EU: Chapter 044 | Mahnaka’s Ninth Attempt

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“Psst…” The Elf in charge of cooking for the humans in the grain prison whispered as he stopped in front of a certain cell. “There’s a path now.”

“Mahnaka.”

Sitting in the cell, silent as always, Mahnaka’s eyes flew open, a jolt of energy rushing through him. He got up and opened the cell door, looking the Elf in the eye. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” The Elf nodded. “Two Level 3 Ogres have raided the elven prison. The Warden and most of the officers are busy fighting them. I also overheard some soldiers say a Level 3 Lizardman showed up too.”

“This is your best chance to flee.”

“I understand.” Mahnaka nodded and patted the Elf’s shoulder. “Thank you for your help. I won’t forget this favor.”

“No need,” the Elf said, shaking his head. “I’m living a comfortable life here anyway. I do get abused sometimes, but it’s only verbal — not like what you all go through. Honestly, I’ve got it better here than I ever did on Earth.”

“So, remember our agreement.” The Elf’s tone turned serious. “If you fail, don’t mention my name. Even if you succeed, don’t come looking for me. I’m fine with the life I have here.”

“Understood,” Mahnaka said with a nod, then waited a couple minutes, watching the Elf walk away. Only then did he slip into Zetaka’s cell and shake him awake.

‘It’s time.’

“For what?” Zetaka looked at Mahnaka for a moment. He’d been awake the whole time, clearly aware of the temperature spike around him. He knew an escape chance was coming, but waited patiently to see if Mahnaka could uncover anything else useful.

“There’s this,” Mahnaka said, then started explaining the situation.

By the end of it, Zetaka gave him a pointed look. “There’s still one problem we haven’t solved.”

“How do we cross the Lava Moat without the Dwarf’s help?”

“Same way we planned from the start—disguise,” Mahnaka replied. Depending on the situation, they’d pose as either Human soldiers or Ogres. If the bridge was still intact, they’d go with the soldier disguise. If the moat had been covered with stone, they’d act like Ogres.

“Alright,” Zetaka nodded, and the two slipped into their hectare lands first. In one corner of the farm, Zetaka knelt and dug up a meter-long cylinder. It was something he and Mahnaka had crafted, bit by bit, using their nails over time.

Gripping it firmly, Zetaka activated his Control Factor and reshaped the cylinder into a sword. He gave it a test swing. “Good.”

In a nearby pit lay a bundle of woven hair—also collected over time. Zetaka had already processed it into a tough rope, which he now looped through a ring on the sword’s hilt.

“I’ll begin.” With that, Zetaka started spinning the rope and flung the sword into the air, using his Control Authority to adjust the rope’s tension as it sailed toward the watchtower.

After a brief pause, Zetaka gave the rope a sharp tug, waited two seconds, then nodded at Mahnaka. “It’s done.”

“Good,” Mahnaka replied. By now, he’d already unearthed a sheet of wood buried nearby. Like origami, he folded it carefully until it turned into a pair of wings. The rear section gently gripped around his stomach. Using his Control Factor, Mahnaka tugged at the back, causing the wings to flap.

The force they generated wasn’t enough for flight—Mahnaka didn’t have the stats to pull that off—but it lightened his weight just enough to ease the load on Zetaka, who would be carrying him up the wall.

Zetaka was skilled at rope climbing, having trained for it constantly. Before long, they reached the top of the wall, where three soldiers lay dead, each with a sword wound through the forehead—Zetaka’s single swing had taken all of them down.

Endless practice, repeated scouting, and tireless prep—Zetaka had done it all, over and over, until he was sick of it. He had no work duties; Mahnaka took care of those. That left him free to spend all his time planning, preparing, and training for this moment.

So when the time came, one clean motion was all it took to kill three guards. “We’ll switch into their uniforms.”

Once dressed, Zetaka peeled the skin off the soldiers’ faces and pressed it onto his and Mahnaka’s. He positioned one of the corpses to look like a soldier sitting upright, keeping watch.

“Urgh,” Mahnaka grunted as Zetaka sliced off the pointed tip of his ear. Only then could their disguises fully pass as Human.

Zetaka crouched down and severed the soldiers’ legs, working quickly and cleanly. He transformed their bones into throwing knives, tucked them securely into his uniform, and gave a nod. “I’m ready.”

The two of them started walking toward the next watchtower, keeping their pace casual, like they were just making rounds. Unlike Pinaka, they didn’t slip up—not in body language, not in slang, not in the flow of their conversation.

They knew every detail cold. Mahnaka had spent months observing the soldiers they were impersonating, enough that he and Zetaka could mimic them down to the smallest habits.

“I’ve brought in a new batch!” Zetaka called out, mimicking the exact tone of the soldier he was pretending to be. He waved a small sack filled with rectangular wooden pieces. “This one’s a bigger stack.”

“One of these days, the officers are gonna catch us,” one of the three soldiers in the tower grumbled, eyeing Zetaka with a scowl. But the moment he grabbed the sack and looked inside, his expression lit up. “Sweet! Where’d you get these?”

“Made an Elf craft them. They’re custom-made,” Zetaka said, flashing a smug grin. “Now we can build twice as high in our games. The precision on these pieces is—hey, are you even listening?”

“As always, you talk too much.” The trio wasn’t paying attention anymore. They were already stacking the pieces, whistling softly to themselves.

“Our next game’s gonna be… glorious.”

“Hey, we brought those to play together,” Mahnaka said, annoyed. “Don’t hog it.”

“Don’t you have to stay on watch?” one of the trio asked, barely looking up.

“Hehe,” Mahnaka grinned and pointed at his watchtower. “That guy’s keeping watch. Lost a bet, so he’s stuck doing overtime.”

“He’s always been a sucker, huh?” one of the soldiers laughed, loud and careless. The group cracked up as they settled in and began to play. A few minutes later, the three soldiers sat frozen, blank expressions on their faces.

They’d all died from heart attacks.

Zetaka exhaled quietly, then slipped back to the first watchtower and repositioned the other two corpses to make it look like they were still on duty. Returning to Mahnaka, he changed both of their disguises again—this time, copying the appearances of two of the trio who’d just died.

“The next batch loves alcohol,” Mahnaka said, pulling out a flask and setting it on a corpse’s leg. Roots crept from the flask and burrowed into the flesh, drawing out nutrients. Within moments, the flask filled with a fruity, intoxicating aroma.

Once everything was set, they propped up one of the soldiers in the current watchtower, then moved on to the next, their steps light with fake excitement.

“Dude, you won’t believe what I just sneaked in today,” Mahnaka called out, his tone low but eager.

He was talking to someone the soldier he now looked like had been close with.

The man’s face lit up as the scent hit him. He grinned wide. “You glorious bastard!”

A few minutes later, the duo approached yet another watchtower, this time carrying a container of oil. Their next targets were a younger, fire-obsessed group—ambitious and reckless.

“Juniors!” Mahnaka called out with a grin. “Today’s your lucky day.”

Steadily, they made their way through the remaining watchtowers and finally reached the last one. From there, they descended the wall using Zetaka’s rope made of braided hair. They moved quickly and with purpose—they were out. They had escaped the grain prison.

By the time Pinaka stormed into the prison on his way to the vault, Mahnaka and Zetaka were already making their way toward the Human Gate. They’d mapped a safe path through the ash-coated ground that surrounded the different prison sectors.

Beyond the maze-like tunnels, Mahnaka took the lead. He knew the route forward and guided Zetaka as they moved in sync.

“Here!” Mahnaka spotted a living shrub and rushed over. He touched it, prompting it to grow. A moment later, he transformed it into a fruit-bearing plant and made it bloom. Plucking a few fruits, he handed some to Zetaka while biting into the rest himself.

“Thanks!” Zetaka said as he ate his share.

Meanwhile, Mahnaka modified the plant further, causing its roots to extend deep underground. After a few minutes, he broke off two sturdy branches and turned them into bottles. He uncorked the first and peered inside. “Not much water underground in this spot.”

Only a few mouthfuls had been collected. He split it with Zetaka. As they continued forward, Mahnaka used a stick to prod the ground. Where he tapped, roots sprouted and began pulling in whatever moisture they could find.

Bit by bit, they collected food and water to sustain themselves.

Time passed like that—gathering, walking, staying sharp. Eventually, streaks of fire tore across the sky—dozens of them—lighting it up in a chaotic display. The battle between the Ogres and the Warden had clearly escalated.

Mahnaka looked up and gasped, ‘My… goodness!’

“That’s a Level 3 Ogre, huh?” Zetaka clenched his fist, feeling a rush of helplessness—and envy—as a massive floating island appeared in the sky in an instant.

Then the island began to descend. “Level 3… is that even possible for me?”

“I can’t even figure out how to reach Level 2.” For a moment, doubt crept in, heavy and real.

Boom!

A deafening roar tore through the air as the island slammed into the earth. The ground shook violently, knocking both Mahnaka and Zetaka off their feet.

“You ought to have more faith in yourself,” Mahnaka said as he stood, brushing dust off his clothes. He patted Zetaka on the back. “Out of everyone I planned an escape with, yours has gone the smoothest. We will definitely—”

A blinding flash erupted all of a sudden, engulfing the Elven Prison in pure yellow. Mahnaka and Zetaka both winced, covering their eyes. A thin trail of blood trickled from Zetaka’s face—he’d taken the flash head-on.

Mahnaka had turned his head to talk just in time, so only his right eye was affected. Temporary blindness. And then—

“Escape?”

A voice rang out, calm in a way that made the silence after it even heavier. It cut through them like ice.

‘I…I can’t…MOVE!’ Zetaka gasped, eyes wide in horror. Foam frothed at his mouth as the heat inside his body spiked. The bone knives hidden in his clothes began to glow red hot, then jerked violently. His screams rang out as the molten weapons sliced through his ankles, severing his tendons.

“This… is impossible.” Mahnaka didn’t scream. He didn’t even try to resist. His body wasn’t restrained at all—but his legs wouldn’t move. His neck turned slowly, almost against his will, until his gaze landed on the figure of a tall youth, smiling brightly at him.

“H-How are you here…”

“Warden?”

…

Gangnea Daily Article #44

In every Race, a Level 3 existence is regarded as a ruler. Officially, the strongest among them earns the title of the Race’s King.

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