Day 3: Evening
The evening air was thick with smoke from the three continuous boiling furnaces, which now provided a steady, low hum of activity near the manor. The long line of the Dependent group—the approximately 135 elderly, infirm, and youngest children—moved slowly toward the distribution point. This was their critical hour: the moment they received their mandatory subsistence ration, provided they had fulfilled their labor quota.
Kael stood next to Steward Elms and Healer Mara, personally overseeing the audit. He had to ensure that the process was perfectly executed, or the entire triage system would collapse.
"Elms, the ledger," Kael commanded quietly. "Cross-reference the distribution list with Mara's medical register. Ensure no one receives a ration who did not provide their work for the day."
Elms, looking less fearful and more purely exhausted, meticulously checked names against the list. He was now tracking three distinct columns: Rations Issued, Illness Reported, and Briquettes Produced.
The primary production output for this group was the Fuel Briquettes, the slow-burning blocks essential for sustaining the cooking fires. At the distribution point, each member of the Dependent group had to present a small, woven basket containing their daily quota of fifty compressed ash briquettes.
"Next," Kael ordered.
An older woman, frail and shaking, approached the table. She presented her basket, but it contained only forty-two briquettes.
Elms frowned nervously, looking at Kael. "My lord, she is old. She says her hands could not compress the material fast enough."
Kael stepped forward. He did not show anger, only the cold, mechanical disappointment of a system failure. "Healer Mara, assess her caloric needs. Does she require a full subsistence ration to survive the night?"
Mara examined the woman's skin and eyes. "She is weak, my lord, but she is not critically ill. A full ration would restore her strength quickly."
"She will receive seventy percent of the ration," Kael stated. "The system is clear. Seventy percent of the output earns seventy percent of the payment. The briquette quota sustains the fuel needed to boil the food for three hundred people. Her failure to produce affects the survival of the entire unit."
The woman began to weep silently, but Kael remained firm. The entire population was watching. Any sign of weakness or exception would lead to mass refusal the following day. The mathematical logic had to hold.
"The remaining thirty percent of her ration will be distributed tomorrow, only if she produces one hundred percent of her quota," Kael stated. "We do not punish; we allocate resources based on demonstrated contribution. Mara, log the deficit."
As the Dependent group continued to file through, Kael worked with Mara to refine the health tracking. He was less interested in her diagnosis of "spirits" and more interested in the precise location and spread of the visible sickness.
"Healer, where are the majority of the new stomach complaints coming from?" Kael asked, observing her ledger data.
Mara, having internalized the importance of the register, pointed to a cluster of names. "They are all from the lower cluster of huts, near the west edge of the village, my lord. They also have the highest number of deaths in the last month."
Kael's mind immediately overlayed the map of the village with the epidemiological data. The lower cluster. That area was closest to the old, contaminated well and received the most direct runoff from the animal pens and waste pits.
"The boiling water rule must be enforced with the absolute maximum severity in that district," Kael instructed Mara. "Tell the workers there that the air itself is cursed, and only continuous fire can drive out the contamination. Assign two reliable members of the Dependent group—who have met their briquette quota—to monitor the boiling in that area specifically."
He was creating a dedicated Public Health Enforcement Unit from the most reliable of the non-workers, giving them authority and responsibility to protect themselves and their neighbors.
Kael's gaze then fell on the children, who were being fed the tuber mash by the older women. He recognized another critical failure in his triage.
"Elms, the children," Kael murmured. "Their subsistence ration is too difficult to digest. They are wasting valuable calories on trying to break down the starch. If they fall ill, Mara's job becomes impossible."
He instructed Elms to take the finest, softest portion of the tuber mash and mix it thoroughly with whatever available liquids could be found—thin, boiled goat's milk, or even just extra boiled water—to create a homogenous, liquid slurry.
"They need a calorie-dense fluid, not solid food," Kael explained, recalling basic nutritional science for malnourished populations. "It requires less energy to digest. The liquid slurry will maximize the absorption of the nutrients we fought so hard to gather."
As the last of the Dependent group filed away, leaving behind a massive, stacked pyramid of ash briquettes—enough fuel for the next two days—Kael felt a cold, calculated sense of accomplishment. The briquettes were the proof of concept: his system could generate resources from nothing, and his triage system was enforcing obedience.
But the night was not over. As he was about to return to his cold quarters, Sergeant Rylen arrived, his face grim, his breathing shallow.
"My Lord Baron," Rylen reported, his voice tight. "A patrol saw movement in the south ravine. Not animals. Men. They know we are here."
The external threat had arrived, immediately testing the new systems Kael had implemented.