The Sapling Under Care (5)

I fixed my gaze on the boulder in the forest.

I moved the gaseous mana with fine precision. The mana enveloped the boulder, and as I pulled upward, the stone rose into the air while clods of dirt and debris rained down from it.

Yoo-hoo. It's telekinesis.

My operational range covered my entire Influence Radius.

Well, an Influence Radius is an Influence Radius, I suppose.

The problem was that using telekinesis on demand required mana to be dispersed throughout the entire atmosphere, which made my total mana reserves feel glaringly inadequate. Then again, it accumulated even while I slept, so there was no need to be impatient about it.

I touched the blades of grass within view and gave a gentle tap to my neighbor's still-blooming pink flowers. I couldn't feel any fine-grained texture, but it was close enough to the real thing.

Yoo-hoo. It really is telekinesis.

When I condensed the gaseous mana into a solid, a clay tablet formed out of thin air. Thanks to all the know-how I'd built up in mana crafting, it was a clay tablet that almost perfectly mimicked the color and appearance of the real thing.

I shaped a pointed wooden stick as well and tried writing letters on the tablet. The characters came out awkward, the way primitive humans ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠must have scrawled their first words.

Wow, look at me—a clever little sapling who can even write.

It was an extremely clumsy sensation, though, so I'd have to set aside time to practice my writing.

The purge of the slave traders around the village proceeded smoothly.

The slave traders weren't bold enough to roam the rebel territory with large companies of mercenaries at their backs; instead, each group fended for itself in small bands, snatching up elves wherever they could. That made them remarkably easy to pick off one by one.

The former mercenary of great renown, Eldrin, needed only a glance at the map to identify hideout after hideout, and as he swept through them with ruthless efficiency, the entire surrounding region was soon clean.

"We let some of them live and flee, so word will gradually spread. From here on, we widen the scope and focus on the main roads. By the end of summer, the slave traders should be gone from this area entirely."

Even though we win every single engagement, wiping them all out takes longer than I expected.

"With a regular army, a single large battle decides everything. But in this case, each trader has to be made to withdraw on his own accord once the rumors reach him, so there's no avoiding a certain half-measured quality to it. And if the rumors get twisted along the way, the purge can drag on for a long time."

Now I understood why Eldrin said this wasn't a matter a village chief should decide alone.

Around that time, Thermia and the elves returned from the walled city.

Several carts were piled high with daily necessities, farming tools, and weapons. The crop seeds, expensive ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as they'd been, took up so little space that they were barely noticeable among the cargo.

The original plan had been to buy weapons only in proportion to the village's recent growth in numbers. But with the slave trader purge suddenly demanding arms here and there, they had squeezed out cash and secured extra. Thanks to Teacher negotiating with the guard captain and acquiring the garrison's aging equipment, the cost had come in cheaper than expected. Old as the weapons were, that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was only by the standards of a regular army—by any rural village's measure, they were superb quality.

"Actually, the most important thing is this."

Thermia pointed at a box of soap. It was premium soap, the kind that fetched a considerable price.

"We elves, whose calling is the hunt, squeeze animal fat and make our own rough soap at home. But soap like this—the kind nobles use every day—is genuinely rare."

A single bar of the luxury soap was drawn out with careful reverence.

"You remember how we washed ourselves in the river in the dead of winter before we came to pay our respects to the Sacred Tree? That was the whole point—presenting ourselves as beings worth meeting even after enduring such bitter cold."

Yes, it worked wonders. Everyone dropped to their knees.

"······That was the river's doing, not the ritual."

Thermia shot back a quiet rebuttal before continuing.

"In any case, we can hardly impose an initiation rite like a midwinter river bath now. So this time, we'll have them meet you after cleansing themselves with luxury soap. As if they were off to an audience with a noble or royalty. That is how venerable a being the Sacred Tree is, after all~."

Is that so?

I'll give the matter some thought. I've picked up all sorts of little tricks lately, you see.

"Little tricks?"

Yes. This and that.

Thermia burned with curiosity, but she didn't press the matter. Instead, she went to see Eldrin and heard his report on the rescued slaves and the elves who had migrated in recently.

"They're all gathered in temporary quarters. Once the initiation rite is done, we intend to formally accept them as members of the village. When can you begin? The sooner, the easier it'll be to manage the village's food stores."

"When would it suit you, Lord Tree?"

I don't mind starting right away. Are you sure you're not worn out from the journey, though?

"I'm quite alright. Then tomorrow—no, too soon? Let's say two days from now. Chief, please make the preparations."

"So be it."

Unlike my own unhurried composure, the village's spring schedule was evidently pressing, and the discussion moved forward at speed.

"Based on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠what I experienced last time, I don't think you need to meet them all at once, like before. That... communion? Is that the word?"

Yes, communion.

"Right, that. It seems better to focus it on a small group and bring them to their knees with full force."

I don't see any particular need to force them to their knees. Wouldn't it be nicer to speak calmly and share our honest hearts with one another? Like we usually do.

That was how I'd talked with the Crown Prince, after all.

"No. You're wrong on this one, Lord Tree."

Thermia, unusually, was dead serious.

"You must bring them to their knees. Only when those people have gone through what every villager here has gone through will they truly become villagers."

She had a point, actually.

Very well. Then I'll pour my strength into it.

There was one thing nearly every elf could agree on.

The notion that an impoverished elf turns bandit and takes up robbery was, without question, a prejudiced slander spread by humans.

Sure, their birthright was the hunt and the bow. Sure, living mostly at the edges of villages made them adept at lurking in the mountains. And sure, a body nimbler than any human's was perfect for fleeing the scene of a crime. But honestly—where in this world would you find an elf who actually committed robbery? Cruel, blood-spattered work like that? No elf would stoop to it. Human prejudice was excessive to the point of absurdity.

Take the three of them, for instance. Their livelihood wasn't robbery—it was theft, plain and simple.

The trio of thieves set out once more, this time to commit theft.

Their target was a certain elf village said to be actively accepting migrants. It had supposedly received support from the Lord's Castle, which meant the village storehouses would be well stocked—and that meant slipping in as migrants, sweeping the place clean, and slipping back out. There was no sweeter deal to be had.

Granted, they'd been grabbed by slave traders on the way and put through hell before the village's self-defense force rescued them and took them in. Which, come to think of it, might actually work in their favor. Who would ever suspect a migrant they'd saved of robbing the village storehouse?

It pained the heart a little, robbing fellow elves scraping by in a human's world—but that was life, wasn't it? They were elves too, so there was no shame in elves making good use of elves.

"Once you've washed up, come right out. And dress as neatly as you can."

A girl in pure white robes, escorted by the self-defense force, pointed toward a building.

It was an odd, gleaming-white structure standing utterly alone in the middle of the forest, on the path they were told led to the so-called Sacred Tree.

When the three stepped inside, they were greeted by an interior filled with steaming hot spring water. A warmth that melted the raw chill of early spring in a single breath.

The eldest of the three stood there, dumbfounded.

"Why in the world is there a hot spring out here?"

He'd heard of hot springs his whole life but never once laid eyes on one. He'd certainly never expected to find one here—as if nature itself had arranged for them to meet the Sacred Tree in perfect cleanliness on a bitter winter's day.

"Whew, this is bliss."

The three stripped and lowered themselves into the water. A conversation began, whispered very softly.

"Maybe the tree really is sacred? There's a whole hot spring sitting right in front of it telling us to bathe first. No volcano, no mana stone mine anywhere near, and yet here it is. Honestly uncanny."

"Oh, come off it. Sacred, my foot."

The eldest chided them.

The colossal tree they'd glimpsed on the way here was certainly imposing. But there was no way it was actually a talking tree, not like in the rumors. People probably worshipped the thing just because it was enormous, and this village had simply picked up some musty old tradition along the way.

Instead, the eldest gathered his younger companions and issued a warning.

"I've been watching, and everyone here uses honorifics when speaking of the tree. The villagers' minds are not right, I tell you. Listen—if we go in there and some stranger forces a weird mushroom or a fistful of strange weeds on us to eat, we run. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Yes, yes, we know."

"Our job is to get accepted as migrants, do the village work we're told to do, and once the suspicion fades, raid the storehouse and vanish. Not stand around gawking at a hot spring."

"Should we take this, then?"

One of the younger ones held up the luxury soap. A prize of remarkable value for its size.

"Should we······?"

"Idiot. You think they don't count every bar? The moment we leave, they'll check."

"Fair point. Put it down. We'll aim for bigger game."

They washed, dressed in their neatest clothes, and stepped out.

The girl in white led the way.

"Follow me. The Tree does not care for commotion, so I ask that you remain quiet."

The three followed her in silence.

The enormous tree gradually filled their vision—a vast expanse of green that looked down upon the forest alone and pointed to the sky alone.

A magnificent tree just to behold. Had he been born in this village, he might well have called it the Sacred Tree and worshipped it himself.

They arrived at an open clearing of grass. The sight of the girl in pure white walking ahead against the backdrop of a tree that had no business existing in this world was a strange, mystical experience.

"O Tree, I have brought them."

So the girl spoke, gazing up at the great tree for a long moment before turning back to the three.

"The Tree wishes to speak with you. Please, be seated."

The three, who had been staring blankly, froze. There was not a single chair anywhere in the grassy clearing.

Sit... where, exactly?

Suddenly, the ground stirred.

From the earth rose chairs and a table of solid stone. A breeze swept across them, dusting the dirt away of its own accord, and leaves came drifting down to settle one by one upon the table as if to say, sit here.

The three stood with their mouths hanging open.

The girl gestured silently to their seats.

Once they had sat, the guiding leaves fluttered away on their own and vanished into the distance. Then the girl bowed her head quietly toward the tree, as if receiving some instruction, and walked backward out of the clearing.

Only the three of them remained.

Suddenly, a small light flickered in the empty air.

Forms gathered within the light, weaving themselves into a tablecloth. It flew of its own accord to drape the table, and in its wake, plates, knives, and forks materialized out of thin air, arranging themselves at each place setting.

The lips of all three trembled uncontrollably.

Then the ground nearby quivered, gently.

A sprout pushed up, a stem climbed skyward, and it grew into a sapling, then a young tree, unfurling lush green leaves. Between the leaves, red fruit swelled into being, flaunting its fresh ripeness.

The fruit dropped of its own accord and flew to the plates, where it rotated in midair to shed its skin and split itself apart, arranging itself neatly for eating.

The three trembled so violently they could scarcely breathe.

Only when every last preparation of welcome was complete did the words descend from the sky.

An overwhelming communion swept over their frail souls.

Ah······.

There was no way they could not repent.