Year 1, Spring, Second Month, First Week.

‘-- As a first-level Alchemist's Assistant, your primary resource will be magic ink. This ink channels energy through your inscriptions. You can create it from various materials that conduct magic, but blood is commonly used for its effective conductivity. --’

Deeply engrossed in Master AI's lessons, Karl felt a jolt of distress at the mention of blood.

‘-- Plant sap is also a viable conductor, often preferable due to its simpler processing compared to blood. Plants that absorb fewer extraneous substances yield a purer sap. --’

Hearing that plant sap was an alternative, Karl breathed a sigh of relief.

‘-- However, remember that different plants yield inks with varying efficacies, depending on the task and the processing method. Initially, you should focus on crafting a simple low-quality (LQ) ink from white grass. It's commonly found and easy to process. --’

Karl absorbed this information, continuing his work in the fields. In Caiset, each family was allotted a plot for personal cultivation, but they were also obligated to labor in the communal fields. These fields supported the village's orphans, elders without families, the ill, and the Chief's household.

Being an only child, Karl bore the responsibility of tending to his family's plot and representing them in the communal fields every five days.

The yearly tribute demanded by the cities was substantial, compelling all adults to work relentlessly. Their own plots often fell to the care of the village youth.

The nobles only consumed food infused with magical properties, requiring specialized techniques for their care. These resource fields were costly to maintain and yielded limited harvests. In contrast, the commoners' sustenance came from ordinary fields, devoid of any magical enhancement.

As noon approached, a sudden uproar erupted at the entrance of the village. Elder Said, busy tending to a villager who had come down with a fever overnight, was drawn outside by the commotion. Stepping out, she scooped up a small, trembling girl who had fallen near her hut, the child pointing fearfully toward the three mounted Guards causing a ruckus at the village's entrance.

Captain Horacios, upon noticing the elder's presence, barked out with palpable disdain, “Now that you've seen I'm here, hurry and fetch the Chief. Any delay in my business, and I'll hold you accountable – even if it costs you your life.”

Elder Said, not daring to retort, simply nodded and quickly dispatched the children to summon the Chief.

The sick villager was alarmed by the noise and worried about his crying daughter, so he dragged himself outside. Horacios, mistaking the ill man for a shirker, seethed with anger. “You, hiding from work at this hour... I’ll teach you what happens to slackers!”

With fury, the Captain lashed out, kicking the feeble villager repeatedly as he begged for mercy. Elder Said pleaded for the assault to cease as her voice became drowned out by the cries of terrified children.

The villager's pleas soon turned to coughs of blood, his body growing limp under the relentless attack.

Desperate to intervene, Elder Said reached out to grasp the Captain's shoulder, attempting to reason with him. Horacios, incensed by her audacity, turned his wrath upon the elderly woman, completely disregarding her advanced years.

Poised to deliver a harsh blow, the Captain put his full force into the strike. Just then, Chief Omero arrived on the scene. With surprising agility for his age, he interposed himself between Said and the Captain, shielding her from the blow. The force of the attack sent him crashing to the ground, his cries of pain echoing through the stunned village.

Confusion flickered across Captain Horacios' face as he realized his intended target had been unexpectedly replaced. He hadn't noticed Chief Omero's approach, nor could he fathom how the elderly man had moved so swiftly and precisely into the path of his blow.

Stolen novel; please report.

Seizing the moment of the Captain's confusion, Chief Omero scrambled to his feet, addressing him with feigned subservience, “Oh, esteemed Captain, I beg you for mercy! Elder Said is our village healer. Her loss would jeopardize our ability to deliver the tributes. Please, let this old man bear the punishment in her stead.”

The Captain sneered in clear disdain but paused to consider the implications. He knew all too well the repercussions he would face if the village failed to meet the tribute quota. While the nobility preferred the villagers to struggle, a significant deficit would directly reflect on him. Gradually, his fury subsided and was replaced by a cold indifference.

“Since you acknowledge your place, I will spare myself the distaste of dirtying myself with your commoner blood. Be informed, the Royal Mages have decreed a new edict… From this year onward, your tribute must increase by 30 percent.”

The Chief's fake expression immediately fell into despair, a reaction that elicited a twisted smile from Captain Horacios. He relished in the power of his words, adding, “The Royal Mages are benevolent in their wisdom. Should your village fail to meet the tribute, the difference may be compensated with alternative resources…”

Without waiting for a response, the Guards departed swiftly. Elder Said reached for the bleeding villager and, with a heavy heart, confirmed his demise. A depressed mood descended upon the village, the reality of the new edict casting a shadow over their future, foreboding more tragedies like the one they had just witnessed.

In the harsh reality of Caiset, reaching the age of 50 was a milestone that marked one as an elder. However, few villagers ever reached this venerable age, and those who did often didn't live much longer. The eldest in Caiset, at 74 years, was nearing the end of his days. The village only had 40 elders in total.

Nonetheless, survival demanded that even the elders contribute to work. They would be engaged in many tasks: caring for children, repairing items, cooking, tending to the sick, crafting tools, and weaving straw cloths. While their knowledge was limited, they passed down essential skills in healing, cooking, and crafting to the younger generation.

An elder bearing a voice heavy with concern, lamented, “...it's not possible! We’re already struggling to feed ourselves, delaying marriages for lack of time and materials to build new homes. How can we be expected to work more?”

Another elder chimed in, her voice tinged with worry, “We know, but if we fail to meet their demands, they might take our children as compensation. Remember what happened to Rose’s daughter…”

Chief Omero remained silent as he listened to the elders discuss, his face thoughtful with deep wrinkles. Despite the pain from his recent assault, his demeanor never wavered. To the villagers, he was a pillar of strength, and showing any sign of weakness could send the community into disarray.

He knew the pattern all too well: oppressive demands leading to deaths and the loss of children. The village was teetering on the brink of a crisis. Pushing these grim thoughts aside, Omero resolved to conclude the meeting. He rose to his feet and signaled for silence.

The room fell quiet under his commanding presence, each villager looking to him for guidance in these trying times.

“Let us conclude our meeting,” He announced, his voice steady but imbued with an underlying gravity. “I will speak to the workers this evening when they return. Afterward, discuss with your families and look for solutions. Giving in to despair will not help us.”

The elders rose to leave, their murmurs of worry lingering in the air. Despite their fears, the Chief’s composed attitude gave them a measure of calm. Two elders remained behind, their aged faces hiding their inner struggles. Like Omero, they could too sense a long-anticipated event unfolding.

“So, it has come to this... Do we suspect another war? And with whom this time?” one elder saw fit to break the eerie silence.

“The Democracy seems unlikely... Perhaps the Sandines are encroaching on our borders once more,” speculated the other.

Marlen interjected with a voice tinged in worry, “We made a decision, but we must keep the children safe. Katlyn has only just recovered...”

“I am aware, Marlen! I’ve lost more than most. But this time, we will act BEFORE something happens,” the first elder responded, his tone resolute.

“I agree, but I refuse to simply placate them while they drain the life from our villagers,” Marlen asserted firmly.

“No one expects that of you. We need to be careful. Even the Guards at the Tower could easily overpower us...”

Later that day, as the workers trudged back from the magic fields, they found Chief Omero waiting at the village entrance. The setting sun cast long shadows, accentuating the somber atmosphere.

Sensing something amiss, the villagers exchanged uneasy glances, their minds racing to guess the Chief’s reasons. Omero broke the silence and solemnly relayed the news of the villager’s death.

A woman’s cry pierced the air, quickly muffled by the comfort of her fellow villagers. Soon, a collective sadness and sense of helplessness settled over the crowd.

Throughout, Omero remained a pillar of strength, his firm yet reassuring presence preventing any outbreaks of panic. He offered no false assurances, instead choosing to face the harsh reality unwavering.