The Punishing Sapling (3)

Elves had been streaming into the village one after another, abandoning the chaos-ridden eastern settlement behind them.

Unlike the time the Lord's Castle had abruptly shipped people over without warning, the village itself had made preparations to receive these migrants, so they could be settled step by step without any great upheaval.

"All this time, the humans have laughed at us. A lazy race that won't work even during the harvest season. A slothful race that can't endure the patience of the earth and does nothing but cling to the forest. That, they say, is why we make such easy slaves."

Thermia, having finished her discussion with the Teacher, launched into an eloquent speech.

"They never trouble themselves to learn how busy the forest truly is, or how exhausting a hunter's life can be. They simply sneer and mock."

Thermia met the eyes of the new settlers.

"We will no longer stand before that rationalization and take it. It begins with us — and with all of you. Remember well that from this day forward, you are small existences of the Sacred Tree, and you must live diligently and faithfully. We will all of us become the future of the elves."

When the Teacher smiled and began to applaud, the crowd responded with fervent cheers.

Um, isn't that basically just pushing them harder?

Just as the Teacher once said, religion does in fact serve the role of making governance easier for the ruling class.

It's certainly convenient when the governed are diligent and hardworking.

But the Sacred Tree in question spends every single day happily spacing out in the sunshine, so I really don't know if I'm allowed to condone this.

Despite my complicated feelings, the settlers accepted the exhortation to diligence without a shred of resistance.

In a way, it felt only natural. When people have strength and stamina to spare, they inevitably go looking for ways to suffer voluntarily — these are, after all, the people who call tool fiddling a "hobby" and muscle torture "exercise."

Having tasted how effortlessly the body recovers when they woke at dawn, worked until nightfall, and then merely rested within the domain where the Sacred Tree works its miracles, the settlers chose to sleep less without the slightest hesitation.

I completely understand — not being tired at all, not feeling sleepy, lying there with your eyes closed while boredom and agony grind on. It's a terrible experience.

But please, don't start treating midnight group study sessions under the moonlight as a form of play.

And when the sun is starting to rise, don't casually say terrifying things like, "Shall we head back to work now?"

At that point it isn't diligence at all anymore. I'd like you all to have some self-awareness.

"I propose we make nighttime torch installations permanent, in order to raise the village's total nighttime activity capacity."

"I'll speak to that. We've been shifting away from hunting lately — won't we run short on animal fat? We've been using plenty of it for soap-making as well."

"The absolute yield of the hunt has increased, so we won't run short. Ahem — won't run short, that is. And if the village designates a dedicated nighttime activity zone within the miracle's radius and manages it intensively, we can cut oil consumption dramatically. Come to think of it, simply borrowing bows from the sanctuary at night is another option."

"Do you intend to make literacy study mandatory, as you proposed last time?"

"Yes. We will render meaningless any excuse of being too busy with work to find the time. Waking at dawn and laboring until sunset does not actually leave one without time to study, does it? Once the sun goes down the work environment disappears anyway, so people may as well come and study."

That is an excuse. That is absolutely an excuse.

Could everyone please stop nodding along and normalize the baseline a little?

Despite my growing inner turmoil, this wave of migrants settled in smoothly, and there was much to celebrate.

"The one who ran away from home swearing he hated farming — and took up thieving instead! And now that he's here, he's farming again?!"

"Aack! Mother! Just wait a moment!"

The enraged Middle-Aged Female Elf seized her son by the ear and twisted.

"What do you mean, 'just wait'!"

"Gwaaah! Mom! Mom! Stop and just listen to me!"

"Why did you run away from home if this is how you'd end up?! I built up land worth inheriting for you, and this is the life you make?!"

"Aack!"

The Younger Brother Thief took his beating. It was one-sided violence, and resistance was simply not an option.

The Big Brother Thief and the other younger thief exchanged flustered whispers.

"Uh — Boss, what do we do? Should we rescue him?"

"Rescue? That's his life now. Let's pretend we didn't see anything."

The two of them whistled innocently and fled.

Left alone, the Younger Brother Thief was beaten half to death by his mother.

"Ow!"

"You think I raised you through all that hardship so you could live like this?!"

"Aack! Ow!"

Yoo-hoo. What a heartwarming family reunion.

In the meantime, my body had grown by leaps and bounds.

Waah, I'm a fifty-meter sapling now.

A sapling that grows even while doing nothing but sleeping — truly, what a blissful existence.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

All of this must be thanks to the warm sun, which showers its light upon every manner of being without discrimination. Sunlight, I am forever grateful.

Just as I grew, the daily life of the villagers changed little by little as well.

Lately in particular, the Teacher Paelian has been a frequent visitor to the grassy clearing.

"This one's far too sticky. It's hard to write with. Lower the viscosity a little, would you?"

The Teacher, who had been attempting to write on a thin stone slab with a small brush, sounded disappointed.

Summoned, the Water Drop Girl carefully gathered moisture from the air.

Liquid mana mingled with the moisture and altered its character, producing water droplets less viscous than before.

The Teacher upended the ink bottle, poured it out, and refilled it with the droplets. A single drop of black pigment fell in, and the ink was complete.

The brush, dipped in ink, traced letters across the stone slab. It wrote smoothly, cleanly.

"Oh, not bad. It still doesn't quite match pen and paper, but it's more than enough for writing practice."

The Water Drop Girl giggled with delight.

With literacy now mandatory for the entire village of roughly a thousand souls, paper and ink had become hopelessly insufficient.

Thanks to the defeat of the slave-trader alliance, money was no obstacle, but the Teacher seemed determined to produce substitutes and shrink the village's fixed expenses at the source.

It also looked, I thought, as though there was a second ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠intention: no elves were dying young anymore, so the stonemason's income from gravestone carving had dwindled — and by replacing paper with thin stone slabs for writing practice, the village could keep its stone-working craft alive.

Left to its own devices, the stonemason would eventually have to change trades or leave the village in search of work, after all.

"Now then, let's verify it under real conditions."

The Teacher wrote with intense concentration.

Countless characters rapidly filled the thin stone slab.

Just as the writing surface began to run out of space, the Teacher suddenly snatched up a water spirit that happened ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to be bouncing past nearby.

Then, like an eraser, he rubbed it back and forth across the slab. The spirit was mashed about mercilessly, absorbing the ink as it went, and the slab grew gradually clean again.

Whoa — whoa there. I can feel the water spirit's bewilderment from here...

The Water Drop Girl, watching this, was so overcome with delight she flopped over entirely.

Still, they're both made of the same water — shouldn't she be a little less amused on his behalf?

The spent spirit was casually tossed aside.

The water spirit went sailing off into the distance with a whoosh.

For a while the Teacher went on writing, erasing with passing water spirits as erasers, testing the feel of the thing — and he seemed well satisfied.

"It's impractical for actual village administration, but it should be excellent for literacy study. As for the ink supply and its maintenance fee — I'd like to settle it at about this amount. What do you think?"

The Water Drop Girl studied the written figure, then deliberated deeply, cool as a hardened businesswoman.

Then, abruptly turning haughty, she shook her head.

The little girl added a number of her own beneath the figure.

Two more zeroes.

Yoo-hoo, our little Water Drop is so greedy.

"What—?"

The Teacher was dumbfounded. He gazed, exasperated, at the Water Drop Girl, who had transformed into an outrageously imperious businesswoman, then turned to me.

"Tree, what sum do you consider the appropriate figure? My number was estimated fairly — accounting for both the labor of producing the ink and the time spent visiting each school site to maintain it."

— I think the Teacher's figure will do just fine.

"Understood."

The Water Drop Girl puffed out her cheeks.

The Teacher, who now had to bear the full brunt of a sulking prankster, hurried to explain himself.

"I am well aware that whatever income the Water Drop collects is, in the end, funds the Tree can make use of. That is precisely why I believe the proper course now is not to unsettle the village with an excessive figure."

Then he added more.

"The current Village Chief favors non-dependent management that hinders the village's growth, and many of the senior members agree with him. If we establish a precedent of paying a fair price for the blessings you bestow, you won't be relying on one-sidedly, Tree — while still enabling the village to develop enormously. It would serve as an apt compromise with the current management policy."

Whoa. So this is what elite power struggles look like. Terrifying.

Making literacy mandatory, cutting the village's fixed expenses, creating work for the stonemason, and checking the Village Chief — all in one move.

So this is what they call a bureaucratic elite, huh.

"That won't do."

Thermia, dressed in snow-white ceremonial robes, came walking into the grove clearing.

Whether she'd just come from enjoying her hot spring privileges, her golden hair hung damp and her cheeks were flushed pink. But her expression was sour indeed — apparently the Teacher's words had not sat well with her.

"Teacher, are you saying you intend to pay the Tree money?"

"I am. And as you agreed yourself, the current arrangement doesn't suit a growing village — and if we want it to change without chaos, we need to find a compromise."

"Perhaps. But what you're proposing is a poor one. Because if your plan goes through—"

Thermia declared firmly:

"The boundless grace the Sacred Tree bestows will be degraded into a mere transaction. That is an insult to divinity — an outright desecration. Grace that cannot be priced is an object of reverence. But grace that is calculated becomes nothing more than an object of greed."

Whoa. What eloquence.

But the Teacher was no pushover either.

"And yet, as the decay of the Theocracy demonstrates, religious power cannot overcome secular power. Eventually the village will grow into a city, and the face-to-face approach we use now cannot be extended to the entire population every single time. When that happens, cracks will open in the faith, and the disaffected will multiply."

The Teacher turned to me.

"What will be needed then is the power of the secular world. If from this day forward you involve yourself deeply, step by step, at the heart of the village's industry and take the purse-strings into your hands, then your divinity will become inviolable — regardless of anyone's faith."

Is... that so?

I distinctly remember being pleasantly mulling over how much allowance to give the Water Drop so she'd have fun with it, and I have absolutely no idea how things escalated to this.

"Huh? Now that I hear it all out, the Teacher does have a point."

Thermia was persuaded.

"Though of course, I don't accept the Theocracy as the example. The Theocracy merely worshipped empty delusions that couldn't even produce a single miracle — whereas we worship a Sacred Tree who very much exists."

She added more.

"And that is exactly why I think it may be acceptable to calculate the Sacred Tree's grace in figures. A faith with substance cannot be shaken by mere numbers."

The Teacher applauded, looking thoroughly gratified.

"I never considered the theological details, but you're right. We worship an existence that actually exists. All that matters is a firm faith — we've no need to fret over petty tricks and scheming."

"Precisely."

Thermia turned to me.

"What do you think, Tree? I half worry that discussing this among ourselves at all is blasphemy. Though I suppose we are doing it right in front of you."

I feel like that's the sort of thing only a religious ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠state like that Theocracy should be worrying about.

— As far as I'm concerned, I'm just a sapling on the back hill of the village, and I really don't get why any of this matters. Couldn't you all just discuss it at the village meeting like normal? I'll be attending anyway.

Feeling the weight of it, I gently steered the conversation elsewhere.

— By the way, Teacher, aren't you overworking yourself? Designing the whole village and handling education — isn't that too much for one person? You haven't slept in days.

The Teacher paused. Fatigue had indeed been piling up; he pressed his fingers hard against his temples.

"Objectively speaking, it is more work than any one person should carry. However, there is no one qualified to share the burden, so it cannot be divided."

"You really do have so much to do, Teacher. You made me separate study assignments on top of everything, and now you're saying you'll select people good with numbers — beyond the literacy lessons — and teach them arithmetic, all to raise future officials in advance."

Wow. Is this really a job for a human being?

— Wait, arithmetic? You mean mathematics?

"Yes, precisely. We won't delve into it as a deep academic discipline, but I intend to teach every practical domain an official requires."

Practical domains, hmm. I wonder how far that goes.

Since I couldn't guess, perhaps I'd just offer what I knew.

— Polynomials, equations and inequalities, counting principles, matrices, coordinate geometry, sets and logic, functions, exponential and logarithmic functions, trigonometric functions, sequences, calculus, probability and statistics, geometry and vectors — I recited them one by one and gave a brief description of each.

— That's about what I know. I probably can't help teach it, though?

The Teacher and Thermia went blank and fell silent.

When I waited patiently, the Teacher asked, his pupils trembling:

"How — how does one come to know such things, sitting in a forest...?"

Don't ask me that. It's hard to explain.

Shall I resolve it with a suitably high-class, elite-caliber answer?

— I just know.

I just know.

"You... simply know. I see."

The two of them set their questions aside and marveled.