Furniture from the World Tree
The shock I felt upon hearing those words was no small thing. The first image that flashed through my mind was the sight of those ancient elves I'd seen earlier. They revered and worshipped this massive tree as their god, the source that sustained their clan's life force. What would happen if they chopped it down for furniture, as Turea suggested?
"Are you offering the World Tree as collateral, sir, or your clan's lives?"
I'd heard that the elves here couldn't draw life force from the World Tree if they didn't slumber within it. If that went on for too long, their health would deteriorate, and they'd die before reaching their natural lifespan. World Tree elves lived far longer than most, but without the tree, they'd only last about twice as long as a human.
I couldn't fathom what Turea truly wanted.
"No need to worry. A World Tree planted in a spirit vein grows dozens of times faster than one in ordinary soil."
"So the World Tree can be planted in regular ground after all."
Only then did I recall Mira's story about how the planet Willum de Forme had once been filled with countless World Trees. That wouldn't have been possible if they couldn't grow without spirit veins.
"Yes. But plant it outside a spirit vein, and you'd have to wait at least a few hundred years for it to mature."
Now I thought I understood what this elf was getting at.
"Plant two saplings and wait thirty years, and we'll have more than enough space for the entire clan to relocate. Every five years, we'll send our kin to a new tree."
"So using the World Tree for furniture means—"
"Exactly. We'll start with pruning branches, then gradually harvest sections from the upper levels as they empty out, turning them into furniture for release."
It was a thoroughly pragmatic plan. Whenever an office or room on the upper floors vacated, they'd harvest a bit of the World Tree, craft it into furniture, and sell it. Every five years, the elves would migrate to the growing new World Trees, completing the move to the two saplings after thirty years. By then, they could even sell the roots of the old tree without threatening their survival.
"We'll release a new World Tree furniture collection every five years."
"Six collections in total, then."
"Once they're all sold, it won't be available again for at least the next millennium."
Scarcity was guaranteed. And furniture made from a mystical giant tree that had bestowed life force on elves for thousands of years would hold value beyond mere rarity. I couldn't pinpoint what exactly, but one thing was clear: the world's collectors wouldn't miss this chance.
My instincts screamed it. Someone with unimaginable wealth. Someone who could buy a whole city outright. They'd crave Cappelino di Driade's new furniture.
"If sales go as planned, the proceeds will cover operating funds, nutrients and fertilizer for the new World Trees, and still leave enough to repay the principal and interest."
A glint passed through Elama's eyes. Even this seasoned banker recognized the profitability of the project.
Elves willing to sell furniture made from their sacred tree—the be-all and end-all of their existence. Madness was overtaking craftsmanship in the wood. A bold attempt to shatter the inviolable, crossing a line we'd never imagined.
Turea's audacious decision thrilled us, continually sparking our imaginations. If furniture from premium wood had fetched tens of billions of gulden at auction... how much would pieces carved from the one-of-a-kind World Tree across all dimensions, shaped with spirits' aid, command?
Before joining the bank, I'd researched luxury furniture. Back when I was studying art intently before caricature gigs, I'd been captivated by stunning pieces from abroad. The Badminton Cabinet, Earth's priciest—the one commissioned by a British noble from thirty Florentine artisans over six years—sold at auction for 40 billion won in the 18th century.
Earth's most expensive at 40 billion. If they produced something surpassing the Badminton Cabinet with spirit help, in a world where intelligent beings from myriad dimensions mingled, the demand would be astronomical.
Wealthy folks from every dimension would flock with cash in hand. Repaying 130 billion gulden would be a breeze.
Now I understood why the scales had tipped so heavily rightward when I activated my Job Authority. A plan this outrageous, if successful, would yield massive profits.
"Furniture from the World Tree... it must be extraordinary."
"It'll redefine furniture itself. Forms and functions unimaginable with conventional materials."
"Care to elaborate?"
"Cappelino di Driade's past pieces merely had spirits assist our work. This collection will be crafted solely by their power."
Colorful spirits materialized around Turea, frolicking playfully among themselves.
"This collection will be completed entirely by spirit hands."
"...No tools?"
"Repeating the same processes can't birth truly novel creations."
I couldn't picture it. No saws to cut, no chisels or planes to shape, no hammers or nails to join. How do you turn raw timber into furniture like that?
I'd seen a spirit effortlessly haul a heavy wooden elevator packed with people up 152 floors, but doubts lingered. Still, my curiosity was raging.
I recalled the awe from first seeing photos of the Badminton Cabinet. The ornate cabinet, bedecked in gold and mother-of-pearl, was a shock to behold. Functionally like any wardrobe, yet absurdly opulent. The pinnacle of luxury form born from overflowing wealth and artisan toil.
Childhood memories resurfaced—of poring over photos, sketching obsessively till my clothes were smudged.
I'd never had the means for fine furniture or interiors then or now, but the passion of an aspiring artist to etch beauty into my eyes lingered within.
"If that's possible..."
That's why I couldn't help imagining it. What would spirit-crafted furniture look like, standing opposite humanity's greatest masterpiece? What beauty would beings of nature itself create? What functional elegance, unbound by human notions of grace or sophistication?
"I'd love one myself. Though a banker's salary might not stretch that far."
"I'd gift them to grateful patrons if I could, but as CEO, that's off-limits."
Even in a moment ripe for such a gesture, his firm cut-off only bolstered my trust.
"Not sure what the Goddess Examiners will say, but the board will be salivating."
I wasn't the only one stirred. Elama was hooked on Turea's gamble too.
A pro versed in both art and finance. Calling him like me would be arrogant, but as someone straddling those worlds, I could guess his thoughts. No prototypes yet, but reason and emotion alike were convinced. We could see it: the ideal form of furniture, not yet here but destined to be.
"Real estate in a remote spot, worthless to anyone but World Tree elves? No collateral value. But material for history-altering masterpieces? That's different."
A masterpiece unborn for the next millennium was taking shape. One tree couldn't change the world. But World Tree furniture? It could etch itself into history.
Furniture concepts were on the cusp of reinvention, and the bank stood to profit handsomely. Above all, our loan would let a slowly dying clan of World Tree elves find new roots.
A perfect deal: humanitarian, profitable, emotionally resonant. No reason not to bet 130 billion gulden on these master craftsmen creating the universe's finest furniture.
Activating Job Authority repeatedly yielded the same verdict. Cappelino di Driade had potential aplenty to repay 130 billion gulden.
"This on-site collateral inspection should suffice. Next visit, we'll hammer out loan terms and rates."
Elama's face radiated conviction—he could sway both Goddess Examiners and the board.
Excitement surged. My first massive loan as a banker. Money changes nothing alone, but in the right hands, it wields immense power. The thrill of aiding a historic moment made my chest ache.
"I'll contact HQ right away. I'll do my utmost for good news."
"Thank you. Allow me to escort you down."
I insisted it wasn't necessary, but CEO Turea boarded the elevator with us anyway. A snowy fluffball spirit like the one from before operated it, nuzzling my pant leg gleefully. Honestly, I wanted to take one home. Hamster looks, total dog-cat vibes. Spirits are too damn cute.
"Not even a World Tree elf, yet spirits flock to you. Must've grown up in the sticks."
Elama muttered coldly under his breath.
"Just admit you're jealous."
Your gruff tone's why it's ignoring you and sticking to me. Mira would scoop this one up in a heartbeat. Back at training, she'd charged at a golden-fleeced sheep or the bigwig's pup Cerberus on walks, petting frenzy unleashed.
"Hm...?"
The elevator hit the first floor, doors sliding open—and my stray thoughts vanished.
Dozens of ancient elves crowded the lobby, all glaring ferociously. They weren't heading up.
"......"
We stepped out, but they blocked the exit to the World Tree's exterior, unyielding.
"CEO Turea, what the—"
-Step
Before Turea could reply, the elders parted like the Red Sea. The ornate-robed elf from the altar emerged.
"Child, I warned you, yet you made this reckless choice anyway."
The glaring elf clutched two small potted plants on his left arm, brandishing a blazing torch in his right.
"This is on you. Accept it."
The elder set the seedling pots down and slowly brought the torch to bear.
"...What are you doing?!"
Turea's anguished cry echoed through the first floor. Only then did I realize what sprouted in those pots.
-Fwoosh
Before thought caught up, my body moved. To these elves, the World Tree was faith incarnate. I'd erred not anticipating how they'd resist their leader's plan to fell it for furniture.
"Get that fire away, you fucker!!"
When I snapped to, Elama and I were sprinting full-tilt toward the pots.