Managed Young Tree (3) — Now Monetized

With the shrines now established, the problems needing management had multiplied.

"I'm sorry—what? Our priest has gone missing? For days now? How on earth?! No, if anything, factoring in the travel time for a carrier pigeon, he should be back later than this!"

Shall I go check on him?

"Please do."

When we first started out, all I worried about was thieves raiding the offering boxes—but that turned out to be the least of my problems.

What are you doing over there?

"Gahk—O Young Tree, save me, please! I went out to survey the surrounding terrain and got stranded on a cliff! I'm all out of dried fruit now—what am I supposed to do?!"

Honestly. What am I supposed to do with an elf stuck on a cliff.

I'll lift you up. Reach out your arms.

"Sob—thank you, Your Holiness."

Managing people is a full-time job.

I'd sent out elf priests to keep the shrines well maintained, and instead, the number of elves who actually needed looking after had only grown all across the territory.

Elves typically live closed-off lives.

They either hunt at the edges of human villages while keeping human contact to a bare minimum, or they dwell in their own insular communities made up entirely of elves.

Almost none of them had any experience in the wider world. Ask them to go live in an unfamiliar village or city, and rather than settling in, they caused problems one after another.

"You rescued enslaved elves? Wow! That's wonderful! THIS is what makes life worth living! Yes...? You're saying their attitude is like legal slaves'? They're criminal slaves? Excuse me?"

I'll look into it.

"Please do..."

When I checked, it turned out to be an elf with a scar across his face. One of my elf priests was being grabbed by the collar and threatened in real time.

"I said if we rescued you, then cough up the money for your escape!"

"Khk—khk. Please, spare me!"

"Give it up unless you want to die!"

"Save meeee!"

What an absolute mess.

The elves trained as priests were a handpicked elite. I suppose one might ask how elite anyone could be when chosen from our little village, but I'd poached them from the very pool that the Teacher had been recruiting to raise up as administrative officials—so elite they were.

And those talents had then been trained by Priest Dahlia, formally educated by the Theocracy, making them an unprecedented elite corps by our village's standards.

If anything, I was starting to worry they might degenerate into a power bloc someday.

"Save meeee!"

"Less begging, more paying!"

So this is what happens when you actually send them into the field.

Honestly, it's experience that matters more than talent. Everyone's a beginner.

"SAVE MEEEE!"

Ah. Yes.

Violence only begets violence—be careful.

"Khek! What the—?! Ugh! Ack!"

I smacked the criminal slave down with gaseous mana. I'd never actually hit a person before, so I was clumsy at it, but striking him with a fallen book left my conscience feeling clean.

"How did it come to this... O Young Tree, thank you for saving me..."

The elf priest, collar seized and front of his shirt torn, sniffled.

No, you did well. You were simply clumsy from lack of experience. Next time, don't rush in to rescue someone blindly—first make sure that by rescuing them, you aren't setting yourself up for worse trouble at the criminal slaves' hands. Understood?

"Understood."

How do I put this.

I only expanded them in the spirit of a management office that would handle the miracle territory on my behalf. So why is it that my own workload has somehow multiplied instead?

Beyond the carrier pigeon letters that Thermia forwards to me, whenever I survey the shrines myself, it's one absurd incident after another. The kind of embarrassing episodes too minor to ever warrant a pigeon—visible to me alone.

"Nngh, my stomach..."

Watching an elf priest bedridden with stomach cramps from grazing the wrong roadside weed leaves me with such complicated feelings.

It did look similar to the plants they used to forage from the fields, yes. After so long, I can understand being delighted enough to snack on it.

Still, once you've settled in an unfamiliar city, you ought not to eat just anything you find growing. The priest training curriculum did not, as it happens, include botany.

Let's add a line to the priest training manual: in unfamiliar regions, do not graze on random weeds—even plants familiar in appearance.

"I'm sorry—what? What kind of fool eats random weeds?"

Right? Exactly what I was thinking.

Field case studies, seasoned with hard-earned experience, were steadily piling up. The next generation of priests would receive far more practical, field-ready training than the current one.

That said, while most of the cases were farcical, a few involved situations that the field priests simply could not handle on their own.

The most representative example was the drinking water problem.

Thanks to the water spirits, our village always enjoyed a supply of perfectly clean water. Truly wonderful water, purified all the way down to disinfection.

When sheltered elves who had drunk nothing but that water gulped down contaminated water in a foreign land, there was no way their bodies would stay healthy.

Within days of settling in, most of the elf priests developed minor symptoms—coughs, fevers, the like. The miracle's stamina blessing kept things from worsening beyond that, but it remained a genuine worry.

Would sending water spirits along with them be too conspicuous?

"It would. Just an elf from a foreign region walking around is enough to draw slavers' eyes—with a water spirit in tow, some noble might well be tempted to indulge his greed."

Our shrines operate under the lord's castle's purview. Anyone with any sense won't dare try anything.

But a thoughtless noble could egg on slavers to stir up trouble, or simply steal the water spirit outright—and in the field, there would be no way to respond in time.

Then let's send fruit wine. I'll place a blessing on it, and they can mix a little into the local water before drinking.

In regions with poor water quality, people sometimes drink wine instead of water, so it's a similar measure.

"The Teacher will be delighted."

Exactly. Have him gather the artisans and brew something light that won't get anyone drunk. No foolish attempts at anything like a ten-thousand-year vintage.

Lately, the village had been raising the vintages competitively.

The age kept climbing depending on how skilled the water spirits became and how well the elves could phrase their requests.

Come to think of it, if we're shipping fruit wine out anyway, it wouldn't hurt to let it supplement their operating funds. Let them sell it to nobles and local notables. Not openly, mind—only to a select few who, quite unnecessarily, keep making generous offerings to the boxes anyway.

"Yes."

Most of the offered goods were already being used directly for shrine upkeep. Still, if they had an active means of raising funds, planning their activities in the field would be far easier.

Once the fruit wine was shipped out, the drinking water problem was solved almost immediately.

There was an unexpected side effect, too.

The fruit wine carried a blessing: those who drink it shall be healthy.

Upon learning this, the elf priests began feeding it to ailing villagers, using it like medicine. Trained by Priest Dahlia, they were practicing like true priests.

I never told them not to. It's not a problem. I didn't make it as a cure, so it won't treat anything—but it would certainly help ease symptoms.

Yet once the miracles of the Divine Domain Zone propped up the patients' stamina, symptom relief alone turned out to cure most illnesses.

In this era, influenza is a deadly disease. High fever and coughing, followed by vomiting and diarrhea—a commoner who's perpetually underfed and starving cannot endure it, young or old, and dies.

But when the elf priests fed water mixed with fruit wine to the bedridden sick, their symptoms improved. When a piece of surplus dried fruit was added on top, the malnutrition resolved, and the patients rose from their sickbeds.

The commoners, who knew nothing of the underlying principle, simply tasted a miracle—fed nothing but water, and their sickness was cured.

As word and testimonies spread, cases of outright voluntary offering increased dramatically.

Until now, people had already been living inside the miracles of the Divine Domain Zone, only hearing after the fact that these were blessings granted by the Young Tree. They'd shrug and think oh, I suppose so—their faith never truly flowed back to me.

But once the priests demonstrated it before their eyes, faith finally began to fill the offering boxes.

People don't give offerings because the miracles stop.

Just as a king is loved because he is king, a divine being is loved simply because it is divine. People pour out a part of themselves, freely and without prompting.

Though to be fair, most of that sentiment rests on a transactional faith.

The expectation that having devoted this much sincerity and heart, a divine being will look after them in return. Not a transaction—but a desire for one.

It's impure, without question.

But that's simply what people are, so perhaps this is the best faith there is.

And if this is the best, then all I need to do is love the best.

My Divinity level had gone up.

Now I could declare one more Holy Land. I could add one more effect to the Divine Domain Zone as well.

The Holy Land I'm not so sure about. The Mana Stone Orchard Mine hasn't even finished activating properly, so I need to manage that side of things first.

As for the Divine Domain Zone...

What conviction should I add next?

Until now, I'd only ever worried about our elf village.

The miners at the iron ore mine were laboring so painfully that I granted them Tireless Stamina and Tireless Spirit so they wouldn't wear themselves down.

For the third, I added Unreaped Injustice to reclaim my miracles. After ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all, it doesn't sit well with me when my miracles end up aiding crime.

It was a light-hearted decision. The village elves were all familiar faces anyway, and if anything major ever happened, I could just apologize to everyone.

Honestly, the whole "sacred tree" act was theater from the start. The fact that it's grown this far is partly the natives' fault, too. I figured if I caused a mess, I should shoulder some of the blame.

But now, the responsibility no longer felt light.

I had established shrines in domains beyond the village I used to turn away from. Once you start managing something, you have to see it through to the end.

Deciding what to add as the fourth mystery is so difficult.

Whatever I choose, turmoil is certain.

The entire baronial district would be thrown into confusion.

Whoa...

This isn't something to rush into. I should think it over carefully. What would be best, I wonder.

"Slaves are the real problem."

Thermia, reading over the letters, wrestled with the dilemma.

The priests' duties didn't end with shrine management.

One of their main tasks was meeting elves who still believed their own kind were short-lived, and persuading ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠them to stop eating grilled meat.

Approaching elves in the middle of a hunt to say such a thing got them treated like mad elves—but it did help map out the reality of the scattered, fragmented elf race.

The short-life problem persisted.

Some had quit meat after hearing news of our village, but not knowing that jerky was still permitted, most of their attempts at dietary reform failed.

"The short-life problem should improve gradually, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠now that more elves are visiting the shrines. Though plenty of them come just to ask about relocating, too."

Rather than risking the dangerous journey to the forest at the kingdom's far western edge, they only needed to reach a nearby shrine—and so the counseling elves multiplied.

It wasn't only our territory, either. Elves who had come to other territories to sell hides or work as mercenaries often stopped to consult as well.

Most returned to their home grounds, since they had homelands of their own—but they would promise to spread the word to the elves back there.

Apparently quite a few elves had been curious but couldn't manage anything, being stuck so far west in the kingdom.

We should prepare for an influx of migrants.

"You're right. A wave of immigrants seems bound ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to arrive all at once. At this rate, won't we end up as a full-fledged city?"

Still, I'm sure the Village Chief and the Teacher will handle it admirably in their own way.

"Heehee, fair enough."

But the true problem of the elf race wasn't any of this.

"In the end, what remains is slavery."

Gathering the scattered stories together made for a genuinely tragic picture. The short-life problem could be solved simply by spreading the knowledge—but slave raiding wouldn't end just by telling people about it.

"The only real solution is to bring down the nobles who knowingly sponsor the slaver guilds. The trade is illegal, yet they back it and make it legal anyway—there's nothing anyone can do."

Just then, an elf priest entered the office.

"Lady Thermia, the self-defense corps requests your presence."

"What's happened?"

"The Count has requested troops. It's a Territorial War."

We do need to break the sponsoring nobles.

Let's see who comes out on top, shall we?