《Elven Uprising [Litrpg, Non-human, Action Epic]》 Chapter 1: And Hence, It Begins! In the beginning, before time carried a name and before memory had hands to write, there was a dragon¡ªBolomere. He had been born into strength, as all his kind were, but he alone had been made invincible. And so, with nothing left to conquer, nothing left to fear, he became acquainted with something far worse than death¡ªemptiness. The void stretched, indifferent, before him. It neither beckoned nor refused him, for it had never known the need for companionship. As he aimlessly meandered through the void, wrought by his lonesome self, Bolomere arrived at a decision. [In my name, I will create a vibrant world teeming with joy and life!] And so, with the authority of the nameless and the will of the forgotten, he carved a continent from the dark. Gangnea, he called it¡ªa land not bound by the weight of spheres, but floating, untethered, cradled by mist that guarded it from the void¡¯s endless hunger. He reached into the unseen and wove the first law of life¡ªthe law that breathes, that grows, that remembers. From his hands, from his will, from the very bones of his longing, he shaped it¡ªa seed, deep and brimming with the power of creation itself. Wood of Authority¡ªWorld Tree. He laid it in the heart of the Gangnea Continent, watching with joy as the World Tree grew with his tender care. Its vitality spilt out and caused vibrant forests to sprout into life. And at last, from the tree¡¯s bounty, came those who would watch over this newborn world¡ªbeings whose ears could hear the whisper of the leaves, whose hands could cradle the light of the sun, whose lives would stretch long enough to remember the sorrow of the void and the gift that had been given. The Wood Race of Elves. The Elves were proud of their long lives and remained duty-bound to protect the Gangnea Continent. They caused the world to grow stably. Bolomere watched as the world he had dreamed into began to shape itself beyond his hands. The Gangnea Continent stretched, its forests thickening, its roots growing deep, its breath mingling with the whisper of the Elves. They expanded the forests, nurtured the trees, deepened the roots, and strengthened the trunks. A million years passed in this quiet, uninterrupted harmony¡ªa time long enough for even a dragon to rest in the certainty of his creation. When Bolomere woke up from his contentful slumber, addressing the Race of Elves of his desire. [The Gangnea Continent brims with vitality, having grown too big for the Elven Race alone.] Bolomere pulled the Metal Laws of the void and harnessed it into a thumping heart, burying it in the depths of the Gangnea Continent. Metal of Authority¡ªEarthen Heart! The Earthen Heart pulsed once, then steadied, and as it did, the land around it transformed. Soil hardened into ore. Stone deepened into veins of iron. And from the dark¡ªwhere no roots stretched, where the sun had never touched¡ªsomething emerged. It was metal before flesh, form before life. But when it found the World Tree, when it drew its first breath of vitality, it became something more. It became someone. The Metal Race of Dwarves! The Dwarven Race brought metal into the Gangnea Continent. Where the Elves had nurtured the land, the Dwarves strengthened it. He was pleased. So pleased that he did not stop. He harnessed more laws, shaping new sentient races across the Gangnea Continent. With each creation, his power waned, until, at last, he forged the sixteenth race. When fire itself gave birth to something swift, something bright, something fleeting¡ªhe gazed upon his work and knew satisfaction. The Fire Race of Humans. The first of their kind were kind, compassionate, and empathetic toward others. They earned the favor of the Gangnea Continent. And though their lives were brief, their flames flickering fast, they possessed wisdom¡ªwisdom that rivaled even the Elves, who had seen a million years. And so, for the first time in eternity, Bolomere laid down his head with nothing left undone. And he slept. He did not know how long he would sleep, nor did he worry. The world was full, the races were many, and harmony had been carved into the very bones of the continent. But Bolomere was old. He should have known. He should have known that fire does not burn quietly forever. That something as restless as humanity could not exist without consequence. Because when their numbers swelled¡ªwhen they reached past what their hands could hold, when they saw what could be taken instead of what could be given¡ªwell. That was when everything went to hell. - An introductory note to The Song of Gangnea, From the Oldest of the Elven Kind. ¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T???????????¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T T¡¯Hara Forest. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood, heavy and suffocating. Smoke slithered through the towering trees, their once-pristine emerald leaves shriveling into blackened husks. T¡¯Hara Forest¡ªwhat remained of it¡ªstretched endlessly across the heart of the Gangnea Continent. For centuries, it had been the sanctuary of the Elven Race, its sacred expanse spanning 3.86 square kilometers, its heart beating in rhythm with the roots of the World Tree. Now, its veins were choked with fire. A corridor of ash, three kilometers wide at its broadest, split through the woodland like an open wound, its path carved by fire and steel. It led straight to the center, where the roots of the World Tree¡ªancient and vast, taller than the highest mountain¡ªtrembled beneath the weight of war. The World Tree. Eight-point-eight kilometers of life woven into its bark, the source of the Elven Authority, the mother of all sentient races upon this land. And at its foot, Tthranya, the jewel of Elvenkind, was dying. ¡°Damn Humans! How dare you¡­¡± An Elven Soldier used his authority to create a wooden ballista and launched it at the human army, skewering four. His expression spewed anger as he loaded a second ballista when a tongue of fire engulfed him, smouldering him into ash. The humans marched, protected by a sea of flames. Most of the arrows burnt halfway through, failing to harm the human army that numbered forty times the Elves. The Elven King sat unmoving on a throne woven from the roots of the World Tree, his skin wreathed in glowing veins of green. His body was ancient, but his wrath had never been younger. ¡°You are making a mistake, Humans!¡± On a throne of wood situated atop a protruding root of the World Tree was the Elven King. Veins danced across his face, incensed at the slaughter of his kind, ¡°A grave one.¡± He had stood at the roots of the World Tree for centuries, watching the tides of time twist and shift, guiding his people as best he could. He had seen the first human wander into elven lands, lost and awed. He had seen their empires rise, cities bloom, and their wars carve scars across the continent. And now, he saw them at his gates, fire licking at the heart of his people¡¯s home. The Human King stepped forward. Unlike his soldiers, his armor bore no scorch marks. He walked through the flames as if they were nothing more than a summer breeze, his crown a twisting blaze of fire that did not burn him. ¡°A mistake?¡± he mused, as if tasting the word. ¡°No. I would call this¡­ inevitable.¡± ¡°You have always been wise,¡± the Human King continued. ¡°But wisdom does not feed the starving. My people have bled and starved and suffered, waiting for salvation that will never come. We have outgrown the land you have permitted us. We have outgrown your mercy.¡± The Elven King exhaled slowly. He knew this speech. He had heard it before, spoken by a dozen human rulers over the past five hundred years. He knew how it ended. ¡°The fault is yours,¡± he said, rising from his throne. His robes, woven from the leaves of the World Tree itself, caught the light of the flames. ¡°I warned you¡ªwarned all of you¡ªnot to let your numbers grow beyond what your land could provide. You did not listen.¡± He raised a hand. From the charred earth, roots surged forth, twisting like serpents as they lashed towards the Human King. They struck true, sinking into flesh, burrowing deep¡ª And caught fire. Flames roared from within the roots, turning them to embers before they could tighten their grip. The Human King sighed, shaking his head. ¡°You are strong, Elven King.¡± He flexed his fingers, and the air itself burned. ¡°But your wood is weak against my fire.¡± The Elven King gritted his teeth. More roots surged forward, thicker, older, laced with the authority of the World Tree itself. They did not merely grasp¡ªthey constricted, embedding themselves into the ground, feeding off the very life of the ancient land beneath them. And still, they burned. Pain, for the first time in centuries, lanced through the Elven King¡¯s body. His legs, charred to the bone, struggled to regrow as fast as the flames devoured him. It was not enough. His fingers curled into the ash at his feet. It was soft, warm, the remnants of his people, his home, his legacy. A thin root tendril pressed against his palm. He exhaled sharply. Slowly, he patted the root, his voice barely a whisper. ¡°Forgive me, Mother.¡± A deep, shuddering breath left him as he straightened. ¡°I have failed you.¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. ¡°Your Son couldn¡¯t serve you well.¡± He hesitated for a moment and then spoke, ¡°It breaks my pride to say this, but at this point, my pride is irrelevant.¡± ¡°I know you have the power, Mother.¡± He grabbed the root of the World Tree, ¡°With our old, longevity-influenced ways, we can never overcome the Humans. So¡­I beseech you, only with fire can we fight fire.¡± [I hear you, My Child!] In response to the Elven King¡¯s words, the roots of the World Tree expanded deep into the Gangnea Continent. A single tendril slithered through the abyss of the void, stretching across unfathomable distances until it touched the surface of a small, blue planet. It pulsed. Something shifted. A billion souls had been loosed from their flesh upon that distant world. The tendril plunged into the cycle of death, siphoning the lost, grasping at the unmoored. The dead had nowhere to go¡ªso it took. Back within the ruins of Tthranya, the roots of the World Tree bore fruit. Translucent sacks hung from its colossal shoots, each one incubating life¡ªyoung Elves, gestating over two decades before emerging into the world. Their delicate forms floated within, suspended in shimmering liquid, untouched by war. Into one of the incubating sacks, the World Tree infused a soul caught from the blue planet. The eyes of the baby Elf shot open, in shock, witnessing the scene of a screaming Elf King regenerating nonstop while he was burnt alive. ¡ªDinner. I was having dinner. His mind reeled, his sight adjusting to a reality that should not exist. The inside of the sack distorted everything, but beyond the membrane, he saw¡ª A man burning alive. A figure sat upon a throne of roots, unmoving as flames devoured his flesh. His veins pulsed with light, his body reforming even as it blackened, again and again and again. The child could hear the flesh sizzle. He tried to blink. His body didn¡¯t respond. He had no control. A voice, vast and ancient, unfurled within his mind. [You have died, my Child. I now reincarnate you in this world, as my Child, an Elf!] ¡ªWait! Wait! WAIT! I died? What? What the hell is this?¡­! His thoughts clawed for reason. ¡ªI was¡­ eating with my family. I was home. I¡ª [In this world, the Authority of every Race can be expressed numerically. It will serve you well, since appearance-wise, it resembles the status window you¡¯re familiar with.] ¡ªFamiliar? What the hell does that mean? Panic swelled, a wave threatening to break against the shores of his mind. He tried to move. Nothing. Tried to scream. Nothing. He wasn¡¯t breathing. He wasn¡¯t anything. [Dark times await the Elven Race, my Child. Fight and regain our honour. Do so, and I shall return you to Earth, with one wish granted. This is your only chance to reunite with your family.] ¡ªWhat? What kind of¡­sick joke is this? The soul stared blankly, feeling anger surge through its being as it watched the Elven King burn. Three days. That was how long the Elven King burned. He fought. He fought until nothing remained of him but char and embers. Until the human army trampled over his corpse, their torches lighting the ruins of his kingdom. And the soul, now an elf child, watched. The sack around him pulsed, shifting gently, as if a mother¡¯s womb could soothe the horror in his mind. This isn¡¯t real, he told himself. This is just a dream. I drank too much yesterday. I¡¯ll wake up soon.His thoughts slowed, exhaustion sinking its teeth into him. ¡ªYeah. Just a nightmare. I¡¯ll wake up soon. He closed his eyes. ¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T???????????¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T Year 19¡ªThe 34th Day of the 8th Moon Gangnea Continent The Elven Race had long since fallen. Its history burned. Its survivors beheaded. Its name erased from the records of civilization, replaced by a single truth: The world now belonged to the Human Race. The old calendars had been discarded. Year 0 marked the fall of the Elves and the dawn of human supremacy. Time itself had been rewritten in their image. In this new world, the passage of time was no longer marked by Elven wisdom, but by the Moons of Gangnea. The sky dictated the months¡ªone Moon meant the first, two meant the second, and so on, reaching its peak with eight. Each cycle stretched across 42 days, the rhythm of a world that had forsaken its old gods. Tonight, the eighth Moon loomed highest¡ªthe final month of the cycle, its pale glow casting an eerie light upon the ruins of Tthranya. At the heart of the Gangnea Continent, beneath the roots of the World Tree, the former Elven capital was no longer a city. It was a prison. The newborn Elves were not free. They were bred, raised, and broken. A new era had begun. The air hung thick with the scent of wet wood and stagnation. A team of human soldiers ascended the wooden stairway coiled around the colossal trunk of the World Tree, their boots thudding against the steps. One by one, they stopped beside the hanging sacks¡ªtranslucent cocoons where newborn Elves incubated. Their dull glow pulsed faintly, as if resisting the inevitable. Tap. Tap. Tap. Gloved hands struck the sacks in sequence, their hollow sounds blending into the forest¡¯s eerie silence. And then¡ª [Time to wake up, my Child. Pinaka!] The voice echoed inside the sack, reverberating deep within its occupant¡¯s mind. A gasp. The membrane ruptured. A small, lean body tumbled onto the stairs, slick with the gelatinous substance that had sustained it for years. Olive-green hair clung to his skin, his pointed ears twitching at the sudden rush of cold air. His mouth opened¡ªa cry of confusion, of panic¡ªbut before he could even register what had happened, rough hands grabbed him. ¡°Sack it.¡± The command was simple. Absolute. Hands seized his arms. A burlap sack was thrown over him, and the world blurred into muffled darkness. Then came light. His struggles were ignored. His screams, irrelevant. ¡°Move.¡± Hands yanked him out of the tub, his slick feet stumbling against the stone floor. A whip cracked¡ªa sharp, searing pain that lanced across his back, sending him crashing forward. ¡°Run.¡± Pinaka ran. His feet hit the stone blindly, body responding on instinct, the pain forcing obedience faster than any words could. He didn¡¯t know where he was going, only that if he stopped¡ªhe would suffer. The corridor led to an opening. He staggered into the light. The sun was warm against his skin. The air smelled fresh¡ªbut nothing about this place felt free. High mortar walls caged the land, stretching as far as his eyes could see. The sound of lashes cracked in the distance, punctuated by short, muffled cries.Pinaka¡¯s breath came fast, his heart pounding. Something moved ahead. Another Elf. ¡°Teach the youngling some manners, Mahnaka. If it¡¯s not obedient by dawn, you¡¯ll receive my whip!¡± An arrogant voice boomed from the corridor as the young one stared ahead. He was taller¡ªmaybe fifteen years old¡ªbut his face bore the marks of a lifetime spent in chains. One eye was missing, replaced by a twisted mass of scar tissue. An X-shaped scar ran down the bridge of his nose, and his right hand was incomplete¡ªhis thumb, missing. He extended his remaining fingers in greeting. ¡°Welcome to hell, my newborn brother,¡± the Elf murmured, voice hoarse but steady. ¡°I¡¯m Mahnaka, the slave confined to this region.¡± Pinaka¡¯s lips parted, his mind still reeling. ¡°What¡­ is this place?¡± His head throbbed, memories flooding back in a disorienting wave. The World Tree. The voice. It wasn¡¯t a dream. Fuck! Mahnaka studied him, then asked, ¡°Did the World Tree give you a name?¡± Pinaka hesitated, then whispered, ¡°Pinaka.¡± The older Elf nodded, his single eye flicking down to Pinaka¡¯s hand. Pinaka followed his gaze. ¡°What¡ª¡± ¡°Your thumb is beautiful.¡± Mahnaka¡¯s voice softened¡ªnot with admiration, but with mourning. He inhaled deeply, then forced a smirk. ¡°I can tell just by looking at it¡­ you¡¯d have been great at archery.¡± His lips trembled. ¡°Admire it while you still can.¡± ¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T???????????¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T ¡°AARGHHH!¡± Pain. All-consuming. White-hot. Unrelenting. Strapped to a stone table, Pinaka thrashed, his gag muffling his screams. Blood pooled beneath his right hand. The thumb¡ªhis thumb¡ªwas gone. A middle-aged human, clad in a filthy apron, held up the severed digit. He admired it under the dim candlelight before plopping it into a glass jar. ¡°A slave doesn¡¯t need to wield a bow,¡± Flashing his gold-rimmed buck tooth, the balding middle-aged man chuckled and tightened the strap on Pinaka¡¯s left hand, using force to separate the left thumb alone, ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid. Just think of it like having a strand of hair pulled out¡­¡± ¡°GAHHHH!¡± ¡°TCH!¡± The middle-aged man snorted, as a violent jerk from Pinaka nudged the table, making him miss his mark, ¡°Now see what you¡¯ve done.¡± ¡°I have to cut it again,¡± He said remorsefully upon staring at the half-cut left thumb, ¡°Now, don¡¯t move this time. Good¡­harness your fear and stay silent. That¡¯s it¡­that¡¯s¡­IT!¡± Clang! Pain blurred the edges of his consciousness. Pinaka lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling lighter. Not in the way a person feels after rest, but in the way someone feels when something vital has been taken from them. His thumbs. His body trembled, but his mind? His mind was sharp. The butcher hummed to himself, adjusting the glass jar containing the severed thumbs. He tapped it idly, watching the pieces of flesh float inside. ¡°Fuck,¡± Pinaka thought numbly. Fuck the World Tree. Fuck the Elves. Fuck this place. ¡ªI could care less about the World Tree¡¯s words. A laugh¡ªsilent, bitter¡ªbubbled in his chest. ¡ªBut since you cut off my thumbs¡­ His vision blurred. His fingers curled¡ªas best they could. ¡ªIt¡¯s personal now. ¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T???????????¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T Gangnea Daily ¨C Article #1 The World Tree stands at a staggering 8.8 kilometers in height (5.468 Freedom Units for the Bald Eagles out there), with its roots plunging to an average depth of 74 kilometers (or 46 miles for our imperial-measuring overlords). Gangnea Daily never misses a day¡ªso hit that subscribe button for more essential world knowledge and tree facts! ??? Chapter 2: A Mere Resource Point Mahnaka paced anxiously across the hectare of farmland, his body flinching every time Pinaka¡¯s screams rang through the air. ¡®I¡¯m sorry! It hurts, but please¡ªhold on.¡¯ ¡®There¡¯s nothing you can do. Please, don¡¯t die¡­¡¯ The cries tore at him, each one digging into his nerves like a blade. But when they suddenly stopped, a cold chill ran down his spine. ¡®No!¡­ Did he resist?¡¯ ¡®They will kill him if he does that¡­Dammit!¡¯ Mahnaka stared at the mortar-covered tunnel that led into a concrete facility. Just twenty meters away, inside that dreadful room, Pinaka was losing his thumbs at the hands of a balding, middle-aged human. A single sprint¡ªhe could reach him in time. Stop it. Save him. "I could kill the human." Kill? Mahnaka¡¯s breath hitched. His feet refused to move, though his entire being screamed at him to act. His hands clenched into fists, shaking. "Ha¡­ Mahnaka, you idiot!" Tears welled in his eyes, spilling down his face as he whispered, broken, "Move. Do something. Anything!" Moments later, two able-bodied Humans carried a bloody Elf and casually threw the individual before Mahnaka, ¡°You! Make sure he¡¯s ready to work by morning.¡± A sharp crack of a whip followed, causing Mahnaka to flinch instinctively. With their work done for the day, the humans strolled off to their quarters. "These damn Elves are exhausting to manage," one muttered, rolling his shoulders as he loosened his collar. "Prideful little shits," the other scoffed. "Give them a few months of ¡®Education,¡¯ and they¡¯ll be obedient little farmers." Their laughter faded as they walked away. Mahnaka stood at his spot, still like a statue, unable to budge until he heard the conversation between the two Humans subside. Only after they were out of earshot did he hurriedly crouch to grab his wounded kin, ¡°Pinaka! Are you alright? Stay with me!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll patch you up¡­¡± The words barely left his lips before he noticed it¡ªthough Pinaka¡¯s body trembled violently from pain, his eyes¡­ Cold. A killer¡¯s glare, sharp and unreadable. Tears streamed down his bruised face, veins bulging, lips cracked and bitten raw. Yet, despite the agony, Pinaka¡¯s bloodied hands rose¡ªcircling weakly around Mahnaka¡¯s neck. He leaned in close, his breath shallow, voice a mere whisper. "You¡¯ve been here for a while¡­ haven¡¯t you?" Mahnaka could only nod, shock gripping him tight. Pinaka grunted once in response, then collapsed into unconsciousness. "Then tell me¡­ everything about this damn world." ¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T???????????¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T ¡°The World Tree must have told you this,¡± Mahnaka murmured as he gently wrapped fresh bandages around Pinaka¡¯s wounds. The late afternoon sun painted the walls in hues of amber. ¡°We¡­died on Earth and were reincarnated here by the World Tree.¡± Pinaka let out a harsh snort, only to grimace in pain, his breath hitching as he instinctively clutched his mutilated hands. ¡°Fucking hell!¡± he hissed through gritted teeth. ¡°Are there no painkillers in this godforsaken place?¡± ¡°There used to be plenty.¡± Mahnaka shook his head, ¡°But after our defeat, the Human Race seized control of our medicinal herbs. Now the Elves¡­ are mere slaves.¡± Pinaka grunted, trying again to sit up, his face contorted with effort. ¡°Slaves? What a joke. I¡¯m a fucking human!¡± His voice cracked with frustration. ¡°You¡¯re from Earth too, aren¡¯t you? We¡¯re humans!¡± Mahnaka¡¯s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. ¡°Not anymore.¡± He met Pinaka¡¯s gaze, his voice low but firm. ¡°Here, you¡¯re an Elf. And in this world, humanity is our enemy.¡± A heavy silence stretched between them before Mahnaka continued to speak, ¡°I was born on the fourth day after the defeat of the Elven Race. I¡¯m one of the oldest slaves at this place.¡±Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. ¡°So that¡¯s it, huh? You¡¯ve just accepted this¡­ this fate?¡± Pinaka¡¯s voice carried a bitter edge, but almost immediately, he caught himself. ¡°Shit. Sorry. I didn¡¯t mean¡ª¡± Mahnaka smiled, though there was no joy in it. ¡°That¡¯s the most respect anyone has ever shown me here. Thank you¡­ for treating me like a person.¡± Without another word, he reached for a small vial filled with a murky liquid and uncorked it. The faint scent of crushed herbs wafted through the air. ¡°This is an extract I made from Agri crops. It¡¯s weak, but it¡¯ll help with the pain.¡± He carefully applied it to Pinaka¡¯s wounds before speaking again. ¡°I¡¯ll explain everything in Earth terms¡ªmake it simple.¡± Mahnaka¡¯s voice took on a lecturing tone, though the weight behind his words made it clear this was no mere lesson. ¡°This world is called Gangnea. It¡¯s a single, massive continent¡ªabout the same size as Earth¡¯s surface area.¡± He glanced at the vast farmland stretching beyond them. ¡°According to legend, it was created by a dragon named Bolomere, who birthed sixteen sentient races, each possessing a unique authority.¡± Mahnaka reached down and plucked a long blade of grass, weaving it between his fingers as he spoke. ¡°The Elven Race holds authority over Wood.¡± His fingers twitched, and the grass coiled into an intricate glove that wrapped around his palm. ¡°Meanwhile, Humans have authority over Fire.¡± ¡°What is¡­ authority?¡± Pinaka asked, gawking in shock upon seeing Mahnaka grab a long strand of grass and weave it into a glove. The latter replied, ¡°There are four stages in total: Control, Creation, Relic, and Divine.¡± ¡°This is Control.¡± He pointed at the glove, ¡° ¡°Level One. We can manipulate the Wood element as we please.¡± Pinaka leaned forward, his curiosity outweighing his pain for a moment. ¡°And Level Two? What, you grow trees super fast or something?¡± Mahnaka shook his head. ¡°No. We create them.¡± His voice held a solemn weight. ¡°At Level Two, Creation, every race can manifest their element from nothing.¡± Pinaka blinked, absorbing the implications. ¡°Wait¡ªyou¡¯re saying you can just make wood? As in, out of thin air?¡± Mahnaka nodded. ¡°Exactly. It¡¯s like we all carry a fragment of a god within us.¡± Pinaka¡¯s mind raced. ¡°Then¡­ what¡¯s stopping someone from spamming an infinite supply of wood?¡± ¡°They can.¡± Mahnaka¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change. ¡°But the world adapts. If too much matter is created, Gangnea expands to accommodate it. That¡¯s how this continent has been growing since its inception.¡± Pinaka exhaled, running a hand through his hair. ¡°Alright, fine. But if Elves are so powerful, why the hell are we slaves?¡± Mahnaka¡¯s face darkened. ¡°Because we were the first race to appear on Gangnea.¡± He sighed. ¡°And now, we¡¯re nothing more than resource points¡ªfarming food, grains, and plants for the Humans.¡± He clenched his fists. ¡°Wood fuels fire. And that¡¯s why we can never win. They outnumber us. They have the elemental advantage. And they have the power to crush us.¡± Pinaka stared at the woven grass in Mahnaka¡¯s hands. ¡°Then¡­ what does the World Tree want?¡± Mahnaka¡¯s eyes flickered with something unreadable. ¡°Exactly what it told you,¡± he said. ¡°It wants us to restore the Elven Race to its former glory. And if we succeed, it will return us to Earth.¡± Pinaka narrowed his eyes. ¡°And you believe it can do that?¡± ¡°If the World Tree can¡¯t,¡± Mahnaka said, ¡°then it will call upon Bolomere himself.¡± His voice turned grave. ¡°Think about it¡ªControl and Creation. If Bolomere has authority over space-time, then sending us back to our past on Earth might not be impossible. The World Tree is the only one who might know where he is.¡± Pinaka fell silent, processing everything. He had one last question. ¡°¡­What about peace?¡± Mahnaka frowned. ¡°I mean, we used to be Humans. Can¡¯t we reason with them? Even if it¡¯s not a language from Earth, we still understand it. They understand it. We could¡ª¡± ¡°No.¡± The single word was firm. Unyielding. Mahnaka exhaled, then motioned for Pinaka to follow. ¡°It¡¯s better if I show you firsthand.¡± Pinaka hesitated, glancing around warily. ¡°Are we even allowed to move freely?¡± His gut twisted at the sheer amount of unknowns in this nightmare of a world. He still wasn¡¯t sure whether to trust Mahnaka or not. But right now, he was his only ally. Mahnaka glanced up at the sky. ¡°It¡¯s almost curfew.¡± His voice was tense as he stepped toward the mortar tunnel, his posture stiff, his breath uneven. Pinaka followed, noting how Mahnaka¡¯s body trembled as they passed the first few rooms. It didn¡¯t take long to realize where they were¡ªthis was where Pinaka had been scrubbed upon arrival. Where his thumbs had been severed. The air grew damp, the silence suffocating. The corridor stretched for what felt like forever before opening into a vast, cylindrical prison lined with narrow cells. Pinaka¡¯s breath caught in his throat. At the center of the prison, an Elf was nailed to a pillar, his body limp but still breathing. A human stood before him, forcefully shoving a strange fruit into his mouth, completely indifferent to the sheer terror in his pain-glazed eyes. An incision had been made on his chest. A fang, slick with blood, was embedded in the wound, slowly draining him. The blood dripped into a container below, staining the floor beneath it. The Elf¡¯s eyes locked onto Pinaka. His lips parted weakly, mouthing silent, desperate words. "He¡­ lp¡­ me¡­" Pinaka felt his stomach churn. Mahnaka¡¯s voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of utter despair. ¡°That¡¯s the most recent Elf who confessed to being from Earth.¡± He turned to Pinaka, his eyes hollow. ¡°These Humans don¡¯t see us as people.¡± He swallowed, his voice trembling. ¡°To them¡­ we¡¯re just a mere resource point.¡±

¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T???????????¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T¨T Gangnea Daily - Article #2 An Elf takes a full century to reach adulthood, their lifespan stretching across an average of 4,000 years. Or at least, that was how it used to be. Now, in a world ruled by their oppressors, their life expectancy has plummeted to a mere twenty years. Not by nature. But by chains. Chapter 3: Control Factor ¡°Get in line!¡± The Fire Whip cracked through the air like a living serpent, its ember-streaked tail scorching the ground. Its wielder, a middle-aged man clad from head to toe in chainmail, with his hands and legs being covered by plate armour. The Fire Whip emerged out of his right palm, as if he were a flame exhaust. The Fire Whip wasn¡¯t an ordinary weapon¡ªit wasn¡¯t wielded but born from his palm, emerging like an exhaust vent of pure flame. Thick as a wrist and nearly three meters long, the molten tendril pulsed with heat, painting the air with flickering embers that cast eerie shadows on his dull-red beard. His reddish eyes gleaming with sadistic satisfaction as his gaze swept over the scrambling Elves. ¡°Late! Late!¡± His voice carried a brutal edge as the last two Elves rushed through the tunnel entrance. His glare pinned them to the spot. ¡°Curfew was before sundown. You two are late.¡± CRACK! The whip lashed against their legs, burning deep into flesh. ¡°Kkeuk!¡± The Elves collapsed, clutching their seared wounds. Pain twisted their faces, but they didn¡¯t scream¡ªnot fully. The scarred flesh on their bodies spoke of repetition, of suffering endured too many times to count. ¡°Get in line!¡± The man, Rachad, exhaled through his nose, a derisive snort. He strode down the tunnel, his gaze sweeping over the trembling line of Elves. Each one kept their head bowed, their posture stiff with obedience¡ªexcept for one. Pinaka. Unlike the others, his skin bore no burn marks¡ªonly fresh bandages soaked in blood where his thumbs had once been. Rachad¡¯s eyes narrowed for a moment. Then his lips curled into a smirk. ¡°Another baby Elf joins the herd.¡± Pinaka was the sixth in the line, having been brought in early by Mahnaka to avoid being whipped. The latter stood before him, trying his best to ensure Pinaka didn¡¯t have to suffer unjustly. But now, as Rachad drew closer, his body began to tremble. He had suffered beneath that whip too many times. The sight of Rachad, the heat of the Fire Whip¡ªit was enough to freeze him in place. ¡®Please, go away¡­we didn¡¯t do anything wrong!¡¯ Mahnaka thought, his body feeling cold while his scars acted up in response to the heat radiating off the Fire Whip. ¡°Name?¡± Rachad stared at Pinaka, having to look up at the latter slightly. He was 155 centimetres tall, short in comparison to the average male. On average, a newborn Elf reached a height of 160 centimetres and approached three metres at maturity. Pinaka was slightly taller, reaching 165 centimetres. This ten-centimetre difference in height annoyed Rachad, as the moment he asked his question, he lashed out with his Fire Whip, slapping Pinaka on the cheek, ¡°Are you dumb? How long do you intend to make me wait?¡± ¡°Argh!¡± Pinaka collapsed on the floor, clutching his cheek in pain as the flesh melted. Mahnaka moved instinctively, crouching beside him. His forehead struck the ground in submission, his voice shaking. ¡°Please, my Lord! Forgive him! His given name is Pinaka! He was just born¡ªhe doesn¡¯t know¡ª¡± ¡°You think I don¡¯t know that?¡± Rachad scoffed. CRACK! CRACK! Two more lashes struck Mahnaka¡¯s back. He convulsed, his body twitching like a dying insect, but he didn¡¯t cry out. Rachad sneered, his gaze flicking to Mahnaka¡¯s luscious emerald hair, an irritating contrast to his bruised and beaten skin. ¡°Are you covering for the newborn, Mahnaka?¡± With a twisted grin, he grabbed Mahnaka and made the latter stand in a semi-kneeled position so that his head was a tad below Rachad¡¯s line of sight, ¡°Did you forget your past, Mahnaka?¡± He slowly twisted Mahnaka¡¯s hair and pointed at the Elf nailed to the pillar, not elaborating further as he let go of his hold. Slowly clacking his boots on the floor, Rachad continued to pace down the tunnel. ¡°G-Get up,¡± Mahnaka assisted Pinaka. ¡°You¡¯re bleeding¡­¡± Pinaka¡¯s expression was twisted as he observed Mahnaka¡¯s state after the latter covered for him.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°I¡¯m used to it. Just¡­ don¡¯t talk.¡± Mahnaka said and turned around, rejoining the line, ¡°Just follow what all of us are doing.¡± ¡°Name?¡± A fully-armed soldier stood underneath the pillar and stared at the first Elf in the line. ¡°Nunaka,¡± The Elf responded with a salute, ¡°I have harvested two tonnes of rice today!¡± As the Elf named Nunaka spoke, a giant-bipedal creature pushed forth a stone cart filled with rice. Reaching a height of five metres, with skin resembling a rhinoceros was this humanoid giant built to destroy. The Stone Race of Ogres! Unlike the Elven Race, the Ogres haven¡¯t been destroyed. But some of the defeated soldiers from the Ogre Race had been domesticated and were being used for labour and construction by the Humans. The Ogre stopped before the soldier who inspected the quality of the rice and made a checkmark on his checklist. ¡°Status?¡± The soldier asked next. In response, Nunaka nodded as a green hologram manifested before him. It was a Status Screen. The moment it appeared, Pinaka was surprised to notice that he too could see the Status Screen. His eyes darted around and judged that everyone could see the Status Screen, ¡®Dammit! So, there can be no secrets here!¡¯ The soldier observed the stats displayed on Nunaka¡¯s Status Screen and frowned, ¡°Why has your Weight Factor increased by one unit?¡± ¡°I¡­I apologise,¡± Nunaka began trembling in fear. The soldier frowned but didn¡¯t press further. ¡°It¡¯s within the limit. But if it increases again, you¡¯ll be relegated to the potion factory.¡± ¡°Y-Yes, my Lord.¡± Nunaka stammered and then saluted, ¡°Glory to the Human Empire!¡± ¡°Come here,¡± The soldier beckoned for Nunaka to come closer and sniffed the latter, making a note, ¡°Alright, you may return to your cell.¡± ¡°T-Thank you, My Lord!¡± Nunaka bowed without any hint of resistance and dragged his limping self to a cell on the ground floor. The prison cell had ten storeys in total, with each storey housing twenty cells. One by one, the Elves underwent the same process and relayed their completed tasks while an Ogre hauled in their respective harvest for the soldier to check. ¡°Whisper Status, and it¡¯ll appear,¡± Mahnaka said and reported to the soldier. Soon, it was Pinaka¡¯s turn. The soldier stared at him and judged that Pinaka was a newborn. He eyed Mahnaka once and asked Pinaka, ¡°Did that Elf teach you the basics?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Pinaka nodded, trying his best to mask his emotions, ¡®Dammit! I should be obedient for the time being. It¡¯s foolish to act out without knowing everything.¡¯ ¡°There¡¯s a lot of pride in your eyes, but at least you seem a bit more obedient than the usual newborn Elf.¡± The soldier commented, ¡°Status?¡± Recalling Mahnaka¡¯s advice, Pinaka whispered the word and watched a green hologram manifest before his eyes. It was twenty centimetres wide and forty centimetres tall, sporting a bunch of information. The language seemed alien, but he could clearly understand it, unaware of how that was possible, ¡®Is it a reincarnation perk? Or is every living being in this world capable of using this language since birth?¡¯ [Name: Pinaka] [Race: Elf] [Authority: Wood]] [Control Factor: 1] [Weight Factor: 1] [Volume Factor: 1] [Range Factor: 1] [Speed Factor: 1] [Spell: -] ¡°Alright, come closer.¡± The soldier observed Pinaka¡¯s Status Screen and then sniffed, asking after a moment, ¡°You didn¡¯t eat yet?¡± ¡°No,¡± Pinaka shook his head. ¡°Food will be provided in your cell.¡± The soldier commented and motioned for Pinaka to leave, ¡°Your Cell is next to Mahnaka. Move along.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Pinaka nodded, puzzled by the entire exchange. He didn¡¯t act out and instead kept to himself. His head spun, on the verge of fainting again. He had second-degree burns on his left cheek and his hands hurt at the place his thumbs used to exist. Too many things had happened all at once that he was still out of it. ¡®Blasted hell!¡¯ Pinaka cursed mentally and walked through the set of stairs leading to the fourth floor where his cell was, passing by Mahnaka¡¯s cell as he noticed the latter shutting himself in on his own. His eyes darted to the side, observing that the only soldier in the prison was the soldier who had inspected his Status Screen, ¡®Why the fuck is everyone so damn submissive? There¡¯s more than a hundred of us here.¡¯ ¡®Something else should be the reason.¡¯ He frowned and whispered once he arrived before Mahnaka¡¯s cell, ¡°What¡­is the deal with this place?¡± ¡°Once the soldier leaves, I¡¯ll tell you why we¡¯re so helpless,¡± Mahnaka stared sullenly as he took out a salve hidden in his sleeve and applied it to his wounds. Gangnea Daily - Article #3: When a Status Screen manifests, it is visible to every living being that isn¡¯t blind. Whether ally or enemy, stranger or kin¡ªyour abilities, weaknesses, and growth are laid bare for all to see.