Year 19—36th Day of the 8th Moon!

Sniffing test. Weight test. Skin rubbing test.

The routine never changed.

Pinaka stood in line, his chest rising and falling heavily as he panted behind Zetaka. Hunger clawed at his stomach, and his throat was unbearably dry.

‘Two more days… just two more!’

“Status?” The soldier’s voice was flat, mechanical.

Zetaka barely reacted before Pinaka staggered forward. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto Zetaka’s back just as the latter manifested his Status Window.

The soldier didn’t so much as blink. He glared at Zetaka who had lost balance and then he stepped closer to Pinaka, nudging him with his boot—once, twice—before delivering a sharp kick that flipped him onto his back.

The soldier withdrew a whistle, brought it to his lips, and blew. The shrill sound cut through the heavy silence. Then, without another word, he returned to his post, his gaze flicking toward Zetaka, who stood frozen.

“Status?” The soldier repeated, his tone flat.

Zetaka swallowed the anger burning in his gut and forced himself to look weak, trembling as he re-manifested his Status Window. He knew to act better and let out a faint whimper.

“Y-Yes.”

He was then allowed to head to his hectare land.

When the soldier waved him off, he wasted no time moving toward the tunnel that led to his allotted hectare of land.

His footsteps were light, but inside, his thoughts were anything but.

‘That bastard… what the fuck is wrong with him?’

He clenched his fists, the muscles on his right hand twitching as if hardening into nails. ‘I tried to be decent to him since Mahnaka seems to value him, but fuck that.’

If Pinaka pulled something like that again, Zetaka wouldn’t hesitate. He’d break him.

Still… he placed a hand over his chest, feeling his heart pounding against his ribs. That was close. ‘If I hadn’t retracted my Status Window fast enough, I would’ve been found out.’

A shadow passed in the tunnel. Zetaka’s body tensed as he hunched his back further, keeping his gaze down. ‘That oily bastard is here.’

Rachad.

‘Pinaka will suffer today.’

Zetaka stole a glance over his shoulder. Officer Rachad strutted past, barely sparing anyone a glance—until Mahnaka appeared in his path. Without missing a beat, Rachad raised a hand and casually conjured a Fire Whip.

Crack!

The burning lash struck Mahnaka’s arm, and he yelped in pain.

Rachad chuckled.

Zetaka's jaw tightened, his fingers curling into a fist until his nails bit into his skin. His breaths were slow, controlled.

But in his mind, the decision was already made.

‘That bastard will die by my hands.’

‘Sooner or later.’

Zetaka grunted as he watched Rachad let out arrogant cackles upon hearing Mahnaka’s screams.

“How long must I wait, Mahnaka?” Zetaka’s voice was low, edged with impatience as he stepped closer. Rachad was gone, but his presence still lingered like a shadow.

Mahnaka didn’t look up. He was busy applying a salve to his foot, where the Fire Whip had barely grazed him. The wound wasn’t deep, but the pain showed in the sweat dripping down his face. He let out a sharp breath but kept his voice steady.

“Until you’re strong enough.”

Zetaka scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, by then, I’ll turn into a wimpy ass like you.” His eyes flicked over Mahnaka’s body, the countless scars telling stories of past suffering. He snorted, turning to leave—but after a few steps, he halted.

His voice faltered. “I’m… not sure how long I can endure this.” His fingers clenched into a fist. “It’s suffocating. My body is failing me, and my mind is slipping into darkness.”

Mahnaka’s expression softened. “Just a little more time,” he pleaded. “I’ll convince that Dwarf soon.”

“…Forget it.” Zetaka barely spared him a glance. He checked their surroundings, ensuring they were alone before whispering, “Status.”

A dull green window flickered into existence before him. Unlike the bright emerald hue of normal Elves, his was tainted with hints of grey—a mark of his transformation.

[Name: Zetaka]

[Race: Dark Elf]

[Authority: Fauna]

[Control Factor: 2]

[Weight Factor: 208]

[Volume Factor: 1]

[Range Factor: 8]

[Speed Factor: 32]

[Spell: Status Epidermis, Great Wings]

He stared at the numbers, his jaw tightening. ‘This isn’t enough. I can kill a small group of Humans at best… before they burn me to ashes.’

He dismissed the window with a frustrated hiss.

He turned to Mahnaka, gripping his shoulder, his hand trembling with barely contained desperation. His eyes burned with something close to madness.

“I need space, Mahnaka, my growth is limited by this Prison,” he whispered. “If I can train without being noticed, I’ll get stronger. And then—” his fingers dug in deeper— “I’ll kill that monster.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

A gut-wrenching scream tore through the tunnel.

Both of them turned sharply.

Pinaka.

Zetaka exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable as he stared down the tunnel. “Something like that, on a larger scale, would be enough to distract the Humans.” His voice was eerily calm. “Make a distraction, Mahnaka.”

Mahnaka nodded. “I will do that—”

Zetaka’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Mahnaka’s throat.

“Not you, dumbass,” he growled. “Find someone else to die.” He released his grip, stepping back with a sneer. “Like it or not, you’re the only one who can reach the Dwarf. Cowardice aside, you’re still useful.”

Mahnaka rubbed his neck but didn’t protest. “…Alright,”

‘Frustrating.’

Zetaka swallowed his urge to strangle him on the spot. He needed Mahnaka—for now.

As they walked toward their designated fields, he glanced sideways, watching Mahnaka begin tending to their crops.

‘Ever since I became a Dark Elf… I lost my authority over Wood.’

⊱⨷⟐⨳⩥⚔⩤⨳⟐⨷⊰

“AAARGHHH!”

Near the prison’s central pillar, Pinaka’s screams echoed through the dimly lit chamber. His agony was drowned out only by the sadistic cackles of Rachad.

—Crack!

The Flame Whip cracked in the air before lashing across Pinaka’s thigh. The smell of burnt flesh filled the space, accompanied by the sickening sound of sizzling skin.

“Do you find it so hard to obey, slave?” Rachad sneered, his voice laced with twisted amusement. His whip slithered across Pinaka’s leg like a living thing, leaving behind angry red burns.

Pinaka convulsed, foam gathering at the corners of his mouth. His body trembled, unable to even voice resistance.

“Urgh… keuk…” His choked cries barely escaped his lips.

“You’re nothing but disposable trash.” He smirked. “Your beloved World Tree keeps spitting out more of you. What difference does it make?”

He flicked his gaze to a nearby soldier, who stood silently with a notepad in hand.

“How much has this baby contributed?”

The soldier flipped a few pages, his expression unreadable. “Nothing yet. It’s only been two days since its birth.”

Rachad let out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

His grip tightened, pulling Pinaka upright by the hair until their faces were inches apart. The Elf’s head lolled to the side, barely conscious.

“You’re a lucky one.” Rachad chuckled. “His Majesty has ordained that all Elves be given grace until their first harvest. Only then are they disposed of if they fail to meet expectations.” He tapped Pinaka’s cheek, tilting his head to get a better look at the dazed expression.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” His voice dropped to a whisper, predatory. “Holler your gratitude.”

Pinaka barely registered the words. But self-preservation kicked in.

“L-Long live… His Majesty!” he rasped.

Crack!

A slap struck his face, tearing through what little remained of his strength.

“Again,” Rachad demanded, his eyes glinting with cruel delight.

Pinaka sobbed, his body shuddering, but his lips moved nonetheless.

“L-Long live… His Majesty…”

His voice broke as he slumped forward, unconscious.

Rachad exhaled, clicking his tongue. “Wake it up.”

The lined-up Elves flinched, their bodies quivering. Not a single one among them had been spared his whip, and none dared to meet his gaze.

His eyes drifted over them before settling on a particular figure.

Nunaka.

Rachad’s smirk deepened. He glanced at the soldier, arching an eyebrow. The soldier nodded once.

‘Ah. So it’s finally reaching its limit.’

Nunaka’s stats had been growing too fast. Despite the Elf’s efforts to suppress its strength, even simple farm work had continued to push its limits.

Rachad’s fingers twitched in anticipation. It’s getting too strong to be useful as a potion factory. That means it’s time for disposal.

Turning to Nunaka, he issued a casual command which could seal the elf’s fate.

“If that baby Elf isn’t working the fields in an hour…” He let the threat hang, watching tension stiffen Nunaka’s frame.

Then, with a smirk, he finished, “You’ll be graduating from slavery.”

“M-My Lord!” Nunaka’s voice trembled, his desperation leaking through every syllable. “I… I’ve been obedient! Please—have mercy…”

Rachad didn’t respond. Instead, he casually raised his hand, and the Fire Whip coiled around his fingers, flickering ominously.

Nunaka’s breath hitched.

“I-I’ll wake him up.” He swallowed hard and nodded meekly. “Please… not the whip… I beg you…”

Rachad merely smirked. “Time’s ticking.”

With that, he turned away, his gaze drifting across the line of cowering Elves. A few steps later, he raised his arm and struck—a random tall Elf kneeled in pain under the lash.

Just because.

The notepad-holding soldier watched, unimpressed. ‘Guess it doesn’t matter how much he harms them.’

His eyes flicked toward Pinaka’s motionless form, then to Nunaka’s frantic expression.

‘The World Tree birthed six more Elves today.’ His fingers tapped against the notepad thoughtfully. ‘It’s time to be rid of the unnecessary ones, then’.

He flipped through the pages and began marking names. Six were needed. Six would be erased.

Pinaka’s name was added.

Nunaka’s name was added.

His pen hovered over the page before jotting down their execution dates.

‘His Majesty’s decree states that newborns must be given a grace period until their first harvest. That means the earliest I can set for Pinaka is the end of the month.’

He finalized the report, readying it for the Warden.

‘Five days left.’

⊱⨷⟐⨳⩥⚔⩤⨳⟐⨷⊰

“G-Get up,” Nunaka stammered, nudging Pinaka’s shoulder. No response.

His nudging turned to shaking. “Wake up!”

But no matter what he did, Pinaka didn’t get up.

Panic surged through him. He gulped, glancing at the other Elves as they shuffled toward their farmlands. One after another, they disappeared into the tunnels, leaving him alone.

‘No, no, no, I can’t be left behind!’

Heart pounding, Nunaka grabbed Pinaka by the leg and began to drag him toward his respective field.

‘I’ll think of something once I get him there.’

The rough stone floor scraped Pinaka’s already mangled body. Blood smeared against the ground, staining the path behind them. His skin tore further, deepening his wounds.

Nunaka gritted his teeth, his arms burning with exhaustion. His breaths came in ragged gasps.

“Shit… shit… shit…!”

His malnourished body shook with effort, struggling to pull Pinaka even an inch further. He crouched low, digging his feet against the ground as he leaned back, using his full body weight to keep moving.

His muscles ached. Sweat dripped into his eyes.

Yet, he kept going.

Because if he stopped—if he was caught falling behind—he’d die too.

‘It... doesn’t hurt. Not at all.’

Pinaka’s eyes flickered open—just for an instant. He caught a glimpse of Nunaka—teeth clenched, muscles straining, every movement fueled by desperation. He felt himself being dragged, his wounds scraping against the rough stone floor.

Yet, there was no pain.

His mind sharpened. ‘Adrenaline?’

A slow exhale.

‘Perfect.’

—Thump! Thump!

He focused, feeling his thumping heart as an invigorating sensation pervaded his being, allowing Pinaka to feel complete control over his body. ‘So this is what Zetaka was doing.’

[Spell: Status Epidermis!]

Pinaka’s exhaustion, his weakness, his agony—all of it vanished. A numbing wave settled over his body as adrenaline flooded his system, but this wasn’t just natural instinct.

No.

He had triggered it. Controlled it.

‘Thank you, Zetaka.’

Hiding his real stats through a false membrane.

His perception expanded. Wood.

That’s what it felt like—his once rigid, unyielding form now shifting under his will, like a block of wood shaped by a master craftsman.

And it wasn’t just his body.

‘Nunaka.’

Pinaka felt him. Every tremor in his exhausted frame, every strained breath. The moment their bodies touched, his Control Factor locked onto the connection. His mind mapped Nunaka’s movements as if they were his own.

Eyes still closed, Pinaka smirked.

‘I’m ready.’

image [https://i.imgur.com/JSm7nBo.png]