Chapter 795

The sun rises and sets, repeating the cycle 300,000 times.

In an era when beast kings roamed the plains hunting the descendants of giants, when ferocious dragons and mechanical airships spewed fire and lightning from the skies, and when the domain of the divine World Tree, towering like a pillar supporting the world, covered a third of the continent.

In the small breeding facility at the edge of the Great Forest of Alvheim, the grand empire of the fairies, who boasted overwhelming power thanks to their average lifespan of over a thousand years.

There was a boy.

—-

“Number 742, Number 756, you pass. Proceed through the left door.”

The gaze of the fairy supervisor, looking down at them, was no different from that of someone inspecting livestock in a slaughterhouse.

In the emotionless eyes of the fairy supervisor, there was the contempt and arrogance unique to those who look down on inferior beings.

“Thank you.”

The boy named Number 742 politely bowed his head, ignoring the disdain in the supervisor’s eyes.

If he had dared to return a challenging glare, he would have been labeled as unqualified and sent through the “right door.”

This was the second round of selection for seven-year-old boys and girls sent from breeding facilities across Alvheim.

Children who proved worthy as human resources for Alvheim were granted the status of “producers” and allowed to enter the “Special Residential Zone.” However, those deemed unqualified and sent through the right door…

“Are they really sent back to where they came from?”

Number 742 glanced at the children who were excited at the thought of returning home after being labeled unqualified. He clenched his eyes shut to hide his twisted expression.

“…Disgusting lies.”

The fact that no human over the age of eight existed in the breeding facility he had lived in was enough to guess the fate of those labeled unqualified.

In reality, the destination of those deemed unqualified was not the facility that raised them but the cursed roots of the World Tree, clearly visible to the west.

Being denied the qualifications of a producer meant there was no reason to keep them alive.

The future of those branded as unqualified was to be buried beneath the roots of the World Tree, becoming its nutrients and meeting their death.

Of course, the future of those recognized as producers wasn’t particularly hopeful either.

—-

“Be grateful for the mercy of the World Tree, which grants even inferior beings like you the right to contribute to Alvheim’s development—”

“The duty of a producer is—”

“To produce at least five offspring or volunteer for the Assault Troops and serve for over ten years, earning the status of an Honorary Alvheim Citizen—”

While the supervisor on the podium continued his forceful speech, Number 742 glanced around, tuning out the words.

The small internment camp, surrounded by wooden fences, contained six wooden buildings. This was the 4th Special Residential Zone.

This was Number 742’s new home.

—-

The Special Residential Zone was the only place where humans in Alvheim were guaranteed a lifespan of over eight years.

It was an internment camp designed to educate children who had proven their worth as producers until they reached the appropriate age, preparing them to contribute to Alvheim as producers.

Only those who survived the first round of selection at the age of three and spent four years in the “breeding facility” could enter this privileged zone.

So, what exactly was a producer? What qualifications did one need to become a producer?

The answer was simple. They needed to possess genetic advantages worth passing on to future generations. That was the qualification of a producer.

Tall stature, strong bones, high magical affinity, excellent appearance, superior intelligence, robust health, and an obedient personality.

While not all these conditions needed to be met, at least two or three were required for a human in Alvheim to live as a producer instead of becoming nutrients for the World Tree.

By now, you might have guessed what producers were meant to produce.

That’s right. The Special Residential Zone was a human resource training facility designed to breed new humans by combining those with superior traits.

The six wooden buildings within the residential zone were facilities for this purpose.

A training ground to prepare human soldiers and Assault Troops for Alvheim.

A distribution center to feed the hundreds of humans.

A great bathhouse for hygiene management.

The “Hall of Sprouts” to house and educate immature potential producers to be loyal to Alvheim.

The “Hall of Sowing” to bring together eligible producers for breeding.

The “Hall of Harvest” to house pregnant producers for ten months and keep newborns for three years before further evaluation.

All of these buildings existed to ensure a steady supply of humans.

Gender separation? Of course not. To the fairies, they were nothing more than livestock.

Infants from the Hall of Harvest with no magical affinity were sent to the World Tree to become materials for low-level spirits.

Defective products who failed to prove their worth by the age of seven were also sent to the World Tree to become fertilizer.

Producers who passed two qualification exams were either sent to the battlefield as arrow fodder for the Assault Troops or used as breeding stock to produce new offspring.

This was how the fairies of Alvheim utilized humans.

—-

To the fairies, who prided themselves on their “efficient and rational” use of humans, it seemed that the humans of Alvheim lived their lives without question or dissatisfaction.

In fact, they weren’t entirely wrong.

Most humans died before the age of eight, and those who survived lived their entire lives, up to the disposal age of forty, receiving loyalty education toward Alvheim.

For humans who knew nothing beyond their own lives, it was difficult to question or resent their circumstances.

Except for extremely rare exceptions.

“…Not yet.”

One such exception, Number 742, glared with hatred at the wooden fence that enclosed the internment camp like a prison.

At just twelve years old, he was already as tall as the men sent to the Hall of Sowing. With golden hair that seemed melted from gold and a strikingly handsome face despite his youth, he was a boy who even the fairies admitted looked decent for an inferior being.

Though his abilities were average, earning him comments like “what a waste of a good face,” such taunts were music to Number 742’s ears.

He knew that those who stood out too much attracted excessive attention.

The supervisor here, who clearly wasn’t popular among the fairies, seemed more interested in the girls’ appearances than the boys’ abilities… but it was better to be cautious.

Though the supervisor’s only interest was dragging two girls a day into his bedroom, ensuring no half-fairy offspring…

Even such trash would take notice if a twelve-year-old human boy displayed combat abilities on par with the fairy guards.

So, Number 742 hid his true abilities, revealing only average strength as he lived his life.

“…Someday.”

For his own future.

“742! What are you doing there? Distribution time is almost here!”

A bright, cheerful voice called from behind. Number 742 turned to look.

A girl, Number 2067, who had just walked out of the supervisor’s residence, waved at him with a smile.

“…It’s nothing.”

Number 742 slightly bowed his head, hiding his expression as he replied.

‘Why are they so different?’

It was something he couldn’t understand.

How they considered it their duty to endure a night with the ugly supervisor, how they rejoiced at the sweet snacks he handed out like charity, how they eagerly anticipated his summons.

‘How can they smile like that?’

Even the girl who had clung to him, making his heart race, had run to the supervisor’s bedroom with a bright smile when called.

When she returned around noon the next day and handed half of the snack she received to Number 742, who had been seriously contemplating how to assassinate the supervisor, her face was filled with nothing but joy.

The emotions Number 742 felt were endless emptiness and despair.

While he was filled with disgust toward the supervisor, helplessness toward himself, and a head-splitting mix of rage and hatred, the girl’s face showed not a trace of shadow, only the joy of sharing something sweet with her closest companion.

The humans here knew no sorrow. They harbored no anger. They did not despair over their circumstances.

They accepted all the injustices the fairies inflicted on them as natural and couldn’t even comprehend the concept of resistance.

For Number 742, who had established a firm sense of self by the age of five and realized that they were nothing more than livestock to the fairies, this was something he couldn’t understand.

‘How can they live like this? You see the same things I do.’

The fact that not a single one of his fellow humans questioned this life.

‘What’s the difference between those long-eared bastards and us, aside from living longer and being stronger? We’re born, we walk, we think, we speak, we cry, we laugh, we get angry. There’s no difference at all.’

The only differences between the fairies and humans were that they lived longer and were stronger. That was all.

So why, while those bastards lived peacefully in the vast Great Forest, enjoying so much, did we have to live in this cramped internment camp as tools for breeding “human resources,” with even our right to live in their hands?

To Number 742, it was a question so obvious it didn’t need to be asked.

But in the 4th Special Residential Zone, home to over a hundred humans, he was the only one who harbored such questions.

So, Number 742 had no choice but to suppress his anger.

If he voiced his frustrations to his fellow humans, who couldn’t even understand the injustice, and it reached the ears of the fairies, it was all too clear he would be labeled unqualified and disposed of.

So, he gave up on the nearly impossible task of enlightening his fellow humans and instead held onto a new hope.

‘…I won’t live as livestock for the fairies.’

The hope that he would grow stronger, evade the fairies’ notice, and one day escape this livestock pen, even if he had to do it alone.

Three years after that resolution, when Number 742 turned fifteen, the opportunity finally came.