Ch.795Side Story) Number 742 (1)

Tracing back the flow of time through three hundred thousand sunrises and sunsets.

In an era when beast kings raced across plains hunting descendants of giants, when fierce dragons and mechanical airships spewed fire and lightning in the skies, and when the domain of the divine tree, standing tall like a pillar supporting the world, covered a third of the continent.

In a small breeding facility at the edge of the great forest of Alvheim, the mighty empire of fairies who boasted overwhelming power thanks to their average lifespan exceeding a thousand years.

There was a boy.

—-

“Number 742, Number 756, you pass. Head to the left door.”

Could this be how one looks down at pigs in a slaughterhouse?

In the eyes of the expressionless fairy administrator looking down at him, there dwelled the contempt and arrogance unique to those who regard others as inferior beings.

“Thank you.”

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

There was no point in returning a challenging gaze, as that would only get him labeled as unqualified and sent through the “right door.”

This was the second aptitude screening for seven-year-old boys and girls sent from breeding facilities across Alvheim.

Children who proved themselves worthy as human resources for Alvheim would be granted the status of producers and qualification to enter the “special residential zone,” but those deemed unqualified and sent through the right door…

‘They said they would send them back where they came from, didn’t they?’

Number 742 glanced at the children who were excited about returning home, actually preferring to be judged unqualified, and he squeezed his eyes shut to hide his contorting expression.

‘…What a disgusting lie.’

Just by the fact that there were no humans over eight years old in the breeding facility where he had lived, he could guess the future of children deemed unqualified.

In reality, those judged unqualified would be headed not to the facilities that raised them, but to the roots of that cursed tree clearly visible when turning one’s head westward.

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

The future of humans branded as unqualified was only to be buried under the roots of the World Tree, becoming nutrients for the tree as they met their death.

Of course, the future of children recognized as producers wasn’t much more hopeful either.

—-

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

“The duty of a producer is—”

“By producing five or more producers or volunteering for the assault unit and serving for more than ten years, your contributions will be recognized and you will qualify as an honorary Alvheim citizen—”

Ignoring the administrator’s speech delivered in a rather forceful tone from the platform, Number 742 looked around from the corner of his eye.

The 4th Special Residential Zone, a small containment area with six wooden buildings inside a space surrounded by a palisade.

This was Number 742’s new home.

—-

The Special Residential Zone was the only space where humans in Alvheim could be guaranteed a lifespan of more than 8 years.

It was a containment facility to educate children who had proven their qualities as producers until they reached the appropriate age, nurturing them to contribute to Alvheim as producers.

It was a privileged zone that could only be entered by those who had survived the first aptitude screening process at age 3, spent 4 years in a “breeding facility,” and had their qualifications recognized.

So what exactly is a producer? What qualities make one eligible to become a producer?

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

Tall stature, excellent physique, high mana affinity, outstanding appearance, superior intelligence, robust health free of minor illnesses, and an obedient personality.

One didn’t need to meet all these conditions, but humans in Alvheim needed to satisfy at least two or three of these conditions to live as producers instead of becoming nutrients for the World Tree.

By this point, one can guess what exactly these producers are meant to produce.

Yes, the Special Residential Zone was a human resource cultivation facility designed to cross-breed children with superior qualities to produce new humans.

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

A training ground for volunteers for Alvheim’s human infantry, the assault unit.

A distribution center to feed hundreds of humans.

A large bathhouse for hygiene management.

The “Hall of Sprouts” to accommodate immature prospective producers and educate them to be loyal to Alvheim.

The “Hall of Sowing” to gather producers who had reached childbearing age for breeding.

And the “Hall of Harvest” to accommodate pregnant women for 10 months and store the produced fetuses for 3 years.

All these buildings were for the smooth supply of humans.

Gender distinction? How could there be such a thing? To the fairies, they were all just livestock, nothing more.

Among the three-year-old infants produced from the Hall of Harvest, those with zero mana affinity were sent to the World Tree as materials for lesser spirits.

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

Afterward, producers who passed two qualification tests were either sent to the battlefield as arrow fodder under the name of assault unit or used as studs and wombs to produce new fetuses.

This was how the fairies of Alvheim utilized humans.

—-

The fairies, who prided themselves on their “human utilization method” as truly rational and efficient, seemed to feel that the humans of Alvheim lived satisfied lives without any questions or complaints about their existence.

In fact, this wasn’t entirely wrong.

Most humans lost their lives before the age of eight, and even those who survived received lifelong loyalty education toward Alvheim until they reached forty, the age of disposal.

It wasn’t easy for humans who knew nothing beyond their own lives to question or be dissatisfied with their circumstances.

With extremely rare exceptions.

‘…Not yet.’

One of those exceptions. Number 742 glared with hatred at the palisade surrounding the containment area like a prison.

Despite being only twelve years old, he had grown as tall as the boys sent to the “Hall of Sowing.” With golden hair like melted gold and a handsome face despite his youth.

Even to the fairies, he was a child who, despite being an inferior species, was considered quite good-looking.

Unlike his appearance, his abilities were utterly ordinary, so he was often told his face was wasted on him… but for Number 742, such mockery was actually welcome.

Because Number 742 knew that exceptionally superior individuals always attract too much attention.

The administrator here, probably unpopular among fairies due to his obviously unattractive face, was more interested in the girls’ appearances than the boys’ abilities… but it never hurts to be careful.

Although the administrator’s only interest was selecting girls who wouldn’t produce half-fairies and dragging two of them to his bedroom each day…

Even such trash would inevitably show interest if a twelve-year-old human boy demonstrated combat abilities equal to those of the fairy guards in the containment area.

That’s why Number 742 was living while hiding his abilities and showing only average capabilities.

‘…Someday.’

For his own future.

“742! What are you doing there? It’s almost distribution time, isn’t it?”

A bright and energetic voice came from behind him. Number 742 turned his head to look back.

Number 2067, a girl who had just walked out of the administrator’s quarters, was smiling and waving at him.

“…It’s nothing.”

Number 742 answered, slightly lowering his head to hide his expression.

‘Why are they so different?’

It was something he could never understand.

His fellow humans who considered it a natural duty to be tormented all night by the ugly administrator, who rejoiced at the sweet snacks he handed out as if doing them a favor, who even competed with each other hoping to be called by the administrator.

‘How can they smile?’

Even his peer who had stuck close to him and made his heart flutter, who had made him consider giving up everything and living a life satisfied with what was given, hadn’t she run to the administrator’s chamber with a bright smile when called?

When the girl returned around noon the next day and cheerfully smiled at Number 742, who was seriously contemplating ways to ambush and kill the administrator, offering him half of the snacks she had received.

What Number 742 felt at that moment was endless emptiness and despair.

Unlike Number 742, whose head felt like it would explode with disgust toward the administrator, powerlessness toward himself, resentment and hatred, the girl’s face showed not a trace of shadow, only the joy of sharing something sweet with her closest peer.

The humans here do not know sadness. They do not harbor anger. They do not despair at their circumstances.

They consider all these injustices inflicted upon them by the fairies as natural, and they don’t even understand the concept of resistance.

For Number 742, who had established a firm sense of self by the age of 5 and realized with anger that they were no different from fairy livestock, this was utterly incomprehensible.

‘How can you be like that? You’re seeing the same things I am.’

The fact that none of his kind questioned this life.

‘Apart from their long ears, longevity, and strength, how are those pointy-eared bastards different from us? They’re born, they walk, think, speak, cry, laugh, get angry. There’s no difference at all.’

The only differences between the fairies and their humans were longevity and strength. Just that.

Why, while those bastards live peacefully and enjoy many things in that vast forest, must we live as tools to produce “human resources” in this narrow containment facility, with even our right to live entrusted to their hands?

A question that seemed so obvious to Number 742.

However, in this 4th Special Residential Zone where hundreds of humans gathered, he was the only one harboring such doubts.

That’s why Number 742 had no choice but to swallow his resentment.

If he were to express his grievances to his fellow humans who couldn’t even understand injustice as injustice, and if those stories were to reach the ears of the fairies, it was all too clear that he would be disposed of as unqualified.

Therefore, he abandoned the virtually impossible task of persuading and enlightening his fellow humans and embraced a new aspiration.

‘…I will not live as fairy livestock.’

To build his strength away from fairy eyes, and when the opportunity comes, to escape this livestock pen alone if necessary.

Three years after that resolution.

When Number 742 reached fifteen, the opportunity finally arrived.