"When can I get the seeds?" Aris asked. The enforcer stopped and looked back and said. "You'll get them tomorrow, 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—what 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?
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—some 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—more 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 but he kept his thoughts to himself, not daring to push further.