When the morning sun rose over Kisor, the town of Zidan was slowly waking up. Smoke rose from the chimneys of the houses, and the sounds of life began to emerge. Ali—or rather, Zidan now—had spent the remainder of the night wrestling with his tangled memories and uncertain future. He hadn't slept much; every time he closed his eyes, he was haunted by Leila's screams and the echoes of the terrifying news about Duke Friedrich.
Zidan descended to the lower floor of the palace, where the atmosphere was livelier. The scent of fresh bread and coffee filled the air. In the dining hall, the head servant, Javier, was waiting for him. Javier was a man in his late fifties, his hair gray, his face lined with wrinkles that told the story of long years of loyal service to the Zidan family. He wore an elegant yet practical uniform, and his sharp blue eyes carried both shrewdness and intelligence.
"Good morning, Lord Baron," Javier said in a dignified voice, giving a slight bow. "I hope you slept well after what appears to have been a troubling nightmare."
Zidan—or rather, Ali—looked at him intently. He realized that Javier was a pivotal figure in this place, and his words carried weight. "Good morning, Javier. Yes, it was indeed a troubling nightmare," he replied, trying to sound as natural as possible. "Have breakfast served in my study. I have much to do today."
"As you wish, my lord," Javier responded, noting Zidan's penetrating gaze.
Shortly after, Zidan was seated in his spacious study, devouring his breakfast while reviewing some old records he had found on the original Zidan's desk. They were all related to taxes and land—dry information that didn't interest him at the moment. When Javier entered with more papers, Zidan looked up.
"Javier, I want to tour the town," Zidan suddenly declared. "I want to see Kisor with my own eyes, not through these cold documents."
Javier's eyes narrowed slightly. "A tour, my lord? Are you certain? The situation isn't entirely stable. You might be more accustomed to observing things from the palace windows."
"I'm absolutely certain, Javier," Zidan affirmed in a firm tone. "I want to see my people, to speak with them. And I want you to accompany me. I have some questions for you."
Javier hesitated but eventually nodded. "As you wish, my lord."
Zidan donned a light coat and stepped out accompanied by Javier and two personal guards. The sun had climbed higher in the sky, its golden rays filtering through the narrow streets of Kisor. The town was a mix of ancient stone houses—some crumbling, others standing resilient against time. The markets were filled with vendors displaying their modest goods: some vegetables, a few grains, and handmade tools.
Zidan observed carefully. Children played in the streets, but their faces were pale, their eyes reflecting hunger. Men toiled in nearby fields or small workshops, but they looked exhausted and weak. Women washed clothes in the river or ground grain, but their bodies were thin and frail.
"Javier, roughly how many people live in Kisor?" Zidan asked, pointing to a group of gaunt children fighting over a dry piece of bread.
Javier glanced around before answering, "My estimates, my lord, suggest the population has reached about sixteen thousand."
"Sixteen thousand?" Zidan repeated, surprised. "That's more than I thought. How are they distributed?"
"Roughly, my lord, we can say about five thousand are adult men, including young men capable of bearing arms or hard labor. Adult women number around four thousand. Children make up the largest group—about five thousand. The remaining two thousand are the elderly and infirm."
Zidan paused, considering the numbers. "And how many of them live in poverty?"
Javier sighed. "Most of them, my lord. Life is hard. Crops aren't always plentiful, taxes are heavy, and work is scarce. Many barely find enough to eat for the day."
Zidan noticed the hunger in the people's eyes, confirming Javier's words. He remembered what he had endured in Sudan, how poverty and hunger had been a major challenge there. But here, it seemed even more primitive and harsh.
Zidan continued his tour, listening to scattered complaints and witnessing the deprivation firsthand. With every gaunt child, every starving woman, every exhausted man, his resolve grew stronger.
They reached the town square, where some modest activities were taking place. Zidan stopped and looked at Javier with determination in his eyes.
"Javier, I want to open the emergency reserves," Zidan stated clearly.
Javier trembled. "The emergency reserves, my lord? You mean the contingency stores?"
"Yes, the ones that can sustain the town for a full year," Zidan confirmed. "I want food distributed to the poor and needy immediately."
Javier froze. "My lord, this... this is an extremely grave decision! These reserves are the town's safety net in times of hardship—war, natural disasters! If we open them now, what will we do in the future?"
"The future is now, Javier!" Zidan's voice rose slightly. "I see hunger with my own eyes. I see children dying slowly. What good are full storehouses if our people are starving to death?"
"But my lord, our traditions... nobles don't do this! These resources belong to the baron, not the common folk!" Javier protested, his face red with anger and confusion. "Your father, Baron Arius, would never have considered such a decision! These resources must be kept safe for the future—for sieges or uprisings."
"My father died in an uprising, Javier! And that uprising nearly ended everything!" Zidan retorted firmly, his tone laced with hidden anger. "Baron Zidan is the one making decisions now, not the memory of Baron Arius. And the decision is to open the reserves and distribute the food."
"But my lord, Duke Friedrich and his army are coming! What if we're besieged? What if we need these supplies for our troops?" Javier tried to persuade him, using the impending war as an argument.
"Our army consists of 800 soldiers, Javier, not thirteen thousand. We won't withstand Duke Friedrich thanks to a few sacks of grain. What will sustain us is the loyalty and strength of our people. A starving soldier can't fight, and a hungry people won't defend their land. I want to feed them, to give them hope. That is the best investment in Kisor's defense."
Javier was stunned by Zidan's words. Young Zidan had always been quiet and obedient, but the man before him now possessed wisdom and strength he had never seen before. It was as if he were a different person.
"But... how will you distribute it? Who will decide who deserves it? Everyone will come!" Javier argued, searching for any reason to oppose the decision.
"We'll distribute it fairly," Zidan said, already formulating a plan. "Each family will send one representative. We'll start with the most needy—widows, orphans, the sick, and the elderly. We'll rely on your testimony and that of the priests to determine who is most deserving. No one will leave with an empty stomach."
Javier was still hesitant, but Zidan's intense gaze and resolute voice made him relent. He sensed that the young man before him was not the Zidan he knew. There was something different—something more determined and profound.
"My lord... if you're resolved, then we shall do it," Javier finally conceded. "But... you must know this may provoke the displeasure of other nobles. They may see it as a sign of weakness or recklessness."
"So be it," Zidan said coolly. "Let them think what they will. I care only for my people. Go now, Javier. Gather all the priests and village leaders in town and inform them that I will distribute food in the town square within the hour. Send heralds to every corner of Kisor. I want everyone to hear the news."
Javier bowed again, this time deeper and with more respect, then hurried off to carry out the orders.
About an hour later, Kisor's square was bustling with people. Crowds gathered, their eyes a mix of skepticism and hope. They weren't used to such actions from their noble lord. They had heard the heralds proclaim, "Food will be distributed from the baron's stores! Come, all of you!"
Zidan arrived at the square, accompanied by Javier and some guards. He saw the sacks filled with grain, fresh bread, and some vegetables, all arranged carefully. The scene was moving—pale faces, hungry eyes, outstretched hands.
"People of Kisor!" Zidan called out in a loud, clear voice that echoed across the square. "I have seen your hunger and heard your complaints. Human dignity does not lie in an empty stomach but in living with dignity. I, Baron Zidan, swear to you that I will not let you starve as long as I have something to offer!"
A murmur spread through the crowd. They weren't used to such speeches from a noble. They expected commands, not promises.
"I have opened our emergency reserves!" Zidan continued, his voice growing stronger. "And I will not close them until every one of you is fed! Distribution will begin now. Every family will receive its share. No one will leave with an empty stomach today!"
Voices rose in the square—not shouts of anger, but of astonishment and joy. The crowd began to advance slowly and orderly, supervised by Javier and the priests, who helped identify the most needy.
Zidan stood watching, his eyes taking in every face that passed before him. He saw mothers wiping away tears of joy, men smiling shyly, children playing with pieces of bread. The scene filled his heart with a strange sense of satisfaction. This was what a ruler should do.
"Long live Lord Zidan! Long live Lord Zidan!" The chant erupted suddenly, starting softly before growing into a thunderous roar that filled the square. These were cries from the depths of hearts that felt gratitude for the first time in a long while.
In a corner of the square, an old woman whispered to her son, "Did you see? He's different. Not like the other nobles who see only themselves."
The son nodded. "Yes, Mother. I've heard he's a young baron, but he has a kind heart. He sees our hunger and feels for us."
Another woman smiled as she held her child and took her share of food. "He's different. He has a dignity the others lack."
Zidan heard these murmurs and saw the looks of respect and gratitude. This was what he had aimed for. Loyalty wasn't bought with money or harsh power, but with justice and humanity. He knew his decision was bold and fraught with risk, especially with Friedrich's army approaching. But he believed a strong, united people were better than a hungry, divided one.
As the distribution ended, the crowds began to disperse, each carrying their share of food. The atmosphere in Kisor had changed. There was a glimmer of hope in the air, a sense that things might improve.
Zidan returned to the palace with Javier. A faint smile played on his lips.
"My lord, you've done something no noble has ever done before," Javier said, his voice a mix of awe and admiration. "You've won their hearts today."
"That's what I hoped for, Javier," Zidan replied, gazing at the horizon. The neuralink chip flickered in his mind, filled with plans and ideas. This wasn't just about feeding the hungry—it was about building a strong society capable of facing the challenges ahead. "Now, let's start planning. We have an army approaching, and we must be ready."