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. Damnfools, he thought bitterly, but he kept his face neutral, not daring to show weakness.
"Damn, thesekids. Don'ttheyeverlearn?Aretheytryingtogetmepunished? Theenforcer'sjawtightenedashewatchedthesceneunfold. Ican'tgobacktothatplace… Ididtoomuchtogethere."
His mind flickered back to the mines—the 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.
Ican'tgobacktobeingaslave. 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—vastly 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.
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—desperate 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.