Darren stood in the small bakery, the warm, sweet air contrasting sharply with the world outside. Martha, the baker, beamed as she served a line of eager villagers, her coin pouch growing steadily heavier. The success was undeniable—The woman was certainly making more money than she had hoped to make in a lifetime. Yet, for Darren, it wasn't Enough. His baking enterprise, profitable as it was, relied entirely on the village's meager resources. He was limited by the flour he could buy, the fruits he could procure, and the palates he could sell to. The truth was harsh: the village economy was a closed loop.
The only break in this cycle was the quarterly arrival of a merchant caravan. These traders were the sole connection between this forgotten hamlet and the wider world, bringing exotic goods and carrying away whatever surplus the village produced. But that was rare—a brief festival of exchange in a long season of isolation. Fear kept the village sealed. The roads to other towns were long and dangerous; tales of savage beasts and ruthless bandits kept most folk tethered to their homes. To truly grow, to effect the change he envisioned, Darren knew he couldn't just create a successful business within the village—he had to break it open.
An even more pressing concern was his own body. Kael's frail constitution was a constant anchor. He now understood it wasn't just bad luck; it was a product of this environment. The food, even at its best, was for survival, not vitality. The porridge and watery soups offered little true nutrition. The water, drawn from a central well, was of questionable purity, and the local remedies seemed more grounded in tradition than efficacy. His persistent weakness, the general weariness in the villagers' eyes, the frequent coughs among the children—it all traced back to a fundamental lack of proper health and hygiene. He had the knowledge to fix it, but knowledge was useless without application.
He decided to begin where he had first found success: the earth. His small experimental garden had been a triumph, but it was time to scale up. Baking was profitable, but true, sustainable wealth and health came from the land. He would expand his agricultural operations, starting with the orphanage's communal garden.
For several days, he used a portion of his baking earnings to wander the village, purchasing what seeds he could find. He traded with villagers, offering copper coins for seeds from particularly robust-looking plants in their gardens. He collected seeds from the wilder edges of the village, carefully identifying edible plants with the AI's help. Lily, his first and most loyal convert, was his constant companion. Her genuine enthusiasm and physical strength perfectly complemented his knowledge and frail body.
"What are we planting so much of this for?" Lily asked one afternoon, her hands dusty from sorting wheat grains. "We have so many other vegetables."
"This is wheat," Darren explained, holding up a single grain. "We can make porridge with it, but more importantly, we can grind it into flour. The best flour. The kind that makes the best bread." The kind that would make him independent of the village's inconsistent supply.
Planting was simple. The harvest would be an immense undertaking, requiring far more hands than just his and Lily's. He needed a workforce.
He approached Sister Marta that evening, finding her mending a child's tunic by the fading light. He laid out his proposal carefully, his voice steady despite the nerves churning in his gut. He asked for permission to take over management of the entire communal garden, promising to improve its yield and provide more than enough food for the orphanage.
Sister Marta's needle paused mid-stitch. She looked at him, her expression mixing pride and apprehension. "Kael, what you did with your little plot was wonderful, a true blessing. But the main garden… that is the food for all twenty children. If it fails, we will all go hungry this winter."
"It won't fail," Darren said with confidence he didn't entirely feel. "I know what I'm doing. We can grow more food, and better food, than ever before."
"He'll ruin it," a sharp voice cut in from the doorway. Sister Agnes stood there, arms crossed, her face disapproving. "You saw him, Marta. He collapsed after a few hours of simple weeding. Now you want to put our entire food supply in his hands? It's foolishness. He will only cause problems."
"Agnes, his vegetables sold for a good price at the market," Sister Marta countered, though her voice lacked conviction.
"That was a small patch of luck! Not a plan for survival!"
"I will help him," Darren insisted, turning to face the sterner sister. "I will guide the other children. I won't be doing the heavy work myself—I'll be directing it. Please, just give me a chance."
Sister Marta looked from Darren's earnest face to Sister Agnes's stony glare. She sighed deeply. "Very well, Kael. You may try. But I will be watching to ensure everything is done properly."
Sister Agnes let out a frustrated sound but said no more, turning and disappearing back into the main room.
The next morning, Darren stood before the assembled orphans in the communal garden. It was a scraggly, disorganized plot. He began by issuing his first order. "Everything that looks sick or weak, we're pulling it out."
He directed them to a shallow pit he had dug nearby. "Put it all in here. It will break down and become food for the new plants."
"It's unclean!" another girl cried out.
They all refused, backing away from the pits as if he'd asked them to handle poison.
"It's the best way to get the best produce!" Darren argued, his frustration mounting. "It's how I made my own plants grow so well!"
Sister Marta, who had been observing from the edge of the garden, walked over, her expression deeply skeptical. "Kael, are you certain about this? It doesn't seem… right."
"I am absolutely certain," Darren said, looking her in the eye. "This is the secret. It's what will make the difference between a small harvest and a great one."