Day 2: Morning
The cold dawn of Day 2 was not heralded by the crow of a rooster, but by the relentless, grinding hunger in the stomachs of the three hundred inhabitants of Ashfall.
Kael stood at the manor gates, wrapped in a thick, utilitarian coat, overseeing the dispatch of the first, most critical labor detail: the Foraging Unit. This group consisted primarily of the Contingent—the ninety-odd able-bodied men and women who had to earn their rations today—plus a smaller, reliable core of workers. Their task was the mass collection of the Goat's Foot Tuber from the rocky, distant banks of the River Ash.
The formation was sluggish, driven by resentment and the gnawing pain of their hunger. They had received no food this morning; Kael's decree was strict: work is the currency of survival, and payment is rendered at sundown.
"Sergeant Rylen will maintain order at the Water Channel site," Kael announced, his voice carrying the morning's chill. "Steward Elms will oversee the Tuber preparation and cooking operation here at the village."
He faced the Foraging Unit. "You will move with purpose. The tubers are the only thing that separates you from a cold death in a ditch. Their strength is not easy to gather; they bury deep, binding themselves to the stone."
He held up a simple, metal-tipped staff—a crude tool forged by the blacksmith overnight. "We will use these. Digging with hands is too slow. Breaking the ground is too hard. You must find the stem, use the staff to snap the feeder root, and then use the shaft to leverage the rock until the tuber breaks free. No excessive digging. No wasted energy."
Kael, the logistical mind of Adrian Cole, calculated the required yield: based on the tuber's known caloric density, they needed to haul back at least three metric tons of processed, cleaned root every day to provide the minimal survival ration for the entire population. This required maximum efficiency from a workforce that was already physically degraded.
The Unit walked out under the armed guard of two of Rylen's knights—an unprecedented sight for a foraging party. The knights were there not to protect them from bandits, but to ensure that the collection was systematic, efficient, and that no one strayed to attempt a solo, selfish collection and consumption.
Kael walked with the foragers to the riverbank. He did not lead them, but flanked them, observing the energy expenditure and the volume of the initial yield.
The work was instantly, brutally difficult. The Goat's Foot Vine was aptly named; it was a tenacious, rugged weed. Its roots were thick, woody, and locked into the shale and ash-rich soil with unnatural tenacity. The workers, unaccustomed to such specialized foraging, struggled. They wasted energy on massive holes for small yields.
One young man, driven mad by the forty hours he had spent without food, suddenly dropped his tool and began trying to bite into a raw, freshly dug tuber.
"Stop!" Kael commanded, his voice sharp enough to cut through the heavy air.
The knight escort instantly moved, roughly pulling the struggling man away from the root.
"You will not survive if you eat that raw," Kael stated, forcing the man to look at the bitter, gray root. "It is poisonous if not boiled for hours. It will pass straight through your body and kill you faster than the starvation that drives you. The root must be cleaned, cut, and boiled under the strict direction of the Steward. Any attempt to consume it raw is a capital offense. It endangers the community's supply and your own life."
The threat was clear: the system of survival demanded obedience to the technical process. Selfish, chaotic action would not be tolerated. The young man, realizing the depth of his desperation and the finality of the Baron's law, wept and returned to his spot.
Kael then stopped the entire operation, seeing the exhaustion set in after only two hours. He gathered the twenty most productive foragers and demonstrated a better technique.
"Do not fight the root. Find the largest vines, and assume the roots run perpendicular to the river flow, searching for deeper water. You must dig only two feet down, find the secondary root, and snap it clean at the joint. You will use the weight of the rock, not the muscle in your arm, to break the tuber free."
He demonstrated the leverage, using the stone as a fulcrum and the staff as a lever. A massive, heavy tuber—a yield that would feed five people for a day—sprang free with minimal effort.
Kael did not praise the action. He simply gave the order: "Look for the large vines. Use the rock's weight. Efficiency. I will not pay you at sundown for half a cart's worth of root. I only pay for the weight that makes the three hundred survive."
The Contingent group worked with a profound new fear: the fear that they might exhaust themselves, produce insufficient yield, and still starve. It was a cold, pure motivation.
By midday, the first two carts were filled with the heavy, dark tubers. Kael sent them back under guard, their cargo vital proof to the Dependent group—who were beginning to suffer the most from the morning's mandatory fast—that the Baron's system was producing food.
Kael remained on the riverbank, overseeing the grim logistics of the Tuber Hunt. He saw the suffering, the desperation, and the immense resentment in the eyes of the workers, but he did not relent. Compassion was luxury they could not afford. Survival was a calculation, and the cost of the first day's labor was measured in aching backs, blistered hands, and the full yield of the bitter root.