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EU | Chapter 010: The 48th Human Prince
🕑 Added 2025-03-25 18:09:43 +0000 UTCPrevious Chapter | Table Of Contents | Next Chapter
“Argh!” The Ogre palmed his face, trying to smother the flames. However, the fire seeped through the gaps between his fingers and burned his flesh. The air reeked of burning skin. He uttered a tortured roar, the sound twisting with the disgusting sizzle of his flesh melting away.
—Thud!
The Ogre’s massive body crashed to the ground, his death clearing the path for a second latch to unlock. The metal doors swung open, and four Humans rushed out, each wielding a Flame Whip.
“Only seven left! Burn them all!” The Soldier in the lead shouted and lashed out with his Flame Whip—only for a boulder to slam into his head.
—Crack!
His skull split apart like a crushed melon. His lifeless body collapsed mid-charge.
Before his weapon could hit the ground, another soldier lunged forward, snatching the falling Flame Whip. Under his control, the Flame Whip transformed into a spear. He hurled it forward, aiming for an Ogre’s eye.
—Squelch!
The fiery spear impaled the creature’s socket, flames consuming his eye as the Ogre let out a guttural howl. But the fire burned out upon impact. Clicking his tongue, the Soldier swiftly retreated behind the armored carriage and bellowed: “Your Highness!”
A cold, amused voice rang out from within.
“Tell me, does it amuse you that I—your prince—am keeping you alive?”
The doors burst open. A young man, no older than twenty, emerged with a fiery mane of hair that gleamed under the night sky, casting a reddish-orange glow around him. He wore a fur-woven leather armor, dull yellow with blue embroidery, fitting snugly against his lean frame.
He was lean, his frame compact yet brimming with coiled strength. At 172 centimeters, he stood. A thin, lackluster goatee clung to his chin, fluttering slightly in the night breeze.
Then—whoosh!
Flames erupted from his legs, roaring to life as they churned with raw energy. He shot into the air with a burst of fiery propulsion, soaring twenty meters above the battlefield.
With an exasperated expression, he scanned the seven Ogres glaring at him, their eyes burning with hostility—one clutching its charred, ruined eye.
‘Tch. I knew that conch sound wouldn’t just be a noise. It was a signal. These brutes were already lying in wait.’
‘So, the Ogres are making a move for T’Hara Forest. Bold. Stupid, but bold.’
His gaze snapped to the wounded Ogre, a smirk curling at his lips.
“Look at you—clutching your face like a wounded pup. Pathetic.”
His voice cut through the air, laced with mockery and authority.
“Kneel. Submit to the will of Humanity, and perhaps I’ll grant you the mercy of a quick death.”
“Arrogant Human! I’ll pummel your head into paste!”
With one eye burned and useless, the Ogre snarled and slapped the rock where the metal carriage crashed. The rock swiftly reshaped and turned a portion into a Stone Spear. He poised the spear toward the Human in the sky, and hurled the spear skyward with terrifying force.
—Whoosh!
“Whoa!”
The young man in the sky moved his shoulder, letting the Stone Spear miss its mark. A flame thrust appeared on his back, turning his figure into a fiery blur. In a series of motions, the Ogres jabbed from different angles, forcing the young man to change direction midair as he swerved through the seven Ogres, forming a helical fire pattern.
“Slow! Too slow!” He sneered as a Flame Whip lashed out, coiling around the nearest Ogre’s thick neck and burnt through it. The Ogre roared and retaliated, but the young man darted like a fly while his Flame Whip remained coiled around its neck.
A few moments later, the Ogre’s head fell to the ground, burnt at the neck.
There was a long-standing custom among humans: the children of Level 3 Humans were treated as royalty, addressed as Princes or Princesses, and numbered according to their birth order.
These individuals were more likely to reach Level 2, a milestone that granted them the strength and abilities to carve their own path in the world.
The one battling the Ogres had already reached Level 2, making him far more formidable than an ordinary Human. While physically weaker than the massive creatures, his agility, fire mastery, and hit-and-run tactics allowed him to stand his ground—even against a group of them.
The forest had turned dark, its silence stretching beneath the vast night sky.
Then—FWOOOSH!
A cone of fire erupted, engulfing the Ogres in an instant. Their roars of defiance turned into agonized shrieks as the flames devoured flesh and bone, leaving behind nothing but charred remains. Moments later, the battlefield again turned dark, with only faint embers scattered across the ground, pulsing with weak heat and light.
Seconds later—
A blazing streak cut through the night. The young man reappeared at another location, trailing fire as he blasted flames like a roaring flamethrower. With a shift of his feet, the thrust beneath him angled in a new direction, effortlessly altering his flight path.
—Whoosh! Crack! Boom!
Rock Spears tore through the air, narrowly missing their mark. A massive Rock Hammer crashed toward him, only for him to twist aside at the last second.
Then—CRACK!
An Ogre, crafting a path to him, had formed a set of Stone Stairs in seconds. With a thunderous lunge, it sprang forward, trying to grab him in midair.
But he was already gone.
[Spell: Torch]
Among Level 2 Humans, it was one of the most commonly used spells. Upon activation, a burst of fire would erupt wide-spread, making it easy to control and highly effective. While not the most powerful spell, its consistent burn and low energy cost made it a staple in battle.
With their rigid bodies and stone defenses, the Ogres could withstand the flames longer than most creatures. By shielding themselves with rocks, they delayed the inevitable—but only for a time.
These were all Level 1 Ogres. They could not create stone and had exhausted most of their supplies, turning them into the stone spears they had hurled at the man. Their fate was sealed, with nowhere to run and nothing to defend themselves.
The last remaining Ogre staggered, his body charred to the limit, skin blackened and cracking from the heat. He collapsed to his knees, coughing out a final, hate-filled breath.
“You… will pay, damn Human…”
His smoldering eyes glared at the young man, filled with fury even in death. “My brethren will slaughter…”
—Thud!
Its massive body fell forward, motionless.
The young man exhaled, unimpressed. “I keep hearing that,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Yet, here I stand.”
Without hesitation, he raised his palm, engulfing the corpse in a roaring inferno.
“The will of Humanity reigns supreme! Surrender, or be reduced to nothing.”
He was the 48th Prince of the Human Race, Pronto.
His fiery gaze swept the battlefield before he scowled in disgust.
“Tch. That was the last of them.” He dusted off his hands, his voice laced with contempt. Then, without turning, he barked out an order:
“Damn, cowards! Get out here.”
The response was instant.
“Y-Yes, Your Highness!”
Five soldiers scrambled out of their hiding spots, their faces flushed with embarrassment.
“Two of our comrades are dead.”
Pronto’s voice was flat, unmoved. He gestured toward the bodies, his gaze sharp.
“Burn them. Seal their ashes. Then clear the rubble. I don’t have time for delays.”
“Yes, Your Highness!”
The soldiers snapped into action and immediately collected the IDs of their fallen comrades before setting their bodies aflame. Their ashes were then sealed in earthen jars, following which the soldiers began to clear the collapsed rubble from the metal carriage, conducting repairs so that it could start moving as soon as possible.
Meanwhile, Pronto landed on the carriage’s rooftop and slipped through the open latch, his movements fluid. His eyes narrowed at seeing an older man slumped at the rear, snoring softly.
His lips curled.
—Thud!
Pronto’s boot struck the old man’s side, jolting him awake.
“I was out there fighting, and you were sleeping?”
The old man gasped, his body jerking upright.
“Ah—! Your Highness!” He scrambled into a stiff salute, his breath ragged.
Pronto scoffed. “Forget it.” His expression twisted with disdain. “Just be ready. We’re moving soon.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
The old man—a Level 2 Human, but too weak to fight—gritted his teeth and moved toward the rear of the carriage, where the flame-powered propulsion system awaited his control. His deep eyebags and sluggish movements betrayed exhaustion, but Pronto paid it no mind.
Then—
“Your Highness!”.
A soldier burst into the carriage, saluting sharply.
“The damage is extensive. The carriage won’t survive the journey.”
Pronto’s eyes flickered. “How long will repairs take?”
When he was met with silence, he frowned, “You can’t?”
—Crack!
The Soldier stumbled back, reeling from Pronto’s swift kick.
“Incompetent bastards. If you can’t fix it, I’ll find someone who can.”
The old man rubbed his side, suppressing a sigh. “The Elven Prison, Your Highness.”
Pronto’s eyes narrowed.
“There’s a Dwarf imprisoned there,” the old man continued. “He can repair the carriage.” Then, with a grin that didn’t quite reach his tired eyes, he added, “Besides… even the Ogres chasing us wouldn’t dare set foot near the prison. His Lordship is stationed there.”
Pronto exhaled. “Yeah…” His fingers clenched at his side. Elven Prison’s Warden intimidated him more than any adversaries he had met on this journey. "The Warden will offer protection until we’re ready to move."
The soldiers worked quickly, clearing the rubble, and soon, the metal carriage lurched forward, its battered frame groaning under the strain.
—Clang! Clatter!
The wheels began rolling unevenly. The carriage's axle was bent, the front dented, and the side bore deep scars from the battle, but there was no time for repairs.
At the rear, the Spell of Fire Thrust flared at full intensity, pushing the crippled vehicle forward. Even at maximum output, it could barely scrape together a top speed of 14 kilometers per hour—far from ideal, but the only option.
⊱⨷⟐⨳⩥⚔⩤⨳⟐⨷⊰
Twenty minutes later—
Over a hundred Ogres stormed onto the battlefield, their thundering steps sending ripples through the earth. At their head, five towering figures loomed—Level 2 Ogres. The largest one was the leader of the group, covered in scars and battle marks. He stared at the charred corpses of his brethren and roared in anger, “The Humans will pay!”
“These burns are fresh… fifteen, maybe twenty minutes ago," another Ogre, his deputy, muttered. His stone-plated face twisted in a scowl. "The Humans can't be far."
The leader’s rocky gaze snapped toward the horizon.
"Then we give chase!" he roared.
...
Gangnea Daily Article #10:
The Human Race has over 100 Princes and Princesses in every generation. When one becomes the Human King, the rest lose their Princely status.
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