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—in 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—until 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—taking 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.
[ 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. Mixthoroughly. 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 movedto the second paddy the enforcer had given him. His thoughts were confirmed—the 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, athirteen-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 thetemporary 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—something the other kids could never understand.