The Rescuing Sapling (3)

The Water Drop Girl, riding atop the rabbit, triumphantly brandished her sword.

Between the alley walls, the corpses of slave traders and mercenaries lay strewn everywhere.

"If we just kill everyone like you suggested, we won't need disguises at all!"

Thermia wiped the blood smeared across her cheek, sounding genuinely amazed.

Um, aren't you two saying some really terrifying things right now?

―How's the situation looking?

"It's all over. We just need to slip away before the pursuit party arrives."

―Then let's get everyone out of here.

"Yes."

We led the rescued Tachin elves out of the city. We'd already wiped out their forces once, and the human slaves, each fleeing on their own, had thrown the city into enough chaos that slipping past the gates was easy.

We ran through the forest carrying the elves on our backs—the worst off riding on horses, the rest of the weakened ones hoisted onto shoulders. Ordinarily, tending to people exhausted from years of slavery would have meant the pursuit party caught up in no time, but with my gaseous mana lending a hand, we could simply carry everyone and run.

It was a shame the human slaves couldn't come with us, but with what little strength we had left, splitting up to fend for themselves was probably for the best. We'd freed plenty of them, though, so the city shouldn't have an easy time rounding human slaves back up.

The rescue party made it back to the village without incident, aided by the reinforcements. The villagers, who had been waiting with hearts in their throats, wept as they welcomed their families home.

"Honey! Why is your face half off?!"

It had been harrowing in every possible way, but it ended well.

We'd hold a victory celebration, then leave the rescue party itself disbanded and free, keeping only the roster on record. There was still cleanup left to do—mourning the dead, treating the wounded, and handling the Count's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sponsorship—but as far as I could tell, the sun-loving sapling's work here was more or less finished.

Relief washed over me, and with it, all the tension drained from my branches.

For the time being, I was going to do exactly that: soak up sunshine and rest.

I spread ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my branches wide.

Thank you for the warm sunlight again today.

Once all the follow-up duties were complete, peaceful days followed—I taught math to the aspiring bureaucrats and caught up on village news through Thermia.

There were a few hiccups along the way: a bureaucrat from the slave-market city dropped by and left after not-so-subtly sizing us up without ever mentioning the incident, and one of the Count's people came by to drop off sacks of salt, saying it was to help with the village's stores. But none of it required anything from me.

When I idly browsed the farm fields with my senses, I spotted the Thief Trio, who had kept only their names on the rescue party roster and gone straight back to farming.

"Big Brother, how's the shoulder holding up?"

"Must be all that worry the Tree sent my way, 'cause it feels plenty better? Don't tell me you've been secretly blessing me, Holy Tree?"

The Big Brother Thief, plucking at weeds, rolled his shoulder and grinned.

"My mother ground up some herbs for you. Here, drink this."

"Well now, much obliged."

I'd asked after him half a dozen times during the victory celebration, so I was glad to hear he'd recovered.

The days slipped past without any major incidents. Things had simply been too hectic before. Villages don't transform overnight; with as much as we'd set in motion, everyone needed time to settle in and tidy things up.

Truthfully, though, I did have one new worry on my mind.

―The Rabbit Knight isn't giving up, is she?

I asked the Water Drop Girl, who was riding the rabbit.

She nodded with iron resolve.

The rabbit, still being treated as a mount even now that the whole crisis was over, let out a pitiful squeeeak.

How should I put this. It felt like meeting a child who proudly announces they want to become a fire truck. A fire truck and a Rabbit Knight are worlds apart in scale, but they're similar in that you have no idea how to talk them out of it.

―Doesn't the rabbit have its own life to live? Maybe it needs some time to itself by now.

The rabbit squeaked desperately—squeak-squeak, that's right, please!

The Water Drop Girl jolted in surprise, then fell into deep contemplation. And then, with conviction, she shook her head firmly.

―So the rabbit doesn't have a life...?

She nodded, utterly certain.

Is it really okay to say that to the rabbit...?

No matter how many times I tried to persuade her, the little girl refused to abandon the Rabbit Knight dream. Incredible stubbornness.

I appealed to the rabbit instead.

―Just bear with it a little longer. She's bound to get bored soon. The ink she's been supplying for study is quietly piling up money for her, and once that's built up she'll definitely be too excited spending it to bother you.

The scheme by Teacher and Thermia to establish a precedent of paying the Sacred Tree for its services had been vetoed by the village chief and failed to pass the village council. In fact, the chief had gone so far as to call Thermia aside and warn her: as the representative of the faith, she mustn't let herself be pushed around by Teacher on religious matters.

Thermia reflected on this.

And fair enough—taking lessons from Teacher meant his influence over her was substantial, whether she liked it or not. I trusted she would gradually gain her spiritual independence as time went on.

The ink itself, however, was made by the Water Drop Girl anyway, so the plan was compromise with the details adjusted to paying the Water Drop Girl instead. The precedent now on record was one of paying a spirit in exchange for help.

I couldn't yet tell what kind of change that would bring. But official property now existed in the Water Drop Girl's name rather than being lumped in with mine, and I thought that was a good thing. Spending money that is entirely, unmistakably yours has to feel far better than drawing on an allowance.

The rabbit did nothing but whimper piteously even after hearing my reassurance—but in the end, it simply acquiesced. From the start, compliance was the only option available to it.

I'm sorry.

I prayed the Water Drop Girl would tire of the Rabbit Knight game soon.

Summer passed, and autumn arrived.

My soul had grown.

As the reach of my miracles expanded, the benches that had been set up at the village's edge were moved into the village proper. It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was clearly meant as a gesture of respect—they didn't want to disturb my quiet—but honestly, it seemed unnecessary. Still, I could feel the warmth behind the villagers' intentions.

The domain around my bow relic widened slightly too, and my nagging feeling that the sanctuary building was wasting far too much space faded a little.

Looking good.

Autumn brought subtle changes to the village. During the lull while the farm crops matured, the village launched a full-scale hunting operation. Teacher was busy restructuring the village's industries, but game remained the primary source of income—a major event that would have to carry the village coffers until next year.

"Today I'll bag a bear and take first place, just you watch!"

―We don't have bears living around here, you know.

"It's called commitment. Fight on, fight on!"

The villager who topped the game haul would earn the chance to drink a petal tea brewed by my own branches. Why petal tea, of all things? If I put up too grand a prize, the competition would get cutthroat, but something half-hearted wouldn't do either—so I staked a heartfelt cup of petal tea as the first-place reward.

Never mind that, since open flame was off-limits around me, it was really just clear water with petals floating in it.

Except then an unsourced rumor began circulating that drinking it extended ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠your lifespan and improved your skin, and the competition did get cutthroat. Cutthroat enough for declarations like "I'll bag a bear or die trying," in fact.

My money was on Thermia taking first place. With a bow that never misses, there was no way she'd lose.

"The long-awaited first place goes to...!"

Before the assembled villagers, one of the aspiring bureaucrats read out the results. Thermia waited, heart pounding.

"First place goes to the Water Droplet Spirit!"

The rabbit bounded forward and claimed the champion's seat. The Water Drop Girl riding it brandished her sword in triumph.

Whaaaat?

The Water Drop Girl, who hadn't given up the Rabbit Knight game even with autumn well underway, had won first place.

"How could I lose...?"

Thermia collapsed where she stood.

The Rabbit Knight downed the petal tea in one hearty gulp and giggled with delight—kyaruruk!

The rabbit, already half resigned and adapted to its fate, gave a sardonic little squeak.

I'm truly sorry... I never dreamed this would last so long.

As an apology, I'd have to prepare plenty of rabbit feed.

Autumn passed, and winter came.

"A letter arrived from Velesa!"

Ooh, wonderful news.

Thermia, wrapped in the insulating cloth Velesa had left behind for me, hummed happily as she read the letter aloud.

"She apologizes for writing so late—she's been run off her feet—and says she arrived safely in the royal capital. The royal meals are apparently incredibly delicious!"

The letter was passed over.

"And also—the King doesn't think much of her at all, but the Queen adores her, says she'll whip that boy's head into shape, and that hunting is her hobby too, so trying her hand at Crown Princess might not be a bad idea!"

Wow, go Velesa. I hope it works out for her.

For all the letter's breezy tone, the fact that she hadn't even had a moment to write meant there must have been plenty of complicated goings-on we knew nothing about. But she was Velesa—I trusted she'd adapt just fine.

Over the autumn, the village had steadily stockpiled food—harvesting fields, gathering fruit. The notable development was that transcribed books, farm tools, and iron ore had begun selling to other cities, with the proceeds going toward food purchases.

"Our village structure is shifting from self-sufficiency to monetary trade," Teacher had said, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

Was that such a big deal? I couldn't say I felt much difference myself. But if the elite bureaucrat said so, I supposed congratulations were in order.

As the village grew, so did my body.

My roots and branches had both grown without a hitch. The surrounding terrain had grown familiar, so extending my roots posed little difficulty—for now, at least; it might be a different story once my range widened enough for the landscape itself to change.

The same went for my branches. I did worry whether the earth beneath me could keep supporting my growing frame, but I wasn't expanding so abruptly at the moment that any problems arose.

I really do seem to have been born in a wonderful place for a sapling to live.

All of this, I suspect, is because the world is that beautiful.

Though strangely, not a single person around me seemed to agree. Still, I think I'm right.

With roots and branches grown, my soul had advanced smoothly as well.

Yu-hu, here it comes at last.

Three possible paths appeared before me.

Then, without warning, my divinity swept across the future. Like prophecy, I felt the outcome of each path in turn.

Whoa?

Disorienting—but good is good, I suppose. Let's examine them one by one.

The first was the Lightning-Struck Tree. I was a lightning-struck sapling, so this looked like the natural extension of that line. Down this path, I'd sink deep into nature's great cycle—I'd become the sort of constitution that attracts lightning, and could experiment with all manner of related things.

If I came to understand lightning deeply enough, could I wield gaseous mana to call bolts down from the sky myself? Whoa—a tree that hurls lightning? Incredibly cool.

The second was Endless Branches and Roots. Presumably this path had surfaced from all my repeated pushing of branch and root growth to their limits. Choosing it would let me entrust the growth of my branches and roots to the greed of my own unconscious, stretching endlessly even beyond my influence range.

Until now, my roots had drawn nutrients only within bounds that spared the soil, mindful of nature's cycles. Hand them over to unconscious greed, though, and I could absorb nutrients without a thought for nature, growing at overwhelming speed. The exhausted soil could simply be solved by pioneering ever more soil beyond it.

And my branches would spread without a single gap, casting shadow over every inch of land. I could kill off every competing plant, monopolize the sunlight, and grow to my heart's content.

At last, all plants would vanish, the herbivores would starve, the carnivores would go extinct, and I could complete a land of my very own—a land utterly devoid of life.

I felt a divinity one stage grown. Same divinity, yet with a temperament added—it was astonishing how different it felt.

Whoa?

That is not cool at all.

Why on earth do I even have this option?

Come to think of it, I hadn't been guarding against greed much lately. I hadn't truly stopped to agonize over the villagers throwing themselves at my miracles, defying the natural order, and reveling in brutal labor.

Reflection, and more reflection.

The third was the Sacred Young Tree. This one seemed shaped by the name people had given me and called me by—my divinity had risen, after all, on the faith of intelligent beings.

Down this path, I'd draw closer to the great natural world, much as the elves imagined me, while also drawing closer to people. Somewhere between nature and mankind, perhaps. That one-stage-grown divinity, with temperament added, seemed like it would serve as a bridge between the two.

I see.

I'd examined all three paths. There was one disturbing future in the middle, but I'd erase it from my mind and simply weigh the other two.

A lightning-hurling tree, or a young tree dear to people. The former would surely be magnificent...

...But it felt like I'd acquired a responsibility now, and magnificence alone wasn't reason enough to choose it.

Since this was a decision continuing an already-flowing direction, my body didn't change. Instead, many things I couldn't yet perceive almost certainly had.

A message rose before me.

The unit jumped two whole tiers? Nice.

Yu-hu, dear neighbors, my influence radius is now 26 kilometers.

Twenty-six kilometers...?

Whoa?

WHOA?!