey, but it wasn¡¯t enough, he still felt the boy needed to be taught a proper lesson. The instructor¡¯s fingers twitched at his side, as if itching to deliver another blow but he controlled himself. ¡°I need all of you at the training ground in three minutes. If you¡¯re late,¡± he paused, ¡°you¡¯ll regret being born.¡± His voice was sharp, carrying an unmistakable warning. The moment the threatening words left his mouth, the squires jumped into action, as they rushed out of the dormitory and Aris was no exception. ¡°He¡¯s targeting me,¡± Aris thought as he sprinted. The training grounds weren¡¯t close¡ªcovering that distance in three minutes was a challenge, even for someone who knew the fortress like the back of their hand. For Aris, who was new and malnourished, it was nearly impossible. The others had a clear advantage. They were fit, strong, and well-trained. Even the weakest among them was leagues ahead of him in terms of physique. Compared to them, Aris was nothing more than a struggling shadow, a deadweight expected to collapse before even reaching the grounds. But failure wasn¡¯t an option. Clenching his jaw, Aris ran with everything he had after one minute, his muscles felt like they were tearing with every step, his lungs screamed for air, but he refused to stop. The other squires had long since left him behind, their figures swallowed by the darkness of the night. Without them to follow, he quickly lost his sense of direction. ¡°Damn it.¡± he said as he stilled himself. After two minutes of running, his breath came in ragged gasps as he pushed himself forward, every step a struggle against exhaustion. The fortress grounds were unfamiliar, and the cold night provided no guidance. He had no way of knowing if he was heading in the right direction and he only knew that stopping would mean failure. Then, just as his body threatened to give out, he stumbled onto the training ground¡ªby sheer luck. The other squires were already gathered, standing in groups, talking among themselves. Some turned to glance at him. Moments ago, they had looked at him with something close to awe but now, all that remained was disdain as to who would respect someone weaker than them. Some squires remained neutral, recalling that they had once been in his position. Others, like Chris, felt a pang of pity. They could guess why the instructor had suddenly ordered them to run, something he had never done before. Aris sat at the edge of the group, struggling to catch his breath. His legs trembled, his back still ached from the instructor¡¯s strike, and his oversized grey shirt clung to his sweat-drenched skin. Then, as the three minutes ended, the instructor arrived. His gaze immediately locked onto Aris, a cruel satisfaction evident in his eyes. ¡°You think you can dodge my hit?¡± the instructor thought, his gaze locked on Aris like a hawk sighting its prey. ¡°But I¡¯ll break you in ways you can¡¯t even imagine.¡± Here, in this place, he was a god, and Aris was nothing more than an insect beneath his boot. ¡°Get up!¡± the instructor barked, his voice sharp and commanding. Aris forced himself upright, ignoring the ache in his body. His legs felt like lead, his back still stung from the earlier blow, and his breath came in uneven gasps. He barely had time to steady himself before the next command came. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°All of you, ten laps around the training ground!¡± Aris kept his face blank, but his thoughts churned. ¡°So this is how he plans to get at me.¡± It was obvious from the faces of the other squires¡ªthis wasn¡¯t routine training; it was punishment disguised as discipline especially made for Aris and also a lesson to the other squires. What kind of instructor forces recruits to run again right after exhausting them? The squires didn¡¯t hesitate. Without a word, they took off, their strides swift and practiced. Aris followed, but his body protested with every step. His muscles were already fatigued, and his breath felt shallow. Soon, the gap between him and the others widened. At first, he managed to keep them in sight, but within minutes, they were lapping him. The first time, he gritted his teeth and pushed forward. The second time, his vision blurred at the edges, and his lungs burned. By the third time, his legs felt like they belonged to someone else, barely responding to his will. Every instinct screamed at him to stop. His body had reached its limit, and his mind wavered between anger and exhaustion. He could feel the instructor¡¯s gaze on him, waiting¡ªhoping¡ªfor him to falter. ¡°If I stop now, I¡¯ll be giving him exactly what he wants. I can''t do that I can''t let him win.¡± The fortress had rules. A recruit couldn¡¯t be punished without reason. But disobedience? That reason is enough to warrant punishment. The moment he collapses, the instructor would have his excuse to make an example out of him. Aris clenched his jaw and forced himself to keep running. His breaths were ragged, and his vision swam, but he refused to stop. He had endured worse than this. He would not break so easily. After three more minutes, the squires completed their laps and came to a stop, breathing heavily as they took a moment to rest. They sat on the ground, some stretching their legs, others simply catching their breath. In the midst of their exhaustion, their attention turned to Aris. Unlike them, he still had three laps left to go. The squires watched as he struggled, his pace unsteady, his movements sluggish. Every step looked like it might be his last, yet he forced himself forward. The minutes dragged on, and by the time he finally completed his final lap, his body gave out. He collapsed onto the ground, his chest heaving violently, each breath a desperate gasp for air. His heart pounded so fiercely it felt as though it might break free from his ribs. Sweat drenched his oversized uniform again, his limbs trembled from exhaustion, but through it all, Aris didn¡¯t utter a single complaint. Although the instructor wanted to push Aris beyond his limits, to deny him even a moment of rest, he was bound by the fortress¡¯s rules. He couldn¡¯t drive him to death through sheer exhaustion because these squires were future soldiers, tools meant to serve the nobles, with some destined to replenish the kingdom¡¯s army in the ongoing wars. Their lives held value, at least until they were thrown onto the battlefield. At the end of the day, he was just an instructor, a mere trainer paid a few silver coins to train these recruits into soldiers. He had no authority, no real power, he was just someone who failed to become a knight, someone bitterly clinging to whatever control he could exert over those weaker than him. After two minutes of rest, the instructor¡¯s voice rang once again. ¡°Stand up!¡± The squires quickly rose to their feet, still exhausted but obedient. ¡°Go get the swords from the armory.¡± The squires, without hesitation, made their way toward the armory. Located to the south of the training ground, near the fortress wall. Inside, they each took their swords, Aris followed along with the others, though the weight of exhaustion was on his face. Inside the armory, the squires took their swords. Aris picked a standard sword, one he could manage to carry despite his weariness. He thought to himself, ¡°It would have been better to train with a wooden sword until I¡¯m strong enough to use a real one.¡± His face showed the toll of exhaustion, but his thoughts were clear. He knew the instructors wouldn¡¯t listen to such a suggestion. Even if he had the energy to offer it, he wouldn¡¯t. Survival was his only goal now. The squires returned to the training ground, each one falling into position with military precision. They stood two meters apart, their swords securely fastened to their belts. Aris watched carefully, mirroring their movements as best as he could, despite the exhaustion still lingering in his muscles. The instructor, sword in hand, stood at the front, his stance sharp and ready for action. His eyes scanned the group, ensuring every squire was paying attention. ¡°Draw your swords,¡± he commanded. The squires reacted instantly, their blades coming free from their belts with swift precision. Aris, though slower, followed the motion, his grip tightening around the sword. The instructor¡¯s voice rang out clearly, ¡°When I say one, you cut horizontally. When I say two, you cut vertically. Three, you stab. Four, you defend.¡± He moved fluidly through each action, his sword gliding effortlessly through the air. With every command, he showcased the precise form, the sharpness of his technique impossible to overlook. ¡°Watch closely,¡± he said, his eyes narrowing. ¡°This is the foundation. If you cannot master these simple moves, you have no business holding a sword. These basic strikes will be the difference between life and death on the battlefield.¡± The instructor¡¯s tone was cold and direct, his gaze unflinching. ¡°When I say we move on, we move on, but only after you¡¯ve proven you can do this right.¡± He paused, allowing the words to linger in the air before continuing. ¡°If you master these, we can move on to the next step.¡± ¡°One!¡± the instructor barked, and the squires immediately executed a sharp horizontal cut in unison. ¡°Two!¡± he barked, and they transitioned smoothly to vertical cuts. The sound of their swords slicing through the air echoed across the training ground. As the minutes passed, Aris struggled not with the technique but with the weight of the sword. Though it was the lightest one he could find in the armory, it still felt unbearably heavy after repeated use. His arms were growing sore, and the strain only intensified with each swing. Horizontal, vertical, stab. Horizontal, vertical. Defend. The movements became a blur of repetition. His hands began to tremble, his grip weakening with each move. The fatigue was wearing him down. The worst part of it all was that there was no rest. ¡°235, 236, 237,¡± Aris counted the horizontal cuts, each one dragging his tired body further into the abyss of exhaustion. ¡°How much longer?¡± he thought, his mind barely able to focus through the haze of fatigue. He was too tired to even keep track anymore, but the instructor¡¯s words echoed relentlessly in his head. A thousand moves of each type. No breaks. No pauses. The promise of an endless cycle felt like a cruel joke, and Aris couldn¡¯t escape it. His muscles burned, but he kept swinging the sword¡ªbecause stopping wasn¡¯t an option. If he did, the consequences would be far worse. So, despite the growing exhaustion, he continued, pushing his body beyond its limits. Chapter 13: The Unknown Energy After three grueling hours of sword training, Aris finally completed his set of swings. His hands throbbed with exhaustion, his entire body ached, and he was drenched; every muscle was sore from relentless repetition. ¡°Alright, that¡¯s enough for now,¡± the instructor said, sliding his sword back into its sheath. The squires followed his lead, their movements sluggish from fatigue. ¡°Go grab some food. Be back here in thirty minutes¡ªor else.¡± With that, he turned and strode toward the fortress buildings, leaving them to recover¡­ if they could. The squires collapsed onto the ground, too drained to even sit up. A few turned their heads toward Aris, who was lying flat on his back, his sword still clutched loosely in his trembling hand. His chest heaved with each ragged breath, his body barely holding together after the brutal training. ¡°How the hell did he even finish that?¡± one of the squires muttered, nudging his companion. ¡°His body should¡¯ve given out ages ago.¡± ¡°No clue,¡± the other said, shaking his head. ¡°I would¡¯ve quit halfway through if I was in his shoes. This was the worst training we¡¯ve had so far.¡± Another squire, catching the exchange, smirked before glancing at Dylan, the number one ranked and the most physically capable among them. ¡°What do you think, Dylan? If he keeps this up, you think he¡¯ll pass you in the rankings once he builds enough muscles?¡± Dylan, who had been sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, opened his eyes and let out a slow breath. He looked over at Aris, considering the question before responding. ¡°He¡¯s got grit, I¡¯ll give him that. Not many would push through like that,¡± Dylan admitted. ¡°But let¡¯s not get ahead of ourselves. Right now, he¡¯s still weak in terms of; physique, skill, everything.¡± ¡°And me?¡± He sat up, rolling his shoulders. ¡°I¡¯m not a stone that would not move, waiting for him to catch up, am also improving. We¡¯re all improving, not just him.¡± He smirked, giving the others a pointed look. ¡°So don¡¯t go getting scared over ¡®potential.¡¯ Hard work matters, but so does time¡± Dylan and his group took one last look at Aris before heading to the breakfast benches. Their exhaustion was clear, but their confidence remained strong. They had long since adapted to the grueling training, and despite their fatigue, they moved with the ease of those who knew they would recover quickly. Chris, however, stayed behind. He walked over to where Aris lay on the ground, his chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths. After a brief pause, Chris extended a hand. ¡°Get up. Time¡¯s passing,¡± he said, his voice steady but not unkind. Aris slowly opened his eyes at the familiar voice. He stared at the outstretched hand for a moment before finally grasping it. With a firm pull, Chris helped him to his feet. ¡°Your back¡¯s a mess,¡± Chris said, noticing the mix of sweat and dirt clinging to Aris¡¯s cloth. He reached out to brush it off, but the grime was stuck to the damp fabric. Aris barely reacted. Without a word, he sheathed his sword and turned toward the breakfast benches. His thoughts were sluggish, his body aching, and right now, only two things mattered to him; food and rest. Everything else could wait. After two minutes, they arrived at a building with a large brown wooden door and stepped inside. The hall was spacious, with long wooden tables stretching approximately fifteen meters, each accompanied by equally long benches. The air carried the faint scent of cooked food; to Aris, it made his stomach grumble a reminder of his hunger. The squires were lining up for their meals, their positions determined by their rankings. The higher-ranked squires stood at the front, receiving their portions first, while the lower-ranked ones waited at the back. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Chris gave Aris a brief glance before heading to his own place in the line. His ranking wasn¡¯t high enough to be among the top ten, but it was still better than most. Aris, on the other hand, trudged to the very back, each step sending a dull ache through his body. He stood there, waiting for his turn, his body screaming for rest. At times, the exhaustion became too much, and he would lower himself to the ground, sitting in silence. But the line kept moving, and whenever it did, he forced himself back up, his movements sluggish as he inched forward, waiting for his share of food. Finally, his turn came. He stepped forward, stopping in front of a wall with a rectangular hole¡ªan opening through which the food was handed out. A server on the other side barely spared him a glance before shoving a plate and bowl into his hands. Aris stared at the plate and the bowl in his hands. A portion of brown rice sat next to a thin slice of roasted meat, its juices pooling at the edges. A small piece of white, bitter bread rested beside it with two boiled egg, and to his surprise, the bowl contained steaming herbal broth. The aroma was unlike anything he had ever smelled before¡ªearthy and slightly sweet, with a sharp undertone. As he took a sip, warmth instantly spread through his exhausted body. He took several more sips, and soon his mind felt clearer and his fatigue lessened. ¡°This isn''t ordinary broth,¡± he thought. The faint bitterness in it suggested it contained special herbs. Aris immediately thought of Zona. ¡°Scan all the food and tell me what you find,¡± he ordered. [Scanning¡­ Analyzing the properties. Herbs with rejuvenating effects detected in the broth. The food is beneficial for the body¡­ Peep¡­ Unknown energy detected in the meat. Trying to analyze the energy¡­ Analysis failed due to insufficient data. Properties not analyzed¡­ Searching for solution.] Aris smiled and felt relieved to hear that the broth had rejuvenating properties instead of the harmful substances found in the food from his previous place. However, he soon stopped smiling When he heard the ''unknown energy'', he asked Zona, "What do you mean by that?" [No data about the energy recorded in the database.] [It could be a new element, possibly due to the differences in this world.] ¡°Of course it is,¡± Aris replied, his tone sharp. But then, he calmed himself. ¡°I can¡¯t get angry.¡± Despite his growing hunger, the idea of ¡°unknown energy¡± in the food made him suspicious, even though he was salivating at the thought of eating. Aris glanced at the squire sitting next to him, who was hungrily devouring his food. To ensure there was no harmful substance in the meat, Aris told Zona, ¡°Scan the boy next to me while he eats and analyze any changes in his body, down to the smallest detail.¡± The AI first scanned the boy. [Name: Unknown, Strength: 0.9, Agility: 0.8, Physical: 1.0, Status: Eating] "He is much stronger than I am," as he recalled his stats: strength 0.4, agility 0.6, and physical 0.5, which he last checked last night. ¡°It seems like it has a new other feature, different from the predicting attacks feature¡± He was surprised by the new abilities the AI was showing, abilities that hadn¡¯t been there when he first created it. Since arriving in this world, the AI had become a puzzle, revealing more mysteries with each passing day. While the growing intrigue fascinated him, Aris knew now wasn¡¯t the time to dig into the AI¡¯s potential. His focus was on what the squire was doing instead. As the squire ate a piece of meat, the AI continued to scan him. [The boy¡¯s vitality increased by 0.0001 percent, and the amount of vitality in him increased. His muscles are highly active, as if he¡¯s working out, even though he isn¡¯t physically exerting himself.] ¡°What?¡± Aris thought, staring at the meat on his plate. How could the meat cause that? But then, he quickly realized it wasn¡¯t the meat itself¡ªit was the unknown energy in the meat. This was further confirmed by the AI. [The unknown energy is the cause of this effect. Although it¡¯s beneficial, the amount is too small to show drastic improvements in physique. However, the more you consume, the quicker your physique will improve. More data is required to provide more information] ¡°So if I eat more of this meat, I¡¯ll be able to build muscle faster,¡± Aris thought. But he also knew it wouldn¡¯t be easy to get more meat. First, he was the weakest of them all. Second, the other squires were improving too. Third, that petty instructor was now targeting him. There was no easy way to get more meat. He looked at Dylan, who was sitting at the far end of the table. Dylan¡¯s plate was larger than the others, and most of the food he was eating was meat. ¡°It would be difficult to take his position, but not impossible,¡± Aris thought, feeling confident as the AI chip reinforced his belief. He then began to eat quickly, savoring each bite. ¡°Delicious,¡± he muttered, catching the attention of the squire beside him, but he didn¡¯t care. As he swallowed a piece of meat, his body jolted, as if dry land had suddenly been soaked with water. The unknown energy within the food was welcomed by his body, but the sensation was fleeting, vanishing as quickly as it had come. He chewed another piece of meat and thought inwardly, ¡°Scan the changes and effects the energy has on my body.¡± [Analyzing energy properties¡­ Strengthening detected¡­ Energy impacting muscle fibers and cellular regeneration. The energy enhances muscle activity, boosting growth and repair rates. Muscle fibers are undergoing rapid recovery and development due to increased metabolic activity. Additionally, cellular regeneration is accelerated, leading to faster muscle recovery and increased strength over time. This energy may stimulate cellular processes similar to anabolic steroids, promoting muscle hypertrophy without significant external strain.] ¡°So, it¡¯s like a steroid¡­ but better¡ªmore refined, with some kind of unknown quality,¡± Aris thought, piecing together the AI¡¯s explanation. The energy may resemble steroids, but it is undeniably superior in quality and effects. The effects were quicker; he could already feel himself growing stronger, his muscles less sore, and his exhaustion lifting. ¡°No wonder they weren¡¯t complaining about the intensity of the training,¡± Aris mused. ¡°They knew they¡¯d recover and improve from this amazing food.¡± He glanced over at Chris, who had claimed the food was decent. Maybe Chris didn¡¯t know about the mysterious energy hidden in the broth. Aris¡¯ thoughts were spot on. Chris and the other squires were unaware of the unknown energy in the meat. They only knew that the food made them feel refreshed, and it was effective in alleviating their fatigue. Some of them even speculated that it could help them build muscle faster, but they were not as knowledgeable as Aris or had the AI chip to confirm their speculations. But Dylan, who had more inside information, was the only one who truly understood its significance. That¡¯s why he worked so hard to maintain his position at the top¡ªto ensure he could secure more of the meat for himself. Chapter 14: The Impending War After breakfast, the squires returned to the training ground, where most of them formed into groups. Many gathered around Dylan, which was unsurprising, as he was at the top of their ranks. His strength attracted followers like moths to a flame. However, some squires remained on their own, either unwilling to seek favor or too far behind to be recognized. At the center of the training field, the strongest squires stood out¡ªa cut above the rest. Their very presence was enough to distinguish them, and every movement they made commanded attention. These were the individuals who set the pace of training, the ones against whom others measured their progress. They were the elite. Aris, sitting quietly in a meditative posture, focused his mind on a conversation with Zona, the AI chip. ¡°What are these new features? How did you get them?¡± he asked. [The exact method is unknown. However, it is believed that the mutation happened when the chip merged with your soul. The soul is still not fully understood, even in your previous world, so a clear explanation is impossible.] Zona answered back. Aris exhaled softly in relief. ¡°So, it¡¯s not some divine entity toying with me,¡± he mused. Still, he couldn¡¯t escape the idea that, if a god-like figure was controlling his destiny, he was helpless to change it. He couldn¡¯t even manage to run for five minutes without becoming fatigued. Aris, more curious, asked, ¡°What about the predicting attack feature?¡± [It¡¯s a combination of advanced data analysis and muscle recognition. I can track the slightest shifts in posture, muscle tension, and even the faintest motion in your opponent¡¯s body. It allows me to predict their most likely attack before they even think of it.] Aris¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°So, if I weren¡¯t fast enough, I would¡¯ve been hit?¡± [Exactly. But now, with this ability, we can see the attack before it happens. We can respond before they even finish their strike.] Aris sucked in a breath as he muttered, ¡°Good thing I was fast enough, or I¡¯d be nursing a serious injury right now,¡± Shaking off the lingering tension, he continued, ¡°What about the other feature?¡± In his previous life, Zona had been able to monitor his body down to the smallest fluctuation, detecting injuries, illnesses, and irregularities with precision. Since the AI chip had been implanted in his brain, it could effortlessly track his physical condition, making doctors nearly obsolete. But that was its limit. But that ability had been limited to him alone. No matter how advanced the AI was, it had never been able to scan another person¡¯s body, not even through direct contact. [Previously, I could only analyze objects through direct contact. Herbs are simple because their chemical composition is stable. Your body was also within my range since I was directly linked to your neural system.] [However, living beings are different. Their biological state constantly changes, making real-time analysis more complex. Before the mutation, I did not have the capability to scan them externally.] [Now, my scanning function has expanded. I can detect physical and biological changes in external subjects within a limited range. This ability is still developing. More data and time is required for full optimization.] Aris took a deep breath to calm himself. Zona¡¯s ability was improving continuously, and he felt that his future was not hopeless. Even the rigorous training seemed like a crucial step toward a brighter future. He could now see the path ahead with clarity. ¡°Zona, what¡¯s the current range of this external scanning?¡± he asked, his voice steady as the excitement dulled down. [Approximately 1.8 meters. The accuracy decreases beyond this distance. Further refinement is required.] ¡°How do I increase the range,¡° he asked. [The chip¡¯s processing power and analytical range are linked to the host¡¯s physical and cognitive development. Increased strength enhances data collection efficiency. A more refined body allows for higher precision in external scans and predictions.] Aris exhaled slowly, his mind racing. ¡°So if I grow stronger, Zona will improve its calculations. If my brain improves, its processing speed will increase. If my senses sharpen, its scanning abilities will evolve.¡± Now, Aris realized he was the only thing holding the AI back. ¡°I can¡¯t afford to be my own weakness,¡± he muttered. ¡°I have to grow stronger. And for that¡­¡± His gaze shifted to the elite squires, who were conversing amongst themselves. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Without hesitation, he stood up and made his way toward them. A few of the elite squires glanced at him as he approached but quickly returned to their discussions, uninterested in acknowledging him. Aris wasn¡¯t looking to join their conversation, though. His eyes were set on a different goal. He wanted to scan them. The other squires watched as Aris walked toward the elite group, whispers spreading across the training ground. ¡°Do you think they¡¯ll let him in?¡± one squire asked, adjusting his gear and glancing at Aris. The second squire, focused on cleaning his sword, chuckled. ¡°Let him in? He¡¯s good, but even I¡ªwho¡¯s much stronger¡ªcouldn¡¯t get into their group. They¡¯ll probably ignore him.¡± ¡°Maybe he¡¯s got something we don¡¯t know about,¡± the first squire said, watching Aris closely. ¡°He looks like he¡¯s up to something.¡± A third squire overheard and grinned. ¡°If anyone¡¯s getting in, it¡¯ll be Chris. He¡¯s the one only one enough to rival them.¡± Some squires, however, were too busy preparing for the next training session to pay much attention. However, for those who were watching, whether Aris would be accepted into the elite group was the center of their conversations. Aris stood exactly 1.6 meters from the three elite squires, catching their attention. One of them raised an eyebrow. ¡°Why did he stop?¡± he wondered, his gaze flicking to the others around them. ¡°Is he afraid?¡± He thought, scanning the group of squires who were watching them. ¡°Yeah, he¡¯s definitely afraid.¡± Aris, oblivious to the squire¡¯s thoughts, remained calm. He focused inwardly and spoke to the AI. ¡°Scan them.¡± The AI chip immediately complied, providing the results. [Name: Unknown, Strength: 1.5, Agility: 1.4, Physical: 1.6, Status: Curious] Then, it scanned the second squire. [Name: Unknown, Strength: 1.6, Agility: 1.6, Physical: 1.7, Status: Curious] Finally, the AI scanned the last squire, noting the same stats as the first. [Name: Unknown, Strength: 1.5, Agility: 1.4, Physical: 1.6, Status: Curious] Aris processed the information, with each squire¡¯s stats clearly listed, and considered how they compared to his own current strength. As Aris returned to his spot, the elite squires exchanged glances, their curiosity piqued. ¡°Another one who knows his place,¡± one of them muttered with a lazy smirk, scanning Aris from head to toe. ¡°Yeah, at least the others have the guts to try and follow us. This one¡­ not even a hint of ambition.¡± The second squire scoffed, rolling his eyes. ¡°Pathetic,¡± the third added, his voice dripping with disdain. ¡°Doesn¡¯t even dare to ask. What a waste of potential.¡± Dylan, who had been observing the exchange with a calm gaze, let out a quiet hum. Did I misjudge him? The thought crossed his mind, but he quickly pushed it aside. Confidence surged through him. ¡°No way. Even if I did not, it¡¯s not like I¡¯m going to lose my top spot to him.¡± although he could see potential in Aris, he was not afraid. His grip tightened around his sword as the warnings of the battlefield appeared in his mind. ¡°I¡¯ll do whatever it takes to stay at the top and become strong enough to survive on the hellish battlefield.¡± His jaw clenched, and a fire sparked in his eyes. ¡°No one¡¯s going to take my place.¡± ¡°They¡¯re overwhelmingly stronger than I am,¡± Aris thought, his mind racing as he observed the elite squires. They¡¯re stronger than the top athletes from my previous life¡ªhell, they¡¯re still growing. In his past world, an average adult human¡¯s stats were 1.0, the physically fit ones at 1.2, and athletes could reach 1.3. But here, things were different. This world may be behind technologically but in terms of physical strength¡­ Aris paused, ¡° It¡¯s far beyond anything I¡¯ve known. And their lifespans¡ªthose are probably longer too than the people In my previous world.¡± An idea started to take shape in his mind. Strength in this world isn''t solely a result of physical training. There''s an element in the very essence of this world that enables individuals to exceed what he previously considered unattainable. After twenty minutes, the instructor returned, but he wasn¡¯t alone this time. A man clad in full-body silver armor¡ªits polished surface reflecting the sunlight¡ªwalked beside him. The squires immediately snapped into position, standing at attention. The armored man started to pace back and forth in front of the squires, his eyes scanning each of them closely. ¡°They¡¯re good,¡± he muttered after a moment. ¡°You¡¯ve trained them well.¡± The instructor, eager to please, nodded. ¡°Thank you for the praise, sir. I¡¯m just doing my job.¡± But the armored man¡¯s gaze lingered a moment longer, sweeping over the group until it fell on Aris. His brow furrowed. ¡°Why is he here?¡± he asked, pointing directly at Aris. The instructor glanced around, clearly confused. ¡°Who?¡± The armored man¡¯s finger didn¡¯t waver. ¡°This one. This malnourished, weak boy who looks like he might drop dead any moment.¡± A heavy silence fell over the group. The instructor¡¯s face tightened, an inner fury bubbling, but he kept his composure. ¡°Why must it be you?¡± he thought bitterly, though his face remained neutral. ¡°I heard this one was brought here by Fred, the attendant of Young Master Barl from Val''s family, sir,¡± the instructor replied. ¡°Oh, the Val''s family,¡± the armored man murmured, his tone laced with curiosity. ¡°But why would he send one slave boy if they want to partake in the war?¡± The instructor stiffened. ¡°I¡¯m not sure, sir. But I heard he has potential. Some say he¡¯s worth ten slave boys, based on the rumors.¡± The squires, who were quietly eavesdropping, couldn¡¯t help but scoff to themselves. ¡°Worth ten? Then I must be worth a thousand,¡± one of the elite squires thought smugly, glancing at Aris with a sneer. The armored man studied Aris more intently, but his expression remained unchanged. He couldn¡¯t see anything remarkable. ¡°You call this one special? What¡¯s wrong with you?¡± he asked, his voice laced with skepticism. The instructor swallowed his irritation, unwilling to admit any doubt in front of the man. ¡°It¡¯s not me who calls him special, sir.¡± He paused, his eyes briefly flicking toward Aris, remembering the strange agility he¡¯d shown earlier, but he pushed the thought away. He could not say that this kid dodged his attack, as that would make him look incompetent. The man didn¡¯t focus on Aris for long, and Aris wasn¡¯t affected by the man¡¯s harsh words. He knew he was weak, and that was a fact. But staying weak was something he refused to do. It would be foolish to stay weak, he thought firmly. The man continued, ignoring the tension in the air. ¡°In four months, you¡¯ll be sent to the army,¡± he said, his tone cold and uncaring. ¡°Your survival isn¡¯t guaranteed. Most of you here will die¡ªthat¡¯s certain. From what I see, it¡¯s inevitable.¡± He looked over the squires, his eyes briefly landing on Aris. The words were harsh and direct, spoken without any emotion. ¡°What?! Four months? That¡¯s way too soon!¡± Aris thought, feeling his plan unraveling. ¡°Why can¡¯t anything ever go the way I want?¡± He thought bitterly. Back at the slave camp, Garron had already destroyed his original plan of getting fit and then joining the squire station. The other squires were just as shocked. The news hit them hard. Fear crept into their hearts; the reality of facing an inevitable death with no way to escape was terrifying. Even Dylan, who understood the brutal reality of the battlefield, couldn¡¯t hide his fear. He remembered how, after a battle, all that had returned from his father¡¯s unit was his head, which he had to bury at a young age, and till today, it haunts him. ¡°Train harder if you want to survive,¡± the man continued, his voice still cold. ¡°And we¡¯ll give you more food to fuel your strength faster.¡± But no amount of food could change the fact that they were walking toward certain death. Some squires even considered desertion, but they knew the punishment for that was death. It seemed it was better to face the war, trying to survive however they could, than face the grim fate of being a deserter. One of the squires, unable to hold back, asked, ¡°What are we fighting for, sir?¡± The other squires stared at him as if he had just signed his death sentence. He had asked the very question none of them dared speak aloud. ¡°Ah, a good question indeed,¡± the man said, his tone surprisingly calm, which made the squires uneasy. Usually, any inappropriate question would be met with immediate punishment, but the man¡¯s reaction was far from what they expected. Chapter 15; Whatever it takes The knight allowed the silence to linger for seconds, his cold stare sweeping across the squires. Then, with a slight grin, he began to speak. ¡°All of you here, along with those who came before you, fought because you were commanded to," he said, his voice cold and lacking any emotion. "That is the fate of those without power, like you who are at the bottom of the barrel.¡± The squires exchanged uneasy glances. Some had hoped for a grand speech about honor, duty, or protecting the kingdom. But they were hit by this raw, unfiltered truth. The knight continued, seeing the expression on the squires. ¡°Some will tell you it¡¯s for the kingdom. Others will say it¡¯s for glory, for your lords, or for even for the so-called ''gods.¡¯ But when you stand on that battlefield, watching men torn apart into pieces and pierced by arrows to the head, you¡¯ll realize none of it matters. You fight because you have no choice.¡± A heavy silence fell over the squires. Some clenched their fists, others looked away. Even Dylan, who prided himself on his strength and experience, felt a chill crawl up his spine. Aris, however, felt none of their despair. If anything, the knight¡¯s words only reinforced what he already knew. If you don¡¯t want to be a pawn, become the player. If you don¡¯t want to be commanded, become the commander. The knight finally turned away, his parting words cutting through the heavy silence. ¡°Train hard. Survive if you can. Do whatever it takes. That¡¯s all there is to it.¡± His voice carried no sympathy, no false hope, just the cold, brutal truth. The squires stood frozen, the weight of his words sinking in. Some felt fear, others anger, but none could deny the reality he had laid bare. Aris¡¯s fingers curled into fists as the knight¡¯s words echoed in his mind. ¡°Whatever it takes.¡± The words Changed Something inside him fundamentally, like a door unlocking to a darker, colder part of himself¡ªone that had always been there, waiting for the right moment to take control. That would be his creed from this moment forward. No morals, no attachments¡ªonly survival. If betrayal was necessary, he would betray. If taking an innocent life meant living another day, he would not hesitate. He had seen enough of this world to understand that morality was a luxury only the powerful could afford. Back in the slave camp, he had fooled himself into thinking he had time. That he could plan, prepare, and grow strong before the storm came. But the storm was already here. In four months, he would be thrown onto a battlefield, where death was the only certainty. He truly realized that he was nothing more than a pawn. A disposable piece on someone else¡¯s board. A character in a cruel game where the players didn¡¯t care if he lived or died. His lips curled into a smirk, not of amusement but of acknowledgment. If he was just a piece in their game, then he¡¯d become the piece they never saw coming. The one that flipped the board entirely. After the knight left, a heavy silence settled over the squires. Fear, frustration, and hopelessness weighed on their shoulders, but the instructor remained indifferent. ¡°Get in formation!¡± he barked. ¡°Your so-called bad mood won¡¯t matter on the battlefield.¡± This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. There was no room for weakness. No sympathy for their shaken spirits. The squires gritted their teeth and obeyed, stepping into formation. Their bodies moved on instinct, but their minds were clouded with unease. Without another word, the merciless and relentless training resumed. The battlefield wouldn¡¯t wait for them to recover, nor would the instructor. Meanwhile, a few miles away from the squires¡¯ fortress, a city stood tall, its towering walls casting long shadows over the bustling streets. Guard towers lined the perimeter, each manned by archers scanning the horizon with watchful eyes. At the center of the city was a luxurious mansion, which, compared to the other buildings in the city, was a symbol of wealth and power. Its marble pavement gleamed under the sun, and behind the mansion was a beautiful garden with different kinds of herbs and flowers. A young nobleman tended to the garden, dressed in luxurious garments that complemented his well-built physique. Just two meters away, Fred stood with a respectful posture. ¡°Did you complete the task?¡± the young man asked, his tone indifferent as he continued his work. ¡°Yes, young master,¡± Fred replied. Without looking up, the nobleman spoke again. ¡°How many do you think will survive this round?¡± Fred hesitated for a moment before answering. ¡°I didn¡¯t bring many this time, young master Levi.¡± At this, Levi paused, setting down his tools. Slowly, he turned to face Fred, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. ¡°What do you mean by that?¡± ¡°There were no decent slave boys in the quarters¡ªall of them were worse than the previous group,¡± Fred said, a slight tremor in his voice. Levi¡¯s expression remained cold. ¡°Do you think I care about their physical condition? I want bodies to throw onto the battlefield. I want meat shields. I want tools.¡± His voice was devoid of emotion as if discussing mere objects, not people. Fred swallowed but forced himself to respond. ¡°But young master, they won¡¯t bring you any real benefit. They¡¯ll only drain your resources without adding value.¡± He hesitated, debating whether to continue. A moment passed. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± he thought, steeling himself. He had to say it, although not sure if Levi would believe him. He lowered his head slightly, his posture straight yet submissive. ¡°You needn¡¯t concern yourself, young master. I personally selected a slave boy from the quarters, one with enough potential to be molded into a soldier worthy of your ranks,¡± he said, his voice steady but cautious. Levi didn¡¯t immediately respond. Instead, he plucked a leaf from a nearby plant and rolled it between his fingers, his gaze settling lazily on Fred. ¡°A mere slave boy, you say?¡± His tone carried amusement as if Fred had just suggested polishing dirt into gold. Fred kept his head bowed, his hands clasped behind his back in a show of respect. ¡°Yes, young master. His potential is undeniable,¡± he said, measuring his words carefully. ¡°I ensured it myself.¡± Levi finally turned, his sharp gaze locking onto Fred. ¡°You ensured it?¡±A sneer tugged at the corner of his lips, but his eyes remained cold. ¡°And when, exactly, did you become the judge of talent?¡± A bead of sweat formed at Fred¡¯s temple, but he did not falter. ¡°I do not presume to judge, young master,¡± he said quickly. ¡°But I practice the [Aura Perception Technique], and his latent potential was¡­ unlike the others.¡± Levi said nothing for a moment, simply watching Fred. Then, with a slow smirk, he plucked a leaf from a nearby stem and crushed it between his fingers. ¡°Interesting.¡± Levi stood still for a moment, considering Fred¡¯s words. A slave boy? Normally, he wouldn¡¯t care about just one. A single body wasn¡¯t worth much compared to five or ten others. However, a slave with potential was a completely different matter. The potential wasn¡¯t just an empty word. It was a dividing factor. It was what separated a worthless foot soldier from a future knight. And knights were far more valuable than common soldiers. A single knight on the battlefield could slaughter two hundred men with ease. But knights were also rare. Out of a thousand people, only ten might have the talent to become one. And out of those ten, only one would actually succeed. To find such a person among the slaves? It was Unlikely but not impossible. Levi glanced at Fred. He knew Fred''s nature well. The man was a sharp minded and a schemer, someone who only looked out for himself. But even Fred wouldn¡¯t dare lie about something this important, not when the cost of failure was far greater than the reward of deception. ¡°Fine,¡± he said, at last, his voice calm but firm. ¡°Let¡¯s see if this boy is worth anything. If he disappoints¡­¡± Levi¡¯s lips curled into a smirk. ¡°You will take responsibility, Fred.¡± Levi made his decision. He didn¡¯t need to believe in this so-called potential, and he only needed to test it to be sure. Levi handed Fred a leather-bound book, his expression composed yet expectant. ¡°Take this to him. Tell him his young master is willing to invest in his future.¡± He paused, then added with a smirk, ¡°A gesture like this should be enough to secure his loyalty.¡± He glanced at the attendant. ¡°There¡¯s a difference between a knight who serves out of duty and one who serves out of loyalty. I have no use for men who only follow because of money or fear.¡± Fred nodded in agreement with Levi''s words as he accepted the book, his fingers grazing its worn cover. This technique was nothing special among nobles, and it was something even commoners could obtain with enough effort. But to a slave, it was a priceless treasure. Owning a breathing technique meant the chance to rise above the slave status, the first step toward becoming more than just a disposable tool. Still, Fred hesitated. ¡°Young master¡­ what if he doesn¡¯t appreciate your favor?¡± Although he had only interacted with Aris briefly, it was enough to tell that the boy was different. Most slaves carried themselves with fear, their auras soaked in submission. But Aris was not like them. His aura was sharp and unwavering, not what a slave should ever have. It was as if he had an unshakable belief that he would survive and thrive, no matter the circumstances. Where does a mere slave boy get such confidence? Levi chuckled softly, shaking his head. ¡°You worry too much, Fred. He¡¯s just a slave, one who¡¯s only known the filth of the quarters and the rigid discipline of the squires¡¯ fortress.¡± He turned back to his garden, idly plucking a leaf. ¡°Someone like that is desperate to believe in opportunity. Give him a taste of it, and he¡¯ll come running.¡± His voice carried the smooth confidence of a man who knew the power of control. Fred bowed, but deep inside, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that the mere slave boy would not be so easily tamed. Chapter 16: Archery The next day, the squires woke up earlier than the day before, preparing for intense training, and Aris was no exception. He put on his training gear and stood in front of the wooden bed, the harsh truths from yesterday still fresh in his mind.¡± Aris constantly thought, "If I could get more of that meat, I might survive better on the battlefield. But how can I get more? Should I steal it? Is that even possible?" Absurd ideas raced through his mind. He was not alone in his thoughts about the battlefield; all the squires felt the weight of that fear. The prospect of walking toward death was truly unsettling. Some of them trembled constantly from anxiety. Most of the squires had endured harsh lives in the slave quarters and were accustomed to suffering. They had seen children their age punished to death, their lifeless bodies discarded without a second thought. But watching death and facing it yourself were two entirely different things. Some squires tried to mask their fear with bravado. Mark, the tallest among them, scoffed as he adjusted the straps on his gear. ¡°It¡¯s just another fight. We¡¯ll get through it.¡± His voice carried forced confidence, but the way his fingers twitched at his side betrayed him. Others stood silently in front of their beds, staring at the ground as if searching for answers in the dirt. A squire named Lyle clenched his jaw so hard it looked painful, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. His older brother had been sent to the battlefield nine months ago, and no one had ever heard from him again. A few prayed to the gods, whispering desperate pleas for protection. Although they didn''t know the name of any god, they just prayed. One squire, barely fourteen, clutched a wooden pendant so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Aris observed everyone around him, noting their reactions. Unlike them, he had no illusions. Fear was natural, but it also served as a distraction. He didn¡¯t have time for distractions. If he wanted to survive, he couldn¡¯t allow himself to be like them; he had to grow stronger. Although these frightened squires might possess better physical abilities, they were still children mentally and fear froze them like rabbits in a snare. After ten minutes, the instructor arrived in the dormitory. He looked around and, finding everyone ready, said, ¡°Three minutes to the training ground.¡± Most of the squires thought, ¡®So this is part of training now,¡¯ but none of them dwelled on it. They didn¡¯t have that luxury. Aris also rushed to the training ground, this time using the AI to guide him. The AI made navigating through the darkness of the night much easier. Once he arrived, the training proceeded as usual, but Aris struggled to keep up with the others unsurprisingly. Most of the squires firmly believed one thing about Aris: he was as good as dead. There was no way someone this weak could survive on the battlefield. Furthermore, before the war, soldiers were required to walk to the battlefield, which was far away. Given his condition, many doubted whether Aris could even cover that distance. The instructor felt a twinge of pity for Aris. Although Aris had embarrassed him once, but that no longer mattered as he considered Aris as good as dead. Most of the squires he had trained never lived past their first battle. Those who did were left broken, their bodies maimed beyond repair. The best among them had lost a hand and an eye, reduced to a beggar wandering the city streets. Standing before the squires, he silently studied their faces. They displayed many emotions, including fear, determination, and desperation, all of which were familiar to him. They saw him as a cruel, unrelenting instructor. They cursed his methods, flinched under his punishments, and gossiped resentments when he pushed them past their limits. But none of them knew the truth. He wasn¡¯t harsh because he enjoyed it. He was harsh because he had to be. He had watched too many young squires die screaming, their bodies torn apart because they hadn¡¯t been prepared. The battlefield had no mercy. If his training could save even one of them, if it meant one less corpse left to rot in the mud, then he would bear their hatred willingly. In the end, they would understand if they survive. As breakfast time arrived, Aris walked toward the food benches. Today¡¯s meal was a bit more generous, as he found two pieces of meat on his plate. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Although the knight''s promise was fulfilled, Aris still craved more of this meat. He observed the other squires, noting that everyone had more pieces of meat infused with the unknown energy. ¡°How can I get more of this meat?¡± he thought. However, no feasible plans came to mind. Stealing was definitely out of the question; he didn''t even know the layout of the fortress or how the kitchen operated, and he didn''t have enough time to study them since he was required to train all day. He couldn''t manipulate the other squires into giving up their portions either, as they also needed them. As for trading, he lacked anything of equal value to offer for food. He considered looking for herbs that could strengthen the body although this would require more time, and it wasn''t easy to find such herbs but it can be possible to find such herbs. ¡°Anyway it wouldn¡¯t hurt to try¡± he thought as he decided to eat. After breakfast, Aris and the squires returned to the training ground. Most of them were dejected, but to some, their previous mood returned, like Chris, who began to talk with the others constantly. His behavior puzzled Aris as he thought that ¡°He was either na?ve, smart, or trying to cope with his fear through talking. He didn''t dwell on it as he started to warm up for the next training session. The instructor, as always, arrived late and stood before the squires, announcing, ¡°Go get the bows; today we are practicing archery.¡± The squires quickly obeyed and went to the armory to retrieve them. Inside the armory, Aris scanned the racks of bows, searching for one suited to his physique. However, all he found were standard bows. Still, archery was different from swordsmanship. The bow, though weighty in his hands, felt far more manageable than a sword. At the very least, it didn¡¯t demand raw physical strength in the same way. For someone like him who is physically weak, it was better for him to be an archer than to wield a sword. The squires gathered at the center of the training ground after selecting their bows, as arrows were already available at the training ground. They stood fifty meters away from the archery targets, which looked like roughly crafted scarecrows with wooden boards strapped to their chests. Each squire was assigned his own practice target. Aris held his bow and had twenty arrows at his disposal. He set the arrows aside, took a shooting stance, and gripped the bow with an arrow firmly nocked. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly, steadying himself. After a brief pause, he pulled back the bowstring¡ªonly for the arrow to tilt awkwardly to the side, making his inexperience glaringly obvious. Frowning, he adjusted his grip and tried again. This time, his form improved slightly, but it was still unsteady. He inhaled once more, stretched the bowstring with all his strength, and released. Whoosh The arrow shot forward only to land several centimeters away from the target. Aris clenched his jaw. He grabbed another arrow, nocked it, and fired. Miss. Aris clenched his jaw as he watched the arrow land short of the target. He grabbed another, nocked it, and fired. He missed again. His fingers twitched slightly on the bowstring. He exhaled, trying to keep himself calm;¡±I can''t let frustration distract me¡± he resolved himself. The other squires were already landing shots, some hitting the outer rings, others striking near the center. Even the weakest among them showed some degree of competence. But Aris? His arrows didn¡¯t even touch the board. He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to analyze. Why did I miss it fort the third time? ¡°My grip? No, I had adjusted it as best as I could. My stance? Possibly. Strength? That is a given¡ªmy body is weaker than the others.¡± he contemplated. But more than anything, he lacked the familiarity, the instinctual feel of the bow that the other squires had developed over time. Aris hated inefficiency. Every wasted arrow and every failed shot felt like time slipping away. He didn¡¯t have the luxury of slow improvement. After that, he shot more arrows, and time after time, he missed. The instructor moved through the training grounds, stopping occasionally to correct a squire¡¯s stance or grip. Archery required precision, but it also needed a strong foundation. A weak stance led to shaky aim, which meant death on the battlefield. He adjusted one squire¡¯s elbow, nudged another¡¯s fingers into the proper position, and gave a short nod of approval when a shot landed near the center of the target. Then his gaze fell on Aris. The boy stood at the far left, struggling to even hold the bow steady. His shots were wild, missing the target entirely. His grip was weak, his arms lacked endurance, and his form was outright pitiful. The instructor sighed, but he didn¡¯t step forward. There¡¯s no point. Correcting the others made sense; they had potential. Even if they weren¡¯t great now, they had the strength to improve. But Aris? Aris wasn¡¯t just bad at archery. He lacked the physical ability to make it doable. The bow was a weapon that demanded endurance, stability, and control, none of which he possessed. Even if he improved his technique, his body would never support it for a long time. Instead of wasting his time fixing Aris¡¯s stance, the instructor had a different thought about him. ¡°This one should focus on strengthening his physique.With opportunities, he would have a chance of surviving¡ªif he had more time. But now,¡± he didn''t finish his thought; instead, he turned away, directing his attention to those who truly mattered. Aris continued practicing, but after ten minutes, he hadn''t hit anything even once. Then he remembered that he had something the others didn''t: Zona. Sensing his thoughts, Zona flared to life and said in its mechanical voice [Analyzing performance¡­] Aris waited eagerly for what it would say; after a second, it didn''t respond, then he realized something and got into an attacking posture as he stretched the bowstring. Then, as he guessed, the Ai said [Error detected: Inconsistent grip pressure. Adjust hand positioning to reduce shake by 17%.] Aris stilled for a moment, then slightly adjusted his grip according to the AI¡¯s recommendation. He nocked another arrow. [Posture imbalance detected. Left foot positioned too far back. Shift weight forward by 8 degrees for improved stability.] A subtle shift. Another deep breath. He pulled the bowstring again, this time applying the corrections. Whoosh. The arrow flew¡ªhitting the very edge of the target. Closer. The AI immediately updated its analysis. [Trajectory deviation: 5 degrees right. Adjust elbow alignment to correct aim.] Aris smiled as he thought ¡°This was it. This is the difference between struggling mindlessly and learning with precision. I have a cheat in this life; why am I blindly trying to be like the others?¡±Although the AI improved his accuracy, it couldn¡¯t make him an expert archer overnight. It could only refine his posture and grip, mimicking the effects of a proper archery technique. True mastery would still take time and effort. He took another arrow, adjusting everything the AI had pointed out. This time, he aimed with absolute focus. Whoosh. Thud. The arrow struck the outer ring of the target¡ªa proper hit. Around him, some squires glanced his way, surprised that he had actually landed a shot. Aris, however, didn¡¯t celebrate. He simply picked another arrow from the ground, listening for the AI¡¯s next correction. [Analysis complete. Marginal improvement detected. Continue repetitions for further optimization.] A small smile appeared on his face again. With this, he could keep up or maybe even surpass them. While the others were training through trial and error, he was calculating the fastest route to mastery.