Stepping on the unsteady, dirty wooden panes that served as the floor, Atlas pinched his nose with a handkerchief and looked around. He saw dozens of people, dressed in coarse, dirty clothes moving in and out of poorly set-up tents.

The men tussled with the murky swamp mud, struggling to set foundations for the wooden floors and the tents. The woman, on the other hand, either stayed within their tents to occupy their children or help with other menial jobs. As for the children, they either played in the dirty swamp waters or fussed around their mothers.

Shaking his head with blatant dissatisfaction, Atlas turned around and left for another spot. Guided by the Baron he soon arrived in the vicinity of a shack-like building.

Pointing towards the shack and the long queue of women who stood outside, the Baron spoke, “This is where we distribute rations to the families.”

“Hmm. How frequently?” the prince asked.

“Frequency? It’s always open. Families can come whenever they wish to collect rations.” the Baron proudly declared.

Hearing his declaration, Atlas shot a baffled look at the piggish-looking man. Had it not been for the handkerchief covering the lower portion of his face, his agape mouth could’ve been seen by the Baron.

“Is there a limit set on the number of times a family can collect their rations per day?”

“Nope. They can come whenever and however many ever times that they wish. I believe that a full belly guarantees a person’s happiness and pushes them to work harder.”

“Is there a daily inflow to the stock of rations?”

“Inflow?” The Baron quizzed, confused.

“Rations coming in. Do you have a source to replenish the spent rations? To increase your current stock?”

“No, my liege. There is no such thing,” the Baron answered, confused as to why the young prince was asking such questions. “We packed all available rations from the fief and transported them here. So far, it has survived us this month.”

“When was the last time you checked the stock? No, actually, where have you stored the rations?” Atlas asked, closing his eyes. An expression of pain had already started to surface on his face.

Hearing this question, an ominous feeling surfaced inside the Baron’s heart. He quickly went through his memories and answered honestly.

“I believe that I haven’t checked the stock since we got here, my liege. As for its storage, it’s kept in the large building next to my house.”

“That large one with fist-sizes holes on its walls?”

“Yes, my liege.”

“How does this shack get restocked then?” Atlas asked, pointing towards the construct with a queue. “It can’t be that the people running the shack simply walk into that building and take what they want, right?”

The Baron did not answer.

“Right?” Atlas repeated once again, turning to meet the large man’s eyes.

The Baron flinched and looked away.

“Wow,” Atlas said flatly. “I want to go and take a look at the stockroom.”

“My liege, you do not have to burden yourself with such menial tasks. I will send a serva–”

“Baron Helm. I want to go take a look at the stockroom,” the young prince sternly repeated once again and immediately turned around to walk.

Having a vague feeling that he had committed some kind of massive blunder, the Baron hurriedly followed the prince.

---

Inside a poorly-built, dimly lit, wet, and humid building, Atlas sat at the center of a circle of large sacks. One of the sacks, made from some kind of fiber, lay open with the young prince’s right hand reaching into it.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Pulling out a fistful of the sack’s contents, Atlas brought it close to his source of light; an oil lantern held by the large-bodied Baron.

Inspecting the grains with close scrutiny, Atlas immediately identified the whitish layer covering the grain. Bringing it closer to his nose, he then sniffed at it. Finally, he roughly estimated the weight of the grains by shaking them atop his plans.

“Definitely lighter. And then there’s the smell,” Atlas lightly commented and then proceeded to look at the Baron.

Meeting the young prince’s gaze, the man immediately flinched. His bald head immediately lowered in shame.

“How long have you been a Baron, Sir Helm?” the prince asked.

“Almost ten years, my liege.” The man answered. Unlike how he looked, the Baron was only thirty-two years of age.

“How did you run your fief for those ten years?”

“I-I had servants and aides to help me, my liege.”

“Help you or to do your work?”

“M-my liege–”

“Answer my question, Sir Helm,” Atlas’ eyes narrowed. At this moment he couldn’t care less if his identity was exposed.

The Constantine Kingdom, its people, its lands, its wealth…everything belonged to Atlas. And to see HIS wealth be mismanaged by an incompetent manager, irked him to no small degree.

“T-they did the work, my liege.” the man admitted.

“Where are these ‘aides’ of yours? I didn’t see them anywhere,” the young prince looked around in rhetoric.

“T-they w-were sent to assist the kingdom during the war, my liege. They didn’t return.”

“I see.” Atlas dropped the fistful of grains on the ground and rose to his feet. He then dusted his hands and turned around to walk towards the exit.

The Baron did not move but continued to stand with his head lowered in shame. He was a good and loyal man with a warm heart that had descended from a kind family.

But he was no leader. His incompetence at leading this town was apparent for Atlas to see.

“I do not blame you, Baron Helm,” the prince stopped at the entrance of the storehouse and spoke. “You have a kind heart and warm personality that cares a lot for others.”

He then shook his head.

“Unfortunately, such people aren’t suited to become leaders. Inspirers and idols, yes. But never leaders.”

He shrugged his shoulders and finished.

“None worth remembering at least.”

He then left.

The Baron remained as still as a statue. His head was lowered but his mind spun at full speed.

His abilities were lacking but he was no fool. The young prince had shown him the problem and it was his duty to solve it.

‘The stocked rations predominantly consist of grains. However, with the prince showing me now, I’m afraid at least half, if not all of the grains have spoilt. They are not fit for human consumption.’

He took a look around the hundreds of sacks that lay sprawling around the storehouse.

‘Originally, the rations that we brought with us were enough to last us for months. With the current situation, however, I can only pray that there is enough food to last us for the week. But that still doesn’t solve the root issue; we are desperately in need of fresh rations!’

‘Then there’s the issue of storing it. Where do we store it? These accursed swamps are dark, wet, and extremely humid for the majority of the day. There is also the issue of lacking sunlight and warmth.’

This reminded the Baron of another issue.

‘Right! I had some of the people come up to me yesterday and ask me for a solution to the cold. If I don’t come up with a solution soon, more people will start feeling the cold and more importantly, they might start falling sick!’

The large Baron, strong enough to rival four full men, felt utterly powerless against the current situation. The more he thought, the more problems he saw with the town. Worst of all, the Baron had no idea what to do.

‘Oh, your majesty. If only you were here. You would’ve resolved this situation in the blink of an eye.’

Unfortunately, the ex-king of Constantine Kingdom wasn’t here. He was rotting inside the stomach of a wolf (Atlas’ version of the truth).

“Hey! Baron Helm. I thought I asked you to follow me!”

A voice suddenly sounded from the entrance. Raising his head, the Baron saw the small, skinny figure of the young prince.

His golden hair was coarse, unkempt, and was sticking against his forehead due to sweat and the dampness in the air. His bright, sapphire-colored eyes shined like glittering gems at the center of a perfectly shaped eye.

His pink lips, though chapped and dry, were perfectly sized and complemented his sharp nose. Then there was his face, fair and oval. The child’s features perfectly complemented and even elevated each other.

The Baron had to admit. The young prince was the most beautiful child that he had ever met.

He was simply the embodiment of perfection.

There was no doubt that the young boy would grow up to be a stunningly handsome man who would be the dream of every woman and the target of every man.

Such an entity was the Baron’s new master and the future ruler of the Constantine Kingdom. Such a person was now…

“Chop, chop! We got a lot of work to do! There’s no time to waste! Move! Move! MOVE!”

Calling him in an extremely strange manner.