After leaving the smithy, Konrad had dedicated the entirety of his evening to the bleak reality of the estate’s agricultural output.

The numbers recorded by his late father’s scribes were a disaster.

The Barony operated on the traditional three-field system, a vastly inefficient method of crop rotation that left a full third of their arable land fallow every year.

The remaining fields were poorly managed, yielding meager harvests of rye and oats that barely sustained the local serfs through the harsh Swabian winters.

If Konrad allowed this archaic system to continue, the estate would be entirely devoid of grain before the summer solstice. Starvation would inevitably drive his peasants directly into the arms of the massive mobs currently terrorizing the Holy Roman Empire.

To prevent a total collapse, Konrad drafted a radical decree for agricultural martial law.

He formulated a centralized rationing system, essentially seizing all private grain stores across his territory and placing them under the direct administration of the estate.

Furthermore, he calculated the exact ratios for cutting the rye flour with dried peas and ground chestnuts.

It would produce a heavy, bitter bread, but it would expand their food reserves.

Konrad was just reaching for his cane to extinguish the dying candle when a scratching sound came from his door.

Assuming it was Hans returning with another depressing report about the treasury, Konrad did not look up from his ledgers.

"Enter," he commanded.

The door creaked open, revealing not the elderly caretaker, but a small, shivering figure in a plain wool nightdress.

It was Elise, his twelve-year-old sister. She clutched a heavy, unlit wax taper in her hands.

"Why are you awake, Elise?" Konrad asked, "The hearth fires have been banked for the night. You are wasting bodily warmth by standing in the corridor."

"I heard Uncle Lothar shouting earlier," she whispered,"And... when I looked out my window, I saw orange lights in the eastern hills. The maids say it is the peasant armies burning the neighboring estates. They say the mobs will come here next to kill us."

Most lords would tell the child a heroic fairytale to soothe her mind, or promise that God and their brave knights would shield them from harm.

"Come with me," Konrad instructed.

He led the girl through the drafty stone hallways, toward the narrow spiral staircase that accessed the eastern gatehouse.

Konrad stopped and pointed his cane at the massive gears and the thick stone walls.

"Look at the limestone blocks, Elise," Konrad stated, tapping the wall with his cane. "They are three feet thick and bound with Roman cement. The insurgent peasantry is outfitted with naught but the tools of their husbandry, chiefly repurposed pitchforks and heavy felling-axes. Yet, the force required to breach a limestone rampart of three feet in thickness lies far beyond the providence of any mortal man wielding such an implement."

Elise stared at the stone, then up at her brother’s face.

Konrad continued, pointing up at the iron grate suspended above them. "To lift it requires the effort of four men operating this winch from the inside. The peasants lack siege artillery. They lack sappers. They lack the supply lines to maintain an encampment outside our walls for more than a week before they starve. Therefore, the probability of them breaching this keep is zero. Your fear is unfounded. Go to sleep."

Elise stood there for a moment, blinking in the dim moonlight...

The next morning, Konrad forced his body through a series of painful stretches. He dressed quickly in simple wool clothing.

Breakfast in the main hall was a miserable. Uncle Lothar sat at the far end of the long table, glaring at Konrad with undisguised venom while chewing his dry bread.

Leaving the tense atmosphere of the castle, Konrad walked down the muddy path toward the village situated at the base of the hill.

Under normal feudal law, the peasants were forced to use the lord’s mill and pay a heavy tax in flour for the privilege.

Konrad arrived at the mill. Inside the dusty, flour-coated building, he found Klaus, the estate’s head miller.

"Lord Konrad," Klaus shouted over the grinding noise of the massive millstones, "We were not expecting an inspection. The taxes have already been weighed and sent to the castle."

"I am not here for taxes, Klaus," Konrad replied loudly, stepping up to the wooden hoppers.

He pulled out his ledgers and slapped them onto a dusty table. "The estate is losing fifteen percent of its total caloric yield because you are sifting the bran too finely and discarding it as animal feed."

Klaus scowled, crossing his arms. "It is the tradition, my Lord. The peasants will not eat coarse bread filled with chaff. They will riot. And they will certainly not accept the new decrees I heard you drafting... mixing good rye with dried peas? It is an insult to honest men!"

"Honest men do not survive famines by complaining about the texture of their bread," Konrad stated. "If we do not stretch our grain reserves, the Swabian League will not have to conquer us, because we will all be dead by August."

"The stones cannot be adjusted so easily, my Lord! The main drive gear is seized with dampness. It would take three strong men to lift the lever and change the gear ratio. We cannot do it today."

It was an obvious lie, an excuse to delay the uncomfortable changes.

Konrad did not argue. He walked past Klaus, stepping directly into the machinery pit beneath the grinding floor. .

Klaus’s eyes widened. "My Lord, get out of there! The gears will crush you!"

Konrad ignored him. He located the heavy iron tension lever that controlled the vertical alignment of the millstone.

Gritting his teeth, Konrad wrapped his hands around the greasy iron bar. He planted his boots into the mud and threw his entire meager weight against the lever.

The heavy wooden gears shifted, dropping into the secondary, coarser grinding ratio.

Panting heavily, his hands scraped and completely coated in black grease, Konrad climbed out of the pit

"The gear is no longer seized," Konrad wheezed, "You will process the entire harvest at the new ratio. If I find a single ounce of grain wasted, I will not flog you. I will simply exile you from the walls, and you can explain your traditions to the Bundschuh peasant armies."

"Yes, Lord Konrad," Klaus finally stammered, "Coarse grind. Pea integration. It will be done."