"That's pretty nasty," the soldier muttered as he stopped in front of Raepekka’s cell. He glared at the scene, then slowly forced his expression blank.

  Raepekka’s hands were locked around his own neck, leaving deep indentations. Blood spurted from the wound in erratic bursts, sometimes whistling faintly like a broken flute. The pressure had crushed his windpipe, choking him to death.

  The floor was smeared in a dark, wet mess of gore. As the soldier stared, a thin arc of blood suddenly sprayed from the corpse’s neck. His eyes shifted to Raepekka’s face — twisted in agony. The Elf’s last moments had been anything but peaceful.

  Pain, frustration, and regret were all etched clearly into his expression. The soldier flinched and turned his head, muttering, “Yeah, that’s gonna haunt me tonight. Bloody hell.”

  He walked off and got back to the morning’s duties. Once the Elves were out in the fields, he returned with a squad. Together, they carried the bodies of Pinaka and Raepekka out of their cells.

  “One starved, the other… bloody trash,” Rachad growled when he arrived. His eyes locked on Raepekka’s corpse, and he barked, “Suicide?”

  He spotted the soldier who logged the Elves’ stats each morning and motioned him over with a curled finger. “Get over here.”

  “Yes, sir,” the soldier said, stepping forward — only to be met with a sharp slap across the face.

  “Fucking idiot!” Rachad barked, landing a second slap. “You should’ve caught it if that Elf showed signs of offing himself!”

  His voice echoed off the walls. “We would’ve killed him first! His stats were already close to the limit — and he knew it!”

  “What the hell are you doing? Just blindly jotting numbers like some damn clerk?” He let loose a stream of curses, not just at the note-taker but at the squad hauling the corpses too — because he could.

  Every soldier in the prison was Level 1. Officers like Rachad were rare and ranked at Level 2. Each prison had one officer in charge — which meant Rachad’s word was law here. Everyone else followed his lead, whether they liked it or not.

  ‘He’s an asshole, through and through.’

  That thought came from Pinaka, nailed to the pillar with a front-row seat to everything. He was starting to get used to it — the stillness, the silence. That was all he could do. The more he watched, the more he understood what this place truly was.

  Once you were nailed here, you didn’t leave. You stayed alive, but you couldn’t speak or move. All you could do was stare.

  Elves rarely looked at the pillar. It was a silent warning — step out of line, and this could be your fate. Just glancing at the one nailed there was enough to crush any lingering hope. It made most of them avoid even glancing toward the potion factory.

  The Elf nailed to the pillar would be begging inside, pleading to be freed with everything they had left. But that silent, desperate face was too much for most Elves to bear.

  Humans didn’t care. Every night, they checked the nails, made sure everything was still holding. But none of them ever looked up. To them, the most pitiful Elf in the prison wasn’t even worth a glance.

  That was exactly why Pinaka had chosen to become the potion factory. In this role, he’d become a blind spot—ignored by both Humans and Elves. That gave him nearly complete freedom during the day.

  After the Elves were marched to the farms, the prison fell silent. ‘The Humans barely show up either,’ he thought.

  The group of soldiers hauled the two corpses off for disposal, with Rachad trailing them a few dozen meters behind, still muttering angrily under his breath.

  The walls enclosing the hexagon-shaped lands had tunnels running through them. Every so often, an entrance would open into one of the hexagons — the only way in or out.

  Rachad entered one of these tunnels, the one connecting Hexagon 1 and 2.

  Without wasting time, Pinaka peeled himself free from the nails. In his place, he left behind a hollow clone — fragile, a single hit would make it crumble. But left alone, it held up fine. The eyes were closed, the skin looked just like his. From a distance, it passed.

  And since nobody ever looked at the potion factory, Pinaka was free to move around in broad daylight. His first goal was to follow Rachad and figure out what he was up to.

  ‘If I can find where they store the World Tree Fruits, that’d be perfect.’ The place would be locked down tight — but that didn’t concern him. He wasn’t planning to fight his way in. He’d move like a shadow, disguised as a soldier, get close, and just touch them. ‘As long as I move before they torch me, I’ll win.’

  Outside the prison walls, pressed against the edge of Hexagon 21, stood an office building. It had four floors. The top floor was reserved as the soldiers’ living quarters.

  The ground floor was cluttered with tables piled high with documents. Tools lined the walls: hammers, chains, even whips — though most were for construction, not torture. The soldiers here mainly handled inspections and logistics.

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  Very few of them had any direct interaction with the Elves.

  Pinaka crawled silently across the floor, unnoticed. He reshaped his palms and feet to mimic a feline’s, moving silently as he trailed Rachad from a distance.

  He peeked around a corner, waiting for Rachad to make the next turn before creeping forward. One wrong move and it’d be over. But Rachad, in typical fashion, moved with swagger — casual, overconfident, like he owned the place. Technically, he did.

  Security was so relaxed because all the Elves had already been accounted for and sent to the farms. Only after confirming this did Rachad start heading toward his office. The tunnel stretched the full length of a hexagon side.

  Each hexagon covered six hectares. That meant each side was about 152 meters long — not a short distance, especially when moving blind. Once Rachad turned a corner, Pinaka had no way of knowing where he was until he caught up that full distance.

  If Rachad happened to glance back for any reason, he’d spot an Elf in the tunnel. ‘It’s risky... but I don’t have much of a choice. No matter when I decide to do this, the risk stays the same.’

  –Creak!

  Pinaka froze. Just 152 meters left between him and the office. He saw Rachad disappear inside. ‘No guard at the door.’

  He didn’t rush in. Instead, he stayed still, keeping a close watch on the office. The door had been left slightly open, and vague silhouettes moved around inside. ‘There are a lot of Humans in there. Better to wait and see.’

  Each day, a batch of Elves reported their harvest. Depending on the crop, harvest cycles ranged from six to ten days. Since every Elf worked on a different schedule, there was always something ready to ship out.

  That explained the activity in the office. As Pinaka observed, the soldiers gradually cleared out. A tunnel extended from the back of the office, leading toward the grain storage facility. From there, goods produced in the Elven Prison were transported to the Human Kingdom.

  Eyes sharp and ears tuned to every sound, Pinaka stayed alert. If someone got too close, he could bolt into the nearest farmland. He always kept that as a backup.

  In seconds, he could bury himself under some nearby crops and vanish into the greenery.

  All six farms in Hexagon 21 were nearing harvest. The crops were tall, thick, and ideal for hiding. That’s what gave him the confidence to sit here and watch so openly.

  He waited. Patiently.

  Then came lunchtime — and his chance. The smell of food drifted down as the soldiers headed to the second floor. One by one, they filed out, leaving the ground floor completely empty.

  Every Elf was accounted for — no reason for anyone to stay behind. No one had gone missing. Nothing had seemed out of place.

  That explained why security was practically nonexistent.

  His feet moved soundlessly across the floor. He hadn't touched an actual feline since becoming an Elf, so his mimicry wasn’t perfect. But relying on memories from Earth, he shaped his limbs into something close.

  Back when he worked as a stuntman, he’d worn costumes of lions and other animals for shoots. It wasn’t ideal, but it gave him enough understanding to move without making a sound.

  The sight of papers stacked on the tables reminded him of office days back on Earth. He crept up to the nearest pile and skimmed the contents. ‘Looks alien… but I can read it just fine.’

  The documents detailed crop yields, daily production, individual Elf stats, shipment quotas — a full breakdown of prison operations.

  “Oh, great. They were about to kill me in a few days,” Pinaka muttered, flipping through a report listing six Elves marked for disposal. Nunaka was at the top. Raepekka was fifth. He himself was at the bottom.

  There was an overwhelming amount of info — grain quality reports, proposals for prison expansion, and more. ‘They don’t mess around. This is way too much to take in.’

  But the key thing he was looking for — any clues about the World Tree Fruits storage, or a map of the facility — was nowhere to be found.

  He rifled through a few more stacks before his attention shifted to the door leading out of the office. An Ogre stood there, grunting as it pulled a heavy cart into a tunnel. Behind it, dozens more loaded carriages waited in line.

  ‘Just one Ogre?’

  The Ogre was shackled in thick steel chains, each about two meters long. The chains were connected to an anchor built into a sliding mechanism embedded in a metal groove running along the tunnel walls. The mechanism let the Ogre move back and forth, but the chains kept it from wandering or escaping.

  It had clearly been broken — whipped until compliant, and pumped full of drugs to keep it in a trance. A perfect labor machine, barely aware of its own suffering.

  Pinaka scanned the area. ‘No Humans in sight.’ He broke into a sprint, rushed up behind the Ogre, and pressed his palm to its back. ‘Good.’

  Then he slipped back into the office.

  Now, he could replicate Ogre skin, bones, and flesh. That thick, heat-resistant hide would be invaluable. ‘It’ll handle flames better than any wood could. This’ll be useful later.’

  Judging by how long the soldiers had been gone, lunch would wrap up soon. Time was running short.

  He crept toward Rachad’s cabin and slowly pushed the door open. The space was simple — a desk, some shelves filled with scrolls, nothing fancy. A small stack of papers sat on the table, mostly letters.

  Pinaka picked up the top one, opened, and scanned it. ‘An army of Ogres is attacking the Ogre Gate. The sender wants Rachad to join the reinforcements.’

  “My, oh my,” he whispered, grinning wide. “Isn’t that just perfect?”

  ‘That’s the kind of chaos I need to make my escape.’

  His grin only grew as his gaze swept across the scrolls and papers. Whether they were inked on leather or parchment, he had a feeling all of them were vulnerable to his Authority.

  “Oh… hoho.”

  ‘I can capitalize on this!’ Pinaka thought, twisted excitement bubbling in his chest as he slipped out and made his way back.

  …

  Gangnea Daily Article #29

  All plant-based products fall under the Authority of Wood. But what if another Authority was used to create the produce? Does ash fall under the Authority of Wood, Fire, or none at all?

  — Musings of a Human Scholar

  ...

  imgur is not working for me, not able to put these notes in image format :[

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