Year 19—35th Day of the 8th Moon!
When Pinaka dragged himself away from his farm, evening had fallen, and every step weighed in exhaustion. ‘It seems using my Authority is similar to simultaneously undergoing mental and physical exercise.’
‘There’s no limit to the power itself, but I can only use it for as long as my stamina can sustain the process.’ He grunted, ‘Now I know why the Humans give us less food and sleep.’
Despite the grueling labor, he had managed to turn every seed in his hectare of farmland into a seedling. At first, harvesting wheat within six days had seemed impossible, but after experiencing the process firsthand, Pinaka knew Elves were more than capable of it.
His speed had already improved—he could now use Seed Overgrowth to germinate a seed in under eight seconds. But it wasn’t enough. Not if he wanted to escape.
He had no interest in waiting decades for the Human King to die and political unrest to create an opening. That was a gamble—and by then, he might end up like Mahnaka, too broken to try.
‘Starvation and sleep deprivation for more than a decade would wear anyone down to nothing.’
‘I am not allowed tools, clothes, or enough food and sleep. Things aren’t easy. And most of all, something still made Mahnaka fail eight times.’ He thought as such and began to walk towards the tunnel.
As he approached the tunnel leading back into the prison, a soldier stood waiting beside the central stone pillar, arms crossed.
“Status?” the soldier asked lazily.
He wrote a line on his notepad, observed Pinaka’s Status Screen, performed a sniffing test, and waved his hand, “You can head to your cell now.”
‘There’s enough freedom if we’re obedient and perform our work on time.’ Pinaka thought, ‘He judged my exhaustion but didn’t comment.’
‘Thankfully, I managed to sneak this in here.’ He mused upon entering his cell and took out a wheat grain buried within the bandages wrapped around his thumb. He placed the seed in the corner and used the Spell of Seed Overgrowth, ‘I’ve seen saplings sprout out of concrete and even bitumen roads.’
The wheat seed turned into a seedling and gently rooted itself into the corner, but the soil was dry and lacking moisture. Pinaka had a solution: “Haack! Thuh!”
It absorbed his spit as Pinaka noticed that its condition wasn’t better than that of the seedlings on the farm outside. ‘It still needs some sunlight, even if not direct.’
He observed his surroundings, then slumped on the floor and fell asleep. He also positioned his head towards the corner and used his hair to hide the seedling.
Upon analyzing the Elven race, he wanted to attain a particular condition: ‘We’re meant to be born through wood, live on wood, and then become one with wood upon our deaths. So, even passively, I should always be in contact with Wood, no matter how little it is. That way, I’ll figure out things faster. It should also be why the Humans make us sleep on stone floors, away from Wood.’
‘They might have burned down the Elven Race’s history, but as long as I think about everything that the Humans make us do and then think against it in favor of a Forest or something, I’ll be embracing my culture, and through it, I’ll figure out everything regarding our authority.’
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
If an Elf uses his authority on Wood, any other Elf in contact with it could perceive the secrets. That was how Pinaka learned the Spell of Seed Overgrowth. ‘This power system has no limitations. I’m only limited by my imagination.’
While his head remained in contact with the seedling, Pinaka focused on his thumb. ‘It constantly hurts there. Maybe that’s what is necessary to maintain focus.’
The wound reopened frequently as he worked, blood seeping from the raw injury. But the Humans didn’t care. They never did.
They had seen it countless times—Elves didn’t die from losing a thumb. No matter how weak one becomes, one always survives.
As long as an Elf continued working like a slave, their suffering was nothing more than entertainment. A source of twisted pleasure.
After all, until twenty years ago, Elves were the masters of Gangnea.
‘Close it! Close the wound! Close it!’ He willed himself, unsure whether or not it would work as he fell asleep, ‘My body is composed of the same elements that make up the element of Wood. They are one! They are the same!’
⊱⨷⟐⨳⩥⚔⩤⨳⟐⨷⊰
—Clap! Clap! Clap!
Pinaka jolted awake.
“Shit!”
His mind was sluggish, still trapped in the haze of sleep.
‘How many claps have it been already?’
He ran out of his prison cell, grunting in pain when he brushed his thumb stump into the rod of a door left ajar nearby. It was dark, and his head was still groggy from sleep.
—Clap! Clap!
His breath hitched. Mahnaka’s cell was empty.
So were the others.
‘Shit! I’m late!’
He strained his ears, picking up the soft murmurs from the ground floor, where the other Elves had already gathered. And standing before them was the soldier, clapping rhythmically.
“Shii…” Pinaka tumbled through the last batch of stairs and lifted his head quickly, only to notice the soldier was standing before him now.
Hands behind his back. Gaze lowered in mock amusement. Lips curled in ridicule.
He stepped forward, dragging his boot slowly—just close enough for the foul stench of sweat and rot to hit Pinaka’s nose.
A smirk twisted his lips. “You’re late.”
The soldier’s voice dripped with amusement.
“No dinner for you tonight.”
He turned away, chuckling. “The baby Elf lacks discipline.”
He walked toward the crowd of Elves, his voice carrying over his shoulder.
“Guess you’re starving tonight.”
He then arrived before the crowd of Elves and started to hand out food, which consisted of two fruits resembling an apple and something like a berry alongside a leather pouch of water. That was it. But even that was deprived of Pinaka since he arrived a few seconds late.
“Let the baby Elf watch you lot eat.” The soldier clapped once as a tiny whisker of fire coiled around his arm, illuminating his face from below and causing long, deep shadows to cover his visage, especially his curling lips.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Noticing a momentary hesitation among the Elves, the soldier bellowed, “Eat!”
“Eat, you damn slaves!”
His stomach protested in hunger as Pinaka watched the hesitant Elves eat the food. Some of the younger Elves were indignant, the averagely older ones showed pity towards Pinaka, and the oldest batch ate in silence.
‘There are around 218 Elves here, including me.’ Pinaka took this opportunity to make a headcount and then focused on the side of the Humans, ‘There’s only one Soldier here.’
The food was carried in a stone cart, pushed by an Ogre, the same one responsible for hurling in the farm produce harvested by the Elves.
As Pinaka eyed the Elves, he noticed his thumb sockets were…itching. Using the light emitting from the Fire Whip coiled around the soldier’s arm, Pinaka stared at the bandage on his arm and noticed the wound’s edges had…closed up.
‘Hydrocarbons! I was right!’
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Gangnea Daily Article #8
The rules of the power system are free to interpretation. If you think it makes sense, then it probably does, unless your common sense has emigrated out of Gangnea.