“Get up! Get out!”
The soldier from last night stomped through the corridor, slamming a steel rod against the prison doors. The clangs echoed through the chamber, rattling the iron bars and jarring the Elves awake.
—Clang!
Pinaka was already awake, but he lay motionlessly as he eyed the soldier who bashed his cell door, ‘I barely got around five hours of sleep.’
With a scowl, he propped himself up and began to prepare for the day, ‘Curfew at sunset, food near midnight. That bastard claps ten times—reach him before the last one, or starve.’
His stomach twisted at the thought. Sleep or food—can’t have both.
Worst of all, Mahnaka told him the soldier loved to play with time. Some days, he was early, and others, he was late.
With no way to predict the guard’s mood, the Elves had no option but to remain awake in their cells. They were only provided food once a day, so they couldn’t afford to miss it.
‘Malnutrition. Sleep deprivation. Obedience beaten into us.’
Pinaka clenched his fists. The soldier moved on, banging another door, the metallic clangs ringing in his ears.
He then stared at Mahnaka, recalling their conversation from the previous night.
‘This guy was competent once, but after nearly twenty years in this hellhole, he’s just a shadow of his former self.’
With a quiet sigh, he stepped out of his cell, joining the group of Elves assembling on the ground floor. Another round of tests awaited them. First was a weight test, where they had to step up on a scale.
[Pinaka: 55 Kilogram]
The soldier scribbled it down and turned to the Elf next in line. He eyed the Elf from head to toe and motioned for the latter to get on the scale, “Next!”
The second test was the same as the night before—a sniffing test. But there was one difference here: The soldier grabbed Pinaka’s hand and rubbed it with a paper towel, checking for cleanliness.
The Elves were allowed to take a bath only once a week. So, for the rest of the time, they weren’t supposed to be clean.
Indeed, there was a faint layer of dirt on Pinaka, which the soldier noted. If an Elf consumes food and takes a bath, they wouldn’t emit the fruity scent anymore. So, these tests were being conducted daily.
Any attempt to train or bulk up would show in their weight. By taking these measurements daily, the Humans kept track of how the Elves fared, ensuring none tried to grow stronger and stage a revolt.
After the three tests—weight, sniffing, and paper towel—the final was the most revealing: Status Screen.
“Status?” The soldier asked.
Pinaka muttered the word, and a green hologram flickered into existence before him. The soldier glanced at the numbers, scribbled them down, and issued his assignment.
“You’re in charge of wheat. Get Mahnaka to teach you the necessary Spell. You’re required to produce a tonne of wheat every six days.”
“Yes,” Pinaka copied the mannerisms of other Elves and saluted him just like the others did. He then walked through the tunnel and stood at its end, watching Mahnaka arrive soon after.
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“Come, I’ll teach you a Spell,” Mahnaka said, leading him forward. As they stepped onto the farmland, he gestured around. “The walls are in the shape of a hexagon, and its interior is subdivided into six pieces of land, each a hectare in area.”
He nodded toward a small tower perched on the wall.
“Every vortex of this hexagon has a small tower where a soldier sits inside and observes three hexagons. They monitor our actions while we’re on the farm.”
“You talked to Zetaka yesterday. He’s part of our hexagon, too.” Mahnaka stepped onto the field, eyeing a lone blade of grass. “You understand our power system, right?”
“Control Factor determines how many pieces of wood I can manipulate,” Pinaka said.
“Correct.” Mahnaka plucked the blade of grass between his fingers. “Our power works through contact. Even if I grab two blades simultaneously, I can only control one because my Control Factor is just one.”
Pinaka nodded as Mahnaka continued.
“Next is Weight Factor, which means you can control a kilogram of wood.” Mahnaka played around with the strand of grass, “For every unit increase in your Weight Factor, you can control an extra kilogram of wood.”
“Now, this is where you need to be careful,” Mahnaka warned, rolling the blade of grass between his fingers. With a flick, it reshaped into a delicate wooden cube, each side exactly a meter long. “A Volume Factor of one lets you manipulate a cubic meter of wood. But increasing it isn’t always a good idea.”
Pinaka frowned. “Isn’t more always better?”
Mahnaka shook his head. “Not in this case. Wood density typically ranges from 300 to 900 kilograms per cubic meter. If your Weight Factor isn’t high enough, all you’re doing is controlling more volume without adding strength. You won’t be able to compress it.”
Pinaka’s expression shifted as the logic clicked. “So, if my Volume Factor reaches two, I’d need a Weight Factor of at least a thousand before I could start compressing again.”
“Exactly.” Mahnaka nodded. “Compression is what turns wood into a weapon. The denser it gets, the deadlier it becomes. That’s why we always keep our Volume Factor at one—any more, and you’re just stretching yourself thin.”
“Next is Range Factor,” Mahnaka condensed the cube of grass into a blade of grass and then extended it like a needle towards Pinaka, “It determines how far you can extend the wood from your point of contact. Since you need to stay in touch with it to use your power, the Range Factor is measured from where you’re holding the wood.”
Pinaka studied the extending needle. “So, if my Range Factor is one, I can stretch it up to a meter away from my body?”
“Exactly.” Mahnaka nodded. “And then there's the Speed Factor—it dictates how fast you can reshape wood per second. Think of it like moving a point on a block of wood by a meter in a single second.”
To demonstrate, the needle in Mahnaka’s hand shrank instantly into a tiny sphere. A moment later, it stretched out again, extending a full meter toward Pinaka, stopping just before his face.
“By combining your Weight and Volume Factors, you can apply your Range Factor to every wood particle. You can reshape a block of wood into any form you want. But remember—no part of it can change size by more than a meter per second.”
Pinaka absorbed the information before asking, “How do I train my Stats?”
Mahnaka smirked and pointed at him. “Keep playing with wood, and you’ll feel your Stats improving. It’ll come naturally, like breathing, once you touch a piece of wood.”
His expression grew serious. “You’ll also sense when you’re about to gain a Stat, so be careful. Stop practicing the moment your Volume Factor is about to increase. Otherwise, you’ll lose control of compression, and your strength will be wasted on dead weight.”
“Got it,” Pinaka nodded as he watched Mahnaka play around with the grass strand for a few minutes. He then asked, “Now, about the Spell…?”
“Yes,” Mahnaka nodded, growing serious as he said, “This is where we need to be careful, Pinaka.”
“The moment you learn a Spell, it’ll be recorded on your Status Screen.” He paused before adding in a solemn tone, “And the moment you learn a combat-related Spell, the Humans will kill you.”
Pinaka’s brows furrowed. “No matter how game-like this power system seems, it’s not a game, right? There aren’t spell books to learn from—” He stopped, narrowing his eyes. “Wait… are there spell books?”
Mahnaka shook his head. “No. But you can create Spells however you want.”
With a sigh, he pointed at the grass needle, “If you can create this within a second and repeat it a hundred times, it’ll be registered as a Spell. From that point onwards, you can create it without any brainpower expenditure.”
“A Spell only requires a thought to activate, and it manifests in one-tenth of a second.” Mahnaka muttered, “That’s what makes Spells so dangerous. That’s why the Humans fear them.”
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Gangnea Daily Article #5
Every individual can have a total of 16 Spells. Records hypothesized that’s per the 16 Sentient Races on Gangnea.