The Greeting Sapling (1)

The elves took up shovels and made their way through the forest.

"Is this the spot?"

—Yep.

"How does it look?"

One elf wandered back and forth, holding up a bent iron rod. Naturally, the iron rod showed no reaction whatsoever.

"It's not moving, but..."

Should you really be trusting that thing?

"Why are we even checking something like that? Everyone, hurry and start digging."

Teacher waved his hand on. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, merely watching while everyone else readied their shovels, but it was at least the right thing to say.

—You'll need to dig deep, but nowhere near mine-shaft depth. Think open-pit mine.

"Understood. Let's get to work, everyone."

With the village chief Eldrin at their head, the elves broke ground. Holes opened up and mounds of soil came flying out.

"Huh?"

After a while, the elves froze. As they dug, a tree root had surfaced.

—Oh, sorry. I'll clear it right away.

The root slid smoothly away, vanishing into the far reaches of the earth.

The elves stared blankly at the place where it had been.

How embarrassing. I should've cleared it out in advance.

"Isn't this trespassing on the Tree's roots?"

asked Thermia, who had stepped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠back to watch.

—Well, technically, yes.

Come to think of it, it did bother me a little.

It wasn't as if clearing away a few roots cost me any meaningful amount of nutrients. It was simply the feeling of having my own yard dug up.

The lush green forest and grassland had been lovely to look at, and now they were mounds of dirt. It stung a little, honestly.

But asking them to accommodate my personal aesthetic felt like a bridge too far.

—Don't worry about it at all. Once the iron ore is mined and the people leave, the forest will come back.

Grass ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and moss reclaiming an abandoned mine had a beauty all its own, after all.

—That said, I would prefer it if you left the surface landscape untouched as much as possible. But that's just my wish—if it's too much trouble, do whatever's easiest. Really.

Thermia's face lit with sudden understanding.

"You do mind!"

W-well, yes.

I'd tried to hide it, but I'd been caught.

Truthfully, if a mine suddenly ruined the harmony in the middle of a beautifully green forest, it would just feel off.

The elves' expressions turned grave. The village chief in particular sank into deep thought, as if he'd stumbled upon an intractable problem.

"Then an open-pit mine is out, and we must dig a vertical shaft."

—Is there really that big a difference?

"I've only ever seen them myself, so I can't say for certain, but an open-pit mine strips away the soil across a broad area and then quarries the exposed rock in terraced steps, which requires no specialized technique. A vertical mine, on the other hand, means descending into a pit and digging horizontally underground—which would call for the help of professional miners."

Did I just place an incredibly difficult order?

—Then don't go out of your way for my sake. People are part of the natural scenery too. Watching an open-pit mine change with the seasons might actually be pleasant.

Teacher's equally grave expression brightened at once.

"Then, with the Tree's blessing, we'll proceed with the open-pit approach—"

—Though the method of stripping away all the topsoil and exposing gray rock across a wide swath of land... yeah, that would definitely look pretty bad.

Teacher opened and closed his mouth, at a loss for words.

Thermia cried out in realization.

"You mind a lot!"

Do I?

—Really, don't mind me.

The long-struggling village chief Eldrin gave a solemn nod.

"We will go with a vertical mine. After all, the open-pit method, simple as it is, demands a great deal of manpower—not a good fit for a village like ours, which needs iron ore only for its own use and a bit of trade. A vertical mine that a small team of specialists can work bit by bit suits us far better."

—Whoa, is that how it works?

"...Yes."

Whoa, what a relief.

—Honestly, it was bothering me a lot.

Relief loosened my tongue, and my true feelings came pouring out.

—To be perfectly honest, I've even wondered whether the fields might be better off as orchards. When you harvest from a field, it turns into somewhat barren dirt, but an orchard keeps trees standing all year round. That feels more natural to me. Better.

An orchard gives animals a place to live through all four seasons, after all.

The elves' faces went white with shock. Their eyes darted this way and that before settling on the village chief, then Teacher, then Thermia.

—Of course, that would mean everyone living on nothing but fruit, so it's not realistic.

Sensing the eyes on her, Thermia put on a look of grave responsibility. She nodded to the other elves, thrust one hand high into the air, and declared:

"I think we should all live on fruit and nothing else! That much, we can certai—"

"HAHAHA!"

Teacher lunged and clapped a hand over Thermia's mouth. She flailed in alarm, his palm sealing her lips tight.

"As the Tree itself says, that would indeed be unrealistic. I suggest we prioritize orchards going forward while keeping the current fields as fields."

—An excellent idea.

How wonderful it would be to look out over countless orchards.

The backyard of Velesa's house.

The Water Drop Girl rose into the air and leveled a blade of solidified mana.

"Must I be the one to face it? Very well then—come, let us see what it can do."

The Crown Prince lunged and brought his sword down.

The tiny water girl giggled and swung her blade to meet his. His sword went flying, and the small figure shot upward, kicking him squarely in the forehead.

"Ngh!"

"Tsk, tsk."

Velesa clicked her tongue from her seat on the sidelines.

"Goodness. Is that all you've got?"

"Forget Bang-ul-i, fight me next! With how terrible you are, I might actually win?"

Thermia stepped forward, drawing her sword.

Regrettably, the Crown Prince won, and the match ended.

"Ow."

"Haha! Where do you think you're aiming? I may not look it, but I was called a prodigy in my youth."

The Crown Prince preened triumphantly.

"Tsk, tsk."

Velesa clicked her tongue again.

"Goodness. So winning is fun for you?"

"Hmph, hmph."

Embarrassed now, the Crown Prince glanced about for no particular reason—until his eyes landed on my bow.

"So, they say you're digging a mine?"

—Yep. With no mining engineers in the village, I'd guess it'll be summer before we can even try.

"The village chief says that if it will take time regardless, it would be better to spend that time searching for engineers you can trust. He worries that outsiders might steal the ore, or gather a crowd and seize the mine outright."

With no one in the village who knew the trade, a scheming outside expert would be hard to stop. Even though I could watch everything, imagine how much time would be wasted if we brought someone in, discovered them to be greedy, drove them out, and had to search all over again.

"That, I believe I can help with."

Hm?

"Bring me paper and ink for a letter."

His guard hurriedly fetched the materials. The Crown ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Prince scribbled a note on the spot, drew a family seal from his pouch, pressed it down firmly, and handed the letter to Thermia.

"Read nothing. Simply send it to the Lord's Castle."

"What is it?"

"A letter to an acquaintance at the Lord's Castle. Trustworthy, capable mining engineers will be sent—hire those people."

Royalty really is a convenient thing.

Thermia's eyes went round.

"Mister Terrible, are you a noble?"

"Would that be possible? Mine is a family of merchants—we simply know people here and there."

"Then what's the seal you pulled out of your pouch? Isn't that a noble's thing?"

The Crown Prince's words began to falter.

"...Our family prizes honor, so we had a seal made in the manner of noble houses."

"Then what's with that weird way of talking? Are you copying nobles with that too?"

The Crown Prince fell silent.

"Tsk, tsk."

Velesa clicked her tongue.

"Goodness. You can't even manage a lie?"

"...Hmph, hmph. I have no idea what you are all going on about. Training is finished for the day, so away with you all."

The Crown Prince fled in a huff. The water girl zipped after him.

Thermia and Velesa watched his retreating back with knowing looks.

"Sis, that man really isn't a merchant, is he? Having lots of money doesn't make someone a merchant. The way he talks alone is suspicious."

"So that's why his personality was so rotten."

I think the Crown Prince could stand to work on his acting. Though asking royalty to convincingly play a commoner is a tall order.

Thermia turned toward my bow.

"Tree, do you know who that Mister Terrible really is?"

How to put it.

—He's not a commoner.

"I knew it! A fallen noble, exactly as I thought. A noble with his house still intact would never spend time this casually with the likes of us—no, this is the classic picture of a fallen noble mingling with commoners as they do. Though I've never actually seen one myself."

Whoa? Isn't that surprisingly a rather high moral assessment?

"Sis, why not just keep trampling him ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for good? Marry a fallen noble and you get in-laws who are nobles but a life lived like a commoner's. What a waste of you, honestly."

The pragmatic advice gave Velesa a moment's pause. Then she said, breezily:

"His face is my type, so it's fine."

Whoa. Just how much of her type could he possibly be?

Spring passed.

My soul had grown, and my field of vision widened along with it.

Beyond the back of Velesa's house, rows of homes and buildings came into view, the whole village unfolding before my sight. I could see children at play, and adults slumped over in sheer exhaustion. And drifting lazily among them strolled Velesa and the Crown Prince, out on their date.

Their faces glowed with perfect domestic bliss. No one would ever guess that this romance began with a woman slapping a man across the face. Love really must come down to looks, in the end.

Offering up a sigh that was not quite admiration, I turned my gaze toward the forest. There stood the vertical mine, completed before I knew it.

Once the Crown Prince's letter reached the Lord's Castle, the funding—specialized personnel and development grants alike—came pouring in, and the mine went up in no time at all.

Peering into the tunnels below, I watched professional miners direct both humans and elves as they extracted iron ore. It was not a job of simply swinging a pickaxe. They had to build fires to heat the rock until it glowed, then douse it with water to crack it—only after such preparations could human muscle do the rest.

Lighting fires underground meant everything from venting the smoke to sourcing water demanded constant care. Humans really are remarkable. They find a way to accomplish the impossible, leaving vivid marks upon nature itself.

Perhaps a small mark that would vanish once tens of millions of years—no more than an instant from nature's perspective—had flowed past. And yet it was a definite achievement that no other living thing could claim.

Was there some way I could cheer them on and help?

As the village chief had worried at the meeting, a village that could survive only by depending on me would be bad for both of us. But I wanted to give them something—not that dependent, yet something that genuinely helped.

Then my eye caught on the gaseous mana drifting through the air.

It flowed in and out of the miners' bodies with every breath, over and over—a freedom of movement far beyond anything I'd felt in liquid or solid mana. If I could imbue an arrow with intent, couldn't I imbue mana with it too?

It wasn't as if I'd never tried. When I imbued solid mana with intent, I could create near-perfect replicas of objects I willed. The results were still mere quasi-matter—far harder than I'd expected—but enormously useful. I'd even treated migrants like the Thief Trio to fruit with it. Making quasi-plates and quasi-knives out of thin air left them utterly astonished.

This time, let me try intent in gaseous mana. Gas was free-flowing; it should be easier.

I focused my mind and scattered intent across the gaseous mana throughout my domain.

To those who breathe in: stamina that never tires.

To those who breathe out: the happiness of exhaling fatigue away.

Mighty intent poured through the entire domain. A miner who had been coughing dryly drew a deep, easy breath. Strength flowed into the swing of his pickaxe, and one by one, puzzled expressions spread among the workers.

"Huh? Muscle aches? Where?"

"What, you too?"

Yippee, I think it's working!

Then the professional miner himself tried a few swings, and his face went dead serious.

"What's wrong with my body? There's no way the fatigue would actually be gone—so my nerves must be numbing! That means—"

Eyes wide with horror, the realization struck him.

"Someone must have burned something in the vents! Some kind of drug?! Are human lives a joke to you?! Everyone out, NOW! We die if we stay!"

"WHAT?! Which bastard did it?!"

Powered by their overflowing stamina, the miners charged off to hunt down the culprit.

W-waaaait—

...Maybe that went a little too well.

Then a message appeared before me.

Waaaait—?!