With the trade route secure and the construction of the granary underway, Kael initiated the final, most radical phase of his infrastructure development: the systematic upgrade of human capital. The efficiency of his engineered systems—the geometry of the bastions, the precision of the aqueduct gradient, the meticulous rationing—depended entirely on accurate measurement, documentation, and the workforce's ability to interpret complex instructions. The inherent illiteracy of the feudal population was now a logistical failure point. Superstition could only be conquered by data, and data required literacy.
Kael issued the decree: mandatory Literacy and Numeracy training for every member of the Core and Contingent labor groups. The Dependent group was tasked with producing the teaching materials, using the endless supply of ash dust mixed with water to create rough slates and chalk sticks. Kael diverted the one member of the Dependent group with rudimentary reading skills—an old, exiled scribe who had been near-useless in physical labor—to serve as the primary instructor, reporting directly to Steward Elms.
The workers, exhausted from their long days of digging and hauling, initially reacted with immense hostility. They saw the mandatory two hours of nightly instruction as an unnecessary cruelty, an intellectual demand layered on top of their physical exhaustion. Torvin, the senior farmer, articulated the general frustration: "My lord, what good is reading the stars when we cannot even plow the field? Our hands know the work; our minds are too tired for letters."
Kael addressed the workers directly in the field, not with noble sentiment, but with the ruthless logic of efficiency. He held up two pieces of wood. One was cut crookedly by an unsupervised worker; the other was cut to the precise dimensions required for a granary beam. "Illiteracy is inefficiency," Kael stated. "When the Aqueduct gradient is off by half a finger's width, the water stagnates, and the sickness returns. When the amount of seed we scatter is guesswork, the harvest fails, and you starve."
He explained the purpose of the training in purely functional terms. Literacy was not about reading poetry; it was about accurately interpreting the Task Cards Kael would begin issuing—written instructions detailing the exact required dimensions, mixture ratios, and tool assembly diagrams for every project. . Numeracy was not about philosophy; it was about accurately logging the daily tuber yield, calculating the remaining fuel stock, and tracking the daily ration distribution to ensure no over-expenditure occurred.
"If you cannot read the instructions for the furnace, you will waste the briquettes, and the fires will die," Kael asserted. "If you cannot calculate the volume of the tuber yield, the entire village starves because we cannot adjust the foraging teams. Your survival depends on your ability to use logic and numbers to verify the success of your labor."
The training began slowly, focused entirely on practical, survival-related concepts. The lessons were basic: learning to recognize the symbols for "Iron Ore" versus "Salt," learning to calculate basic area for planting, and learning to write the numbers for logging inventory. Kael made the literacy quota a component of the weekly ration audit for the Contingent group. Failure to demonstrate progress in numeracy would result in a marginal, but noticeable, reduction in payment. The logic was clear: in the Barony of Ashfall, intellectual efficiency was now a prerequisite for physical survival. Slowly, grudgingly, the workers began to apply themselves, realizing that the symbols and the numbers were not abstract noble parlor tricks, but new, essential tools—as vital as the scythes Hektor was now forging from the high-grade coastal iron. The logic of survival had found its way into their minds, transforming simple physical laborers into documented, accountable technicians of the logistics machine.