"Age?"
"Twelve."
"Name?"
"Gale Krugger."
"Area?"
"Shiganshina District."
"This is today's food." The soldier in charge of registration handed Gale a hard, dark loaf of bread.
"Thank you." Gale nodded, took the bread, and turned to leave.
"Next!" the soldier shouted.
Behind Gale stood a long line of people: men and women, the elderly and children. All of them were refugees who had fled from Wall Maria to Wall Rose, coming from different regions.
The group numbered roughly five hundred people.
Gale could read and write, so he carefully observed the registration form the soldier was holding, where ages and names were being recorded.
The first thing they asked was age. Gale's name, twelve years old, was written on the far left. Then, using the limits of twenty and thirty years, they divided people into three categories. Women's names were recorded on a separate form.
The central government had already classified everyone.
To them, the population was nothing more than a resource.
In an era where life expectancy did not exceed fifty years, someone over thirty was already considered to be in the latter half of their life.
They consumed a lot but were not as strong as the young, so they did not generate much value.
Only a few days after the fall of Wall Maria, the government began planning for the future.
If reclaiming wastelands failed to solve the food crisis, then those over thirty on the list would be sent to "fight."
Gale knew that tomorrow would be the day of exile.
The warehouse bread had already been distributed, and the refugees would no longer receive free food.
They would all be sent to the outer regions, where the government would give them seeds and tools, forcing them to farm on their own.
Gale had sixty gold coins. That was his starting capital.
To build his own power and gain reputation and support in the frontier areas, his main task was to solve the food problem.
If he could increase production, the government would not send tens of thousands to die outside. He could save lives and, more importantly, gain the support of the refugees for the future.
After working for years on a farm, Gale understood the agricultural system of that world very well.
The agricultural level was extremely low. They used windmills and watermills to grind wheat, but had not developed waterwheels for irrigation.
That was why Gale had asked from their teachers in their dreams for advice on how to build one. If it succeeded, production would increase dramatically. Moreover, they could also manufacture better tools to reclaim land.
Farmers were still using hoes and shovels. Plows were made of wood and extremely rudimentary. Wet soil wore them down quickly and made it hard to till the land.
The problem lay in metallurgy: their technology did not allow for the production of cheap, durable iron tools for agriculture.
If Gale could properly learn the techniques from John Deere and make iron plows common, reclaiming land would become far easier.
The key was the application of knowledge.
But the first step was the hardest. No one would listen to a child, no matter how good his ideas were.
He needed someone to speak on his behalf, and carpenters capable of spreading the use of the waterwheel.
Building a waterwheel was not difficult; winning people over was.
That substitute needed to have a good reputation, know the refugees, be trustworthy, and easy to control—because Gale would be sharing many secrets with him.
Gale already had someone in mind: Hannes.
He was a soldier in the Garrison and an acquaintance of Eren's family. He had been a coward on the day of the attack, unable to save Eren's mother, but years later he regained his courage and eventually died in the jaws of a titan.
To Gale, he was ideal. A naïve alcoholic, harmless, kind even to children. He was also from Shiganshina and had a certain reputation among the refugees.
But convincing him would not be easy.
Hannes was slow to grasp new ideas; he would only help if he saw the waterwheel working with his own eyes.
As Gale was thinking about this, a sudden commotion erupted behind him.
"Of course… of course they've never seen it before!
"They've never seen it! Just like the titans… they eat people!"
A black-haired boy was shouting at a soldier.
Beside him stood a fragile-looking blond boy and a black-haired girl.
The furious boy was shoved to the ground by the soldiers, his eyes burning with rage.
"Eren… Armin… Mikasa…" Gale murmured, watching from the shadows.
He recognized them instantly.
Armin stepped in to calm things down.
"I'm sorry. He was hungry and restless, that's why he offended you, sirs. I'm truly sorry."
He bowed humbly.
The soldiers glanced around and noticed the gazes of the refugees.
One of them snorted. "Thanks to us, you're not starving to death. You should be grateful, understand?"
They deliberately raised their voices to intimidate them, and the other refugees scattered.
Mikasa helped Eren to his feet and brought him back to them.
"Who would accept charity from people like that?" Eren sat down on a rock, seething with indignation. "I'll go back to Wall Maria and kill all the titans."
"Eren… you're not serious, are you…?" Armin laughed nervously.
"I mean it!" Eren, still consumed by pain and anger, shouted. "I'm not like those who just boast inside the walls!"
"I don't need this!" Eren slammed the black bread against the ground, breaking it in two.
"Eren… you'll starve…" Armin whispered worriedly.
"Aren't you resentful?!" Eren roared furiously. "They always take advantage of you, and you can't defeat the titans!"
"We can't win!" Armin replied in anguish. "We can only survive by staying inside the walls! Recklessness only leads to death! Just like my parents!"
"So you humiliate yourself before them? Aren't you ashamed?"
"There's no other choice right now!"
"Saying there's no choice is just an excuse! You'll live like livestock forever, coward!"
As Eren said that, Mikasa knocked him to the ground.
Gale watched silently, then stepped forward and picked up the broken bread.
"This… if you don't want it, can I have it?"