The Sapling's Retribution (1)
The Water Drop Girl had sculpted a water spirit.
She conjured a single tiny droplet, set it gently on the head of the Pebble Girl dozing on her wooden bed, then conjured another droplet and stacked it atop the first.
She repeated the process. One by one, the little droplets piled up in layers, sloshing and trembling with every addition.
The Water Drop Girl giggled. Hey, listen. Is it really okay to play a prank like thiiis on my sleeping little sister?
She widened her eyes into perfect circles, crossed her arms, and deliberated long and hard—before nodding with a bright, self-satisfied face.
Apparently, it was okay.
Are you suuure about that?
When I called her out, she went back to deliberating. The period of solemn contemplation stretched on and on.
Then, all at once, the little girl wore the expression of someone struck by a tremendous revelation. And with that, she nodded firmly, as if concluding that yes, pranking was definitively permitted.
What revelation could you possibly have reached? Nothing about the situation has changed at all.
Suddenly came a great splash.
The water spirits that had been sitting meekly atop the Pebble Girl's head apparently had no intention of staying put; they stirred all at once and collapsed in a collective avalanche.
Water went everywhere. The Pebble Girl was soaked through, droplets scattering every which way and rudely shattering her sleep.
She opened her eyes with a somewhat disgruntled look. The Water Drop Girl giggled, thoroughly entertained by the whole affair.
Complicated feelings flickered across the Pebble Girl's face. Ah—I see. It turned out she'd actually slept better whenever her sister was away. And honestly? Fair.
When someone's gone, you feel the absence keenly—but the moment they come back, all the grievances you'd forgotten come flooding right back too.
I can't quite imagine how the younger sister must feel: anxious the whole time her big sister stayed out, only for her to come home and immediately resume tormenting her for her own amusement as if nothing had happened.
I decided I ought to throw the Water Drop Girl some actual work, as a subtle hint to stop bullying her sister. I'd always hesitated to interfere, worried it might stunt her ability to think and problem-solve on her own—but there was no reason to hold back anymore.
Why not leave your sleeping sister be and go check on the fields?
The Water Drop Girl tilted her head.
I'm sure you've noticed, but the fields need a lot of water management right now. If you went, your help would quietly turn out to be quite indispensable.
The Pebble Girl had drawn up groundwater while reclaiming the land, but field farming isn't something that resolves itself so easily.
The Water Drop Girl gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth, her face announcing that she had only just realized this. Just how absorbed had she been in bed-building?
Delighted beyond measure, she whooshed off into the sky.
Well then. Perhaps I'll take a look at the fields myself.
I turned my gaze.
And there, abruptly, stood a small building.
It was pure white from top to bottom, and the fine cloths adorning its interior lent the space a naturally sacred atmosphere. On the central altar rested my bow.
The miniature shrine for prayer was, at long last, complete.
It was intended as a place where elf farmers could come rest when they grew weary from their work, stepping into the Divine Domain Zone spread around the bow.
What I can't figure out is why they insisted on adding prayer to the rest procedure when they could simply rest. Have they all gotten a little too invested in the Sacred Tree theatrical production?
Besides, the zone's range is limited—I think erecting a whole building over it is a dreadful waste of space.
I raised the issue with Thermia, but she just giggled, and my opinion went unreflected.
Just then, the Thief Trio bowed their heads in prayer before the bow.
"So, uh, what was it again?"
"Oh come now, Big Brother. What kind of believer can't even manage that much by heart?"
"Allow me to demonstrate."
The Younger Brother Thief pressed his palms together and murmured with reverence.
"O resonance of great nature, call of the high branches, peace of the spreading roots—a humble wretch from low places entreats you. Grant us rest enough to conquer the day."
A Thermia-brand prayer.
Thermia herself hadn't yet settled on a version she was satisfied with and was still flipping through various religious texts, but for now it seemed the prayer had spread exactly as written.
Again—haven't you all gotten a bit too invested in the play?
The Thief Trio finished their prayers and filed out of the shrine, then leaned against its outer wall to rest.
Since dirtying a sacred space with grimy work clothes would defile it, everyone rested outside after praying.
Seriously, why did they build the building at all? It really is a waste of space. A colossal waste of range.
Regardless of my misgivings, the trio's faces visibly relaxed.
"Ooh, that's the stuff. Just being nearby unknots my whole body like I've had a deep nap—now THIS is a true holy relic. Those Theocracy lot are all talk and never show you a shred of this, but the Tree is a different story altogether."
"Big Brother speaks true."
The Big Brother Thief smacked his lips.
"They say a soak in the hot springs feels divine right now. Think I could sneak another wash in? We never had anything like that back in our day."
"Oh, come off it! It's greedy hearts like yours that got us all dawdling in the forest until we were run out on our ears. Don't let me hear that talk again."
"Ahem."
The hot springs, blessed by the Divine Domain Zone as well, were apparently every bit as wonderful as advertised.
The springs served as a wash place for settlers who came by, but for most hours of the day they were under Thermia's near-total monopoly.
She does have a quiet talent for enjoying her privileges, that girl. Thanks to my personally restoring her body with mana stones, she alone bears a reduced burden from the raw diet—and she exploits that to grill herself meat whenever boredom strikes.
"Huh?"
The Younger Brother Thief spotted the Water Drop Girl soaring overhead.
She spotted them too, changed course, and came flying over. She watched the thieves, who had no idea how to react, then apparently struck upon an amusing idea—she giggled and wiggled her tiny fingers.
Water spirits materialized and settled onto the Big Brother Thief's head.
"Huh?"
The little droplets stacked neatly, one upon another.
"Uh-uh? What is this?"
"Big Brother! Do NOT move! Those are spirits serving the Sacred Tree, are they not! There's no telling what great meaning this may hold—hold perfectly still!"
"Uh—okay, okay!"
The Water Drop Girl really did stack the spirits atop his head with meticulous care.
And she kept stacking. The Big Brother Thief had to freeze in place just to keep the little droplets from toppling off.
Having admired her handiwork, the Water Drop Girl giggled. She circled around to view it from every angle, then giggled again.
And then, as if her work here was done, she whooshed away.
"Huh? She's gone?"
"Do not move! She would not have placed them there for nothing!"
"R-right, of course."
Astonishingly, she had, in fact, placed them there for nothing.
The Big Brother Thief had to hold his pose for a good long while, until the spirits finally stirred of their own accord and the tower collapsed. When it did, and the thieves found themselves drenched head to toe by droplets scattering every which way, the Water Drop Girl had somehow already returned—giggling, thoroughly entertained, before flitting off once more.
Um, excuse me?
You really shouldn't be pulling pranks like thaaat, you know?
A village meeting. Teacher Paelian rose to speak.
"We have confirmed that the so-called water spirits are active in the fields, supplying moisture to the crops."
Documents were passed around.
"Curiously, in situations such as rainfall, they instead reduce the moisture, seemingly preventing oversaturation—which makes them an enormous boon to crop management."
At that moment, a water spirit that had perched itself uninvited atop the Teacher's head began dribbling water in bubbling streams. The water ran down, soaking his hair and trickling along his brow.
"There are, of course, certain minor inconveniences...."
With a profoundly disgruntled expression, the Teacher produced a handkerchief and dabbed his forehead. Then he plucked the spirit off his head and tossed it vaguely off into the distance.
The water spirit went sailing through the air.
"In any case, the water spirits have evidently simplified our irrigation management. I therefore propose that we move forward with the orchard—a project we postponed because constructing irrigation facilities would have proven too difficult."
Ooh, an orchard. A lush, sprawling orchard.
Frankly, the fields have always been a bit of a scenic disappointment.
"We are hard-pressed at the moment with the militia expedition, so it will be difficult—but since the Tree Himself has requested an orchard, we ought to begin preparations now regardless."
Village Chief Eldrin received the proposal favorably.
And true to his words, the village was remarkably busy these days.
Thanks to the village meeting's passage of our scheme—rescue the Eastern Elf Village from the slave-trader alliance's designs, then quietly absorb it—everyone was run off their feet with preparations.
There was so much to do: deciding how to defend the village while the militia was away, working out precisely how to engineer and integrate the Eastern village's absorption, and preparing homes and livelihoods in advance for a large influx of settlers.
Thermia herself was swamped—readying for the expedition, standing in for the Tree's duties, and figuring out how to handle the flood of complaints that would erupt if the holy bow were pulled from the fields for a while.
If Velesa's house—now Thermia's home as well—hadn't fallen within my Divine Domain Zone, I suspect the poor girl might have worked herself to death.
Everyone seems to operate under the motto "when you're exhausted, just pop into the Tree's domain and rest," and they're pushing themselves far too hard because of it.
Watching the builders troop over to my village benches, collapse into a collective rest, and then trudge back to work leaves me with genuinely mixed feelings.
I meant to help them—did I instead just enable more labor?
At the very least, I wish everyone would keep proper sleep hours.
The Teacher especially.
Please stop carrying stacks of paper out to the outdoor benches to read by moonlight.
Honestly, aren't you a textbook workaholic?
The Eastern Elf Village lay farther out than the city we'd visited last time.
Yet the journey was expected to take considerably less time.
On the city trip, we'd had to haul wagons loaded with sacks of flour, and the wagons' nature forced us onto flattened roads with no shortcuts—so the journey far outstripped the straight-line distance. Every time a wheel broke on the rough, unmaintained ground, the whole party had to halt, repair it, and set off again, over and over.
On top of that, we'd had to stay alert to the possibility of bandit ambushes, sending scouts ahead through the surrounding woods and chokepoints before inching forward. It was inevitable that the trip would devour time.
Now, by contrast, we could run light through the forest.
Humans might not manage it, but elves are more than capable of racing straight-line courses over mountains and through woods. Only elves with that capacity qualify for the militia in the first place.
Countless elven shadows tore through the forest.
When a low cliff barred the way, they simply leapt onto trees and vaulted up the rock face in unison, a coordinated display of acrobatics as they sped onward.
"Hahk! Hahk!"
Of course, there were militia members like Thermia who hadn't adapted yet and could only wheeze along behind—which meant this pace was, strictly speaking, wrong. A marching column should set its speed by its slowest member; that's the only sustainable way.
But I was lending a hand now, so it was fine.
I moved gaseous mana through my bow. When Thermia exhaled mana charged with my intent, her breathing steadied considerably and her color improved. The newer elves who'd been struggling just as badly visibly perked up as well.
"Whew... thank you."
Then a new cliff appeared, and as the column swarmed up it, Thermia's face reverted to her unadapted state.
"Hahk! Hahk!"
The girl hauled herself up the cliff, gasping.
"My head is a complete disaster right now, totally scrambled—but because the Tree is cradling me I can somehow keep going, and it feels so strange! My body and my mind are going in completely different directions!"
That part can't be helped, I'm afraid.
My Divinity was still only at Level 2—I could govern stamina and fatigue, but I had no slots left over to cradle the mind as well. Still, her mental exhaustion seemed to be roughly easing, so surely it was fine?
Village Chief Eldrin, waiting atop the cliff, took a note from the messenger pigeon.
"The slave-trader alliance has entrenched themselves before the village. By the time we arrive, battle will already be joined. We shall advance as we are and strike their rear. Any stragglers or wounded?"
"N-no, sir~."
Thermia, having clawed her way up the cliff, slumped to the ground as she answered.
"A magnificent marching speed."
Village Chief Eldrin looked thoroughly pleased.
And his satisfaction was warranted: the militia advanced at breakneck pace, reaching the Eastern Elf Village as the sun touched the horizon.
There stood the village elves, braced behind a palisade of logs, and there came the slave-trader alliance, hurling wave after wave of manpower against them.
Torches lit up the churning melee from every angle.
Village Chief Eldrin drew his sword.
"CHARGE!"
At the column's head, Thermia ran alongside him, holding her bow aloft.
"O resonance of great nature, call of the high branches, peace of the spreading roots! Grant us the light to claim victory on this battlefield!"
Shall I lend a hand?
I poured my intent into the bow.
Light blossomed from it, flooding the entire battlefield.
Night retreated, and the world turned bright.
Every cry of chaos cut off at once.
The Eastern village elves and the slave-trader alliance alike turned to stare, dumbfounded.
Village Chief Eldrin lunged forward, smiling grimly.
"Sheep to the slaughter."
The militia slammed into the slave-trader alliance's rear.
Screams rang out amid a spray of blood.