? Content Warning:

  This chapter contains graphic violence, psychological manipulation, forced execution, and themes of oppression. Reader discretion is advised.

  If you find these themes distressing, please proceed with caution or consider skipping this chapter.

  “Since we have a baby Elf participating, let me go over the rules again.” Rachad’s voice carried a hint of amusement as he pointed to the circle of fire, its flickering edges casting eerie shadows.

  “This ring has a radius of two meters. Step outside it, and you lose.”

  He tapped his boot against the stone floor twice. “Touch the ground with anything other than your feet, and you lose.”

  As Pinaka and Nunaka stepped into the circle, Rachad continued, his grin widening. “No punches. No kicks. You may only use your head as a weapon.”

  A soldier stepped forward at Rachad’s cue, carrying two identical blocks of wood, each weighing about a kilogram. He handed one to Pinaka and the other to Nunaka.

  “Now, turn this into a gauntlet for your right hand.”

  Pinaka took the wooden block, watching as it began to change. Over the course of thirty seconds, the wood expanded, twisting and molding itself around his fingers and palm, solidifying into a crude yet sturdy gauntlet.

  ‘Strange rules… but I see what he’s doing,’ Pinaka thought.

  Rachad wasn’t just forcing them to fight. He was making them use their Authority over Wood—an ability unique to Elves—against each other.

  Even if they hesitated to kill, they would still be the ones shaping their opponent’s demise. The very power that was meant to connect them to the World Tree, to their identity as Elves, was now a tool for their destruction.

  A subtle yet effective way to drive in the wedge of doubt.

  Pinaka’s gaze flicked toward Rachad. His smirk was knowing, satisfied. ‘He’s enjoying this. Hard to miss with that subtitled face of his.’

  Then, Pinaka turned to Nunaka. The older Elf’s posture had shifted ever so slightly—his shoulders a little straighter, his grip on the wooden block a little firmer.

  ‘He’s feeling more confident now. Good. The more confident he gets, the more openings he’ll leave for me to exploit.’

  Purposefully, Pinaka slowed his movements, making it seem as though he was struggling to mold the wood.

  “Hold hands,” Rachad ordered.

  Pinaka and Nunaka faced each other, extending their left hands. Their palms interlocked, securing their grip.

  “On my mark, the battle begins.”

  Pinaka assessed the situation quickly.

  ‘Nunaka has the advantage in stats. He’s stronger, faster, and in better condition.’

  Both of them had formed their gauntlets on their right hands. By holding hands with their left, Pinaka was in direct contact with Nunaka’s gauntlet. ‘If I were skilled enough, I could disrupt his Authority and strip it away from him, but that’s not an option—I’d lose that fight in an instant.’

  His fingers twitched as Nunaka tightened his grip. The pressure was immediate, painful. Even before the battle had begun, he was already trying to crush Pinaka’s hand.

  “I’m sorry, Pinaka.” Nunaka’s voice was low, firm. His grip didn’t waver. “I can’t afford to die. There’s still so much I need to do.”

  Pinaka exhaled softly.

  “If you truly intend to survive no matter what,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, “then promise me this.”

  Nunaka hesitated.

  “If you ever succeed,” Pinaka continued, his eyes stinging with unshed tears, “please make a wish to reincarnate me on Earth, back with my family. That’s all I beg of you.”

  A pause.

  Then, Pinaka slowly loosened his grip, signaling surrender. “If you can promise me that, I won’t resist.”

  “I… I promise…” Nunaka murmured.

  His grip remained tight, his knuckles whitening.

  The rules were clear: no punches, no kicks. They had to remain holding hands. If either of them broke free, the fight would be declared void and restarted.

  Pinaka closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself.

  Nunaka had already made up his mind to win.

  Pinaka had already made up his mind to fight.

  Headbutting was a terrible option. Even if Pinaka managed to survive the fight, the risk of a severe concussion was too high. And with their lives on the line, Nunaka wouldn’t hesitate—he would fight until the bitter end.

  Controlling the wood was pointless as well. Statistically, Nunaka outmatched him in every way—strength, speed, precision. Any attempt at manipulating the gauntlets would be a losing battle.

  That left only one option.

  Grappling.

  Pinaka let his body speak for him. His posture sagged, his grip weakened, his face held nothing but surrender. Every part of him radiated resignation, the acceptance of a man who had already embraced death.

  And it worked.

  Even the onlookers believed it.

  Mahnaka turned his head away, unable to watch. He already knew how this would end. ‘I’m sorry, Pinaka…’

  Nearby, Rachad scoffed, disappointed. “These damn slaves,” he muttered under his breath, feeling robbed of his entertainment. Clicking his tongue, he waved his hand dismissively.

  “Well then,” his voice rose, “the fight—”

  “Begins!”

  The moment the words left Rachad’s mouth, Pinaka flinched—just slightly, just enough. His body jerked as if he had lost his footing, his weight suddenly giving out beneath him.

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  To everyone watching, it looked like an accident. Like he had slipped. Like his body had finally given up.

  Nunaka hesitated.

  That split-second delay was all Pinaka needed.

  As he fell, he subtly twisted his torso to the right, shifting his center of gravity. His grip on Nunaka’s hand remained tight, but now, instead of resisting—he pulled.

  With a sudden burst of force, he yanked Nunaka down with him.

  His toes dug into the ground, anchoring his momentum. Using the full weight of his falling body, he pivoted. The shift sent Nunaka careening forward, his balance ripped away in an instant.

  By the time Nunaka realized what was happening—

  —he was already going down.

  —Gasp!

  The Elves stared in shock, their eyes wide, mouths slightly open. None of them had expected things to turn out like this.

  “Pfff! Hahaha!” Rachad burst into laughter, shaking his head at Nunaka. “Seems like even luck isn’t on your side.”

  “What…?”

  Nunaka finally snapped back to reality. The cold, rough ground pressed against his back. He had fallen—somehow. And lying on top of him was Pinaka, his face just as shocked.

  “Eh…?”

  “Eh?”

  Silence stretched between them—until realization crashed down like a landslide.

  “Ah…!”

  Nunaka scrambled up, his body shaking, his face twisting into something between horror and rage. His throat tightened, his chest burned, and before he knew it, tears were spilling down his cheeks.

  “You… INCOMPETENT BASTARD!”

  With a snarl, he lunged, his hands seizing Pinaka’s throat.

  “Why couldn’t you just die properly?! Huh? HUH?!” His grip tightened, his fingers digging into Pinaka’s skin. The raw hatred in his voice made the onlookers shudder.

  Then—CRACK!

  The sharp snap of a whip tore through the air.

  Nunaka flinched and stumbled backward.

  “Behave yourself, slave!” Rachad snapped, his Fire Whip glowing brighter with heat. He turned to Pinaka and waved a dismissive hand. “Looks like luck is on your side today, baby Elf.”

  But Pronto, who had been observing from the sidelines, had some doubts.

  ‘Was it just luck?’

  He replayed the moment in his head. ‘Pinaka flinched when Rachad shouted… then somehow lost his balance… but the way he fell—’

  It had been too smooth. Too clean.

  He had pulled Nunaka down with him, but in such a way that Nunaka ended up on the bottom.

  ‘That kind of accident shouldn’t happen so perfectly. You’d have to try a hundred times to pull it off.’

  Pronto narrowed his eyes at Pinaka for a second. Then, he shrugged. ‘Whatever. Even if he’s got some brains, it doesn’t matter. He’s never leaving this prison anyway.’

  Rachad clapped his hands together, a wide grin splitting his face. “Now, we begin the graduation ceremony!”

  Four soldiers stepped forward, yanking the wooden gauntlets from Pinaka and Nunaka’s hands. Rachad’s Fire Whip curled around them, burning them into nothing but smoke and embers.

  “Circle up, everyone!” he barked.

  Mahnaka wasted no time, gripping Pinaka’s arm and pulling him into the formation of Elves. His voice was hushed but firm. “I’m glad you survived.”

  Pinaka followed without resistance, but unease settled in his gut as he noticed the other Elves’ expressions. Their faces had gone pale, some trembling as if suppressing the urge to retch. Beside him, Zetaka’s breathing was heavy, uneven, almost furious.

  Pinaka frowned. “What’s happening now?”

  Mahnaka exhaled shakily. “Now… Now you will see why no uprising has ever succeeded.” His voice was laced with something heavy—defeat.

  Above them, the human soldiers moved, positioning themselves along the railings on the first floor. They leaned forward, watching with interest.

  Down below, Nunaka stood alone.

  His steps were unsteady as he made his way toward the central pillar. His limbs trembled, his eyes glistened with unshed tears. His lips—bitten raw—bled slightly as he turned to face the gathered Elves.

  His breathing hitched.

  Then, with visible effort, he forced himself to inhale deeply.

  He was preparing himself.

  Pinaka didn’t understand—until Rachad’s voice echoed through the prison, amusement laced in every syllable.

  “Now—stone him to death.”

  Pinaka’s blood ran cold.

  Pinaka’s eyes widened in disbelief. He turned to Mahnaka, hoping he had misheard. But the disgust and pain on Mahnaka’s face told him everything.

  —Thud!

  Fist-sized wooden spheres dropped to the floor, tossed down from the upper level by the soldiers. The humans all stood above, watching, while the Elves lined up below, trapped in the suffocating space of the ground floor.

  The prison glowed brighter. The heat in the air rose. It wasn’t just from torches—no, this was intentional. The soldiers made sure every Elf could see Nunaka’s face clearly, made sure they could watch every flicker of fear, every desperate twitch.

  A wooden sphere rolled to Pinaka’s feet. He picked it up, fingers trembling with disgust.

  Carved into the surface, in deep, bold letters, was a single word:

  KILL.

  Pinaka’s throat tightened. He glanced around and saw the same word carved upon every sphere. This wasn’t just execution. It was psychological warfare.

  Forcing the Elves to murder their own kind, again and again, with their own hands—with intent—shattered any chance of unity.

  Even if they refused at first, they would break eventually. And once they did, they could never stand together again.

  Pinaka clenched his teeth so hard that blood pooled at the corner of his lips. ‘Fucking… SCUM!’ His hands trembled in fury, but he was just as helpless as the rest of them.

  ‘Soon. One day. Once I have the strength, I’ll change everything.’

  ‘Once I change everything… I’m leaving this fucked-up world behind. I’m going home.’

  Rachad’s voice rang through the prison like a death bell.

  “I will count down from three hundred.”

  The words sent a ripple of dread through the Elves.

  “If Nunaka is still alive when I reach one, we’ll repeat the graduation ceremony. But this time…”

  Rachad’s grin widened.

  “I’ll randomly pick three more Elves to graduate.”

  The room was silent.

  Deadly silent.

  Rachad let the moment stretch, let the weight of his words sink into every mind.

  Then—

  “Shoot!”

  —Thud!

  The first throw came from an old, frail Elf. His hands shook, but the aim was off, and the wooden sphere clattered uselessly to the ground.

  He gasped, hurriedly snatching another and hurling it again. This time, it struck Nunaka’s knee.

  The impact was weak. Pitiful.

  But that was what made it cruel.

  None of the Elves had the strength to give Nunaka a merciful death. Instead, he would die by a thousand tiny wounds, each one too weak to end him quickly, but strong enough to make him suffer.

  ‘This isn’t execution. This is torture.’

  Pinaka stood frozen, his hands gripping the wooden sphere so tightly his nails dug into the wood.

  “Throw it.”

  Zetaka grabbed him by the neck, his voice hoarse, his eyes bloodshot.

  “Even if you hate it, throw it. Kill him quickly. Don’t make him suffer.”

  His voice cracked, but his grip didn’t loosen.

  Then, Zetaka turned away and threw his own sphere. It struck Nunaka’s forehead, cutting deep. Blood ran down his face.

  “That’s the only mercy we can give him.”

  “…Fuck.”

  Pinaka swallowed hard. His hands shook.

  He raised the sphere.

  ‘I will succeed in the World Tree’s damn mission.’

  His vision blurred, the blood and dirt mixing together in his eyes.

  ‘And when I do, I’ll bring everyone back to Earth with me.’

  He flinched as Nunaka stood there, battered, bloodied, but unmoving. His body swayed, but he didn’t collapse. He just… accepted it.

  Pinaka’s grip tightened. His breath hitched. Tears ran down his cheeks.

  ‘I’ll make up for this, Nunaka. One day, after we return to Earth… I’ll make up for this. So please…’

  ‘Die!’

  And he threw another.

  …

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