The Expanding Young Tree (1)

Waaah?

Why is it glowing?

I had poured my thoughts into the sword as discreetly as I'd once poured them into the bow—yet the light burst out in a blaze so brilliant it was anything but subtle.

How did it end up like this?

Looking closer, I saw that the Divine Domain Zone had taken hold of the Crown Prince alone, blazing with radiant light.

It seemed that when I packed my thoughts in with the hope that everything would improve, my sword had drawn in the ambient mana all on its own and unfolded a domain of its own accord.

The human nobles and knights who had come to watch stared in a daze, mouths hanging open in thoroughly undignified fashion.

Within the halo of light, the Crown Prince and the King traded sword strikes. It was as if to demonstrate that even a duel between two of royal blood was a sacred thing.

With every clash of blades, the King was driven back and staggered. The Crown Prince adapted in no time at all, adjusting his strength as he pressed the attack.

Then, in a single instant, steel met steel and a shockwave erupted. The gust scattered the light in all directions, and one sword went flying, lodging point-down in the training yard.

The blade of the other stopped just short of the King's throat.

The Crown Prince heaved for breath.

"Father. I have won."

The King said nothing for a long moment.

He stared down at the calloused, iron-hard hand that had let the sword slip from its grip under his son's strike, holding it there for a while.

Then he raised his eyes.

"Where did you get that holy sword?"

The Crown Prince swallowed and steadied his breathing.

"I received it from the Great Tree."

The King gave a hollow laugh.

"Enough. If you'd rather not say, then don't."

"No, truly—it was the Great Tree—"

A flailing hand cut him off.

Choosing his words with care, the King studied his son slowly, from head to toe.

Call the years wasted if you like, but the boy had long since grown into a man, broad-shouldered and commanding.

The eyes that had once cursed and despised the father who killed his younger brother had gone cold and dark ages ago. All ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that remained now was a firstborn son, reaching for a secure succession and striving to protect his beloved.

The King, on the verge of speaking, closed his mouth as if his throat had tightened.

Silence settled over the yard.

"Father...?"

When the Crown Prince asked, puzzled, the King turned away.

"It seems my life was not lived in vain."

Neither yours, nor mine.

"Do as you wish."

The King walked off without another word.

That the Queen chased after him to scold him and press a handkerchief into his hands, and that the old father wiped at the corners of his eyes in relief—only I saw it, and only I will ever know.

No sooner had the King departed than the nobles and knights came swarming in.

"Your Highness! What is that sword? Could it—could it truly be a blade bestowed by the Sun God Himself?!"

Thanks to his wastrel past, the Crown Prince's standing was thin enough that he couldn't bring himself to drive the crowd away, and he floundered.

"Everyone, please, calm down. It would take far too long to explain properly, but this dates back to when I stayed in a certain mysterious elf village—"

And so a fairy tale began.

A commotion broke out.

"It drags on the ground."

Thermia, dressed in the very latest fashion, muttered hesitantly in the yard of her house.

"If I go see the Tree, it'll be ripped to shreds halfway there, won't it? I don't think these are clothes meant for the outdoors."

The wedding-dress Water Drop Girl nodded in solemn agreement. Since creating her water spirit, she'd been erasing dirt from hems like a stubborn smudge, wiping them clean in one pass.

—So this is what Velesa sent you?

"Oh! Yes!"

Thermia lit up and showed off the dress.

"It's the capital's latest fashion, apparently! But is this really what's in style? Isn't it freezing, front and back? Do nobles actually wear things like this?"

—It does look incredibly cold. Isn't it a little... overly bold?

Maybe it'd be normal in the modern world, but by the standards of this era, it was positively daring.

"Ballrooms? Banquet halls? Since they'd only be worn indoors, I suppose the cold doesn't matter. Still, I can't imagine why my sister went and made something like this fashionable."

Thermia spun around on tiptoe.

The wedding-dress Water Drop Girl watched, then began spinning right alongside her.

Round and round.

"I feel bad saying this when my sister sent it, but... are human nobles nothing but perverts?"

Her expression was utterly grave.

—I don't thiiink that's it.

However obvious the question, though.

—I think it's just that it's a bit too big on you, so parts of it slip and slide around. If Velesa wore the same design herself, I bet it would have looked stunning.

Thermia pictured it, and her face brightened.

"You're right! She probably didn't send it for everyday wear—she sent it as a keepsake! She started a whole new dress trend and carved her name into high society, so naturally she had to show off to her little sister back home!"

—Yeah, that's probably exactly it.

"There was another dress besides this one, too. That might be the one for everyday wear."

Thermia ducked inside and came back out with a second dress.

This one was certainly far more modest in design.

Everyday wear would be a stretch even for a dress, but it looked well suited to formal occasions—a noble banquet, say, or something of the sort.

Yet when she actually changed into it, the size was too big as well.

"She knows my measurements, so why are they both—"

Thermia, mid-grumble, suddenly froze.

—What's wrong?

For a moment the girl said nothing, just ran her hands over her own body. Then she rose up on her toes, scanning the house high and low, and finally looked thoroughly alarmed.

"I had a suspicion, but..."

Her blue eyes trembled.

"Why haven't I grown...?"

Waa?

—You haven't grown?

"She sent these assuming I'd have grown by now, but I'm exactly the same as before!"

The girl's face crumpled, on the verge of tears.

"I usually have my clothes altered on a regular basis, you know? But for almost a whole year, I haven't needed to! I thought something was off!"

Waaah?

—Is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it because you've only been eating vegetables during your growth years?

"You know perfectly well I grill and eat meat whenever I feel like it. I eat jerky every single day, for a start."

That was true.

I turned the problem over carefully in my mind.

Setting aside her raw-food diet, the only thing I'd done that could have changed her body was circulating the mana inside her using a mana stone.

In the end, because she was a person, that settled mana would have clouded again—but her mana must still have been cleaner than it had ever been.

Could mana drawn closer to nature have resonated with an elf already attuned to nature, producing a positive synergy?

My gut said it wasn't a bad kind of synergy, at least.

Slow growth means slow aging. That's a good thing, unambiguously.

Not that it stopped Thermia herself from slumping to the ground in despair.

The Water Drop Girl comforted her, setting a small water spirit atop her head like a little crown.

W-waa. I'm sorry...

A winter with food in plenty is a joyful season.

Cold as it may be, it's the perfect time to savor the leisure of a lighter workload.

But apparently it's human nature to invent work when there's none to be found.

Elves sat in cheerful clusters, slicing thin pieces of fruit harvested from the Four Seasons Orchard. The paper-thin slices were laid out in neat layers on wooden boards and set in the sunlight.

They were making dried fruit.

"If we assume human nobles will be eating it, we could sell it undried instead, candied whole. Sugar is a luxury here, but in the capital there are quite a few trading houses that deal in sugared fruit."

Teacher stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking thoroughly satisfied.

—I've been thinking about that too. Military contracts are stable and all, but what if we spread it through noble society first? If we start with the army, I suspect people will dismiss it as soldier's rations and develop a prejudice against it.

"Quite right. Ideally it would catch on among the nobles and spread from there to the knightly orders. Realistically, though, that's difficult. A food with no history takes a very long time to spread through noble society, and by the time it did, targeting military contracts would be the surer bet."

Would it, now?

—Actually, I took a little look around the capital recently.

"Pardon?"

—Velesa seems to have adapted to high society remarkably well.

Starting a trend with her own dress designs meant, in effect, that she'd become a star of the social scene. That much attention was bound to breed envy, and she'd surely made enemies for it too.

—If we send it through Velesa, it might not take nearly as long as you'd think.

A walking advertisement is a powerful thing, in any era.

And if we sent her some, the Crown Prince would eat it too. Once the Crown Prince had tasted it, what noble would dare sneer at it for lacking history?

Truth be told, Teacher had found Velesa's exploits hard to believe.

Only when I showed him the contents of her letters as proof did he manage a halfway-believing expression.

"It's not that I doubt your word, Young Tree. But how is that even possible?"

—Because she's Velesa?

"No, that's..."

Teacher seemed to be recalling every persecution he'd suffered studying at the Royal Academy, and every hardship he'd endured trying to claw his way into noble society.

His face turned absolutely indignant.

I let out a laugh.

—It's because you suffered, Teacher, that Velesa can do this. The groundwork of understanding you laid down built the environment that could withstand it, and the connections you built gave her supporters to help her along.

She hadn't managed it alone. Countless precedents had cleared the way.

Teacher went blank for a moment.

He stared at the sky for a long while, then smiled faintly.

"Then I suppose it must be true. Working from a foundation laid by my own capable hands—how could she possibly have failed?"

That's... not quite what I meant.

"I'll need to discuss it with Thermia, but I'll plan on sending the dried fruit that way. Sending anything directly to the Crown Prince could be politically risky, which is why I hadn't considered it—but if we can route ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it around like this..."

Teacher organized his thoughts.

"When the eastern rebellion is put down, our fruit may well end up as rations for the knightly orders. This would be a good opportunity to pursue military contracts in parallel."

—Good thinking.

It was supposed to be an uneventful winter, but the village suddenly became very busy.

When a village grows, a great many things change with it.

One of those things was visits from outsiders.

A small village could afford to be insular, to treat strangers with suspicion and keep to itself. Nearly everything it needed could be produced within its own borders, without depending on the outside world.

But once a village grew large, that vigilance became impossible.

Visitors came more and more often, and through them the villagers conveniently heard news from beyond and bought and sold their goods—until, whether they liked it or not, shunning outsiders simply stopped being an option.

Thanks to that, a quiet handful of elves in our village had begun running inns for travelers to earn coin. Not as a full trade—they ran eateries alongside them—but still.

And right now, a rather unusual guest was staying at one of those inns.

"Priestess Dahlia, was it?"

"Welcome. There are many people here, so let's go upstairs and talk."

The young priestess led a human peddler up to her room.

Waa. A priest of the Holy Kingdom.

A servant of the Sun God Himself, no less.

My feelings about the Sun God are complicated, to say the least.

The thing I love most in this world is the sun. I can say that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with complete confidence.

If the Sun God truly exists, I would pray every single day as one of His faithful. Purely, gladly, with an open heart.

But here's the thing.

Endorsing slavery? That's a step too far, isn't it?

No, really—think about it.

The sun, which pours boundless love over every living thing without asking anything in return—and the religion that worships that sun defends the slave trade? Why?

I truly, genuinely love the sun.

But slavery is where I draw the line.

"Don't even say such a thing."

The human peddler waved his hands in horror.

"There isn't a single elf in this village who believes in the Sun God. We were commanded not to worship idols, and yet here they all are, worshipping a tree of unprecedented size."

"Even with a village this large—everyone, without exception?"

Priestess Dahlia was taken aback.

"Yes! I've come all this way peddling my goods, so I've never gone out of my way to pick a fight over it, but these elves are clearly out of their minds, every last one of them."

The peddler strode with utter conviction to the room's window. When Priestess Dahlia followed, he flung it open to reveal the spring landscape left behind by winter.

His finger jabbed toward the far horizon of the sky.

"How is that a sapling?!"

I'd been so curious how far I could grow that I'd ignored all efficiency and simply grown, and now my boughs blanketed the blue sky from edge to edge.

Why call me a "Young Tree," you ask?

Because I'm a first-year sapling, obviously.

That is an indisputable truth.

I will never concede it.

"I'm telling you, the elves here have gone mad, all of them together!"

The peddler's face said he'd wanted to argue the point but couldn't find a single opening, and it had left him bitter.

"It's bigger than the Lord's Castle! How is that a sapling?!"

His finger jabbed frantically at the colossal tree.

Priestess Dahlia found she could not bring herself to deny it.