We set out without delay, my father, Sir Theo, Doyle, and me.
Naturally, I rode with Doyle. The coops and hatcheries had been built just outside the city, close enough to reach the surrounding farmlands but far enough to keep the smell out of polite society.
As we arrived, a soldier on duty saluted us.
"My lord, the first batch of chickens has arrived, but we weren't sure how to place them, so we waited for you. The second group should be here soon."
My father didn't answer. He looked at me.
That was enough.
I asked Doyle to help me down and headed straight into the nearest coop. It was surprisingly large, spacious, well ventilated, built exactly as Mnex planned.
"Good," said Mnex. "They followed the design. So far, so good."
I relayed his approval aloud to my father and the others.
"Now," I said, "bring me a chicken."
One of the soldiers stepped forward, holding a squawking hen.
"Set it down here. Think of this plank as a kind of frame. We'll position the chicken so its body passes through the gap, feet on either side. This way, it stays mostly still and doesn't waste energy pacing around. Food should be placed in front of it, morning and evening."
The words had barely left my mouth when the awkward silence hit. Everyone exchanged confused looks.
"Henry?" my father finally asked, "Chickens eat grain. The entire reason we built this farm was because our crops failed. We barely have enough grain for people. And now you want to feed it to chickens?"
Mnex?
We forgot the feed plan.
"Correction," Mnex said. "You forgot it. I, on the other hand, have a solution. This city is perfect for insect farming."
Insect farming? I asked.
"Multiple specimens with black exoskeletons, long antennae, and non biting behavior. Flight patterns consistent with Hermetia illucens. Congratulations. You live in filth."
…Black soldier fly?
"Hermetia illucens," he sighed. "Yes. Also known, quite unfairly, as the poop fly."
I paused, trying to imagine how I was supposed to explain this to actual human beings. Then I turned to the group.
"We'll need to construct a shaded structure behind each coop. Something simple, like the ones we built for the saunas. The floor needs to be heated, but it doesn't have to be large. Start laying the stone base, I'll draw up the design shortly."
One of the farmers hesitated. "My lord... forgive me, but what exactly is this new structure for?"
My father turned his head toward me, nodding for an answer.
"Anyone not currently working on construction," I said, "head to the riverbanks and start collecting poop flies. The rest of you, go to the old grain storage and bring back any spoiled wheat you find."
"Wait, we're feeding the chickens flies and rotten wheat?" Doyle asked, his face twisted in disbelief.
"Not exactly," I replied. "We're feeding them the larvae from the flies... and the mealworms that live in spoiled grain."
Every face twisted in collective horror.
To be honest, if these words hadn't come straight from Mnex, I might have joined them.
After that, I called over one of the farmers who'd be stationed here full-time and began explaining everything.
How to feed the hens.
What kind of protein mix they needed.
When and how to rotate them with roosters.
How long to leave them in their resting frames.
How often to clean the feeders.
All of it.
At first, it was just one man listening. But by the end, every farmer in the area had gathered around.
A spontaneous class had formed and I was the speaker.
Well… not exactly.
Think of Mnex as the teacher.
And me? I was just the microphone.
"Precisely. A microphone. Which, for the record, is the most useful thing you've ever been. Microphone Henry. Has a nice ring to it."
Once that was done, we moved on to the hatchery section.
This part of the farm… might be the hardest.
Not too hot. Not too cold.
Moist, but not too moist.
A place where heat and humidity had to dance just right.
It sounded simple until you tried to control it.
If I ever got better at magic, maybe I could automate all this.
But we didn't have time for someday.
Harvest season was creeping closer, and the food in storage was creeping closer to empty.
And the worst part?
Even when the new harvest came, it wouldn't fill more than a quarter of the granaries.
Which meant one thing:
Winter would hurt.
The hatchery followed Mnex's design precisely.
A stone floor, covered with slats of wood, topped with a layer of dry straw.
Stone alone would crack the eggs. Wood alone would trap too much moisture.
But straw?
Straw could absorb the excess.
And as long as we replaced it regularly, the balance would hold.
At least… that's what I thought.
Turns out, temperature and humidity were just the beginning.
Yolk survival had its own rules.
Three turns a day.
Not one, not two but three.
Every egg, every time.
From the third day onward, we'd need to candle them, hold them up to the light.
If there were no visible veins, the egg might be empty.
By the seventh day, it'd be much easier to tell.
And if the egg smelled?
Don't even think about leaving it inside.
Bad eggs can ruin everything.
So yeah… I explained all of that. Every detail. Every step.
I can't tell you how the farmers felt.
But if my head was pounding by the end,
I'm guessing theirs were halfway to exploding.
And that… was only the beginning of the hardest part of my day.
I spotted Raymond approaching from across the road. Judging by the way he lingered until my father walked off, there was only one thing he wanted to talk about.
"Young lord, I hope you're doing well," he said, glancing around suspiciously.
"The soap workshop repairs are complete, right?" I asked, wasting no time.
"Ah! Always direct. Always sharp. I knew you were brilliant the moment I saw you. Though… word on the street is that Doyle was the first to notice your intellect."
He leaned in and cupped a hand around his mouth. "Between you and me, he's been promoting your name to everyone, like he's the visionary behind your rise. Trying to steal credit. But you know who truly saw your potential first, don't you?"
"Aha," Mnex interjected. "That explains why people have been calling you 'young lord' instead of 'young master' lately."
Wait… really?
"Yes, really," he continued. "It may seem like a small change, but it's not. They don't see you as a spoiled noble kid anymore. They see someone in charge. Someone... leading."
"I see," I said, answering them both. "Well, it's about time we begin production. Have Charles ready by morning. I'll explain the new soap formula then."
What began as a simple chicken project had now grown into a full blown poultry empire,
with a side of bug farms.
Morning combat training, evening agriculture administration...
Today had been, by all accounts, incredibly productive.
And with that, the day finally came to an end.