The Wig That Saved the World Tree
Just before the torch could set the two World Tree seedlings ablaze, Elama—who'd been charging ahead—made his bold move. The instant he yanked off the long blonde wig he was wearing, the light emanating from the water spirits dangling from the ceiling reflected straight into the eyes of the elf clutching the torch.
“……?!”
The old man's eyes took a direct hit from that arrow of light, staggering him. But that was just the beginning.
The inside of the wig Elama had removed was reinforced with an iron plate.
-Whoosh!
The wig, hurled with full force. Golden strands fanned out from the centrifugal spin, twirling beautifully.
-Clang!
The flying iron plate—or rather, the wig—smashed directly into the elf's wrist.
“Aaaack!”
The old man couldn't bear the pain and dropped the torch.
An opening had formed. Miss this chance, and the World Tree seedlings would be done for.
I dove into a headfirst slide without breaking stride from my run. I somehow snagged the flowerpot just before the sparks could reach the seedlings.
“Aaaah hot hot hot hot hot!!!!”
The fallen torch slammed right into my waist.
* * *
Thankfully, my waist—which I'd barely even used yet—didn't suffer any serious burns. The moment I felt the heat, Turea and the other elves summoned their spirits, who dumped buckets of ice-cold water on me all at once. My suit jacket was thick enough to save the day; otherwise, the melted shirt and my skin would've fused together into one gruesome mess.
“No abnormalities. You're in good health.”
I finished a quick checkup at the clinic inside the World Tree and was discharged. My muscles were screaming from pushing past my limits to snag those seedlings, but otherwise, no issues. The real problem was my charred jacket and the rest of me soaked through.
“The bishop has caused you great trouble. I have no face left to show.”
Maybe because he'd watched a banker's clothes catch fire right in front of him during the on-site collateral inspection, Turea couldn't hide his grim expression.
It had been an unexpected mess, but seeing him so sincerely apologetic made it hard to stay mad.
“I'm fine. No real injuries—”
“I've worked at the Dimensional Credit Vault for years, but this is a first. I'll have no choice but to report it to the board.”
Elama, though, looked seriously pissed.
Was he playing the boss card, looking out for his subordinate?
“...I'm really okay, so don't worry about it.”
I excused myself from Turea and hurried after Elama with quick steps.
“What do you plan to do?”
He turned to me with that signature feral grin.
“Good work, Kim Jian. Now we can negotiate even better terms.”
This guy was absolutely planning to leverage my near-barbecue into some gain for the bank. What a lunatic.
“Is that what you say to a subordinate who almost got roasted?”
“Does a fatter incentive sound that bad?”
“......”
He was so shameless I didn't even feel like responding.
“...I just don't want this 130 billion loan deal flying out the window over a little singed clothing.”
“Now that's banker talk. Unless your life's on the line, profit comes first. Remember that.”
I nodded reluctantly. At first, it felt like I'd been played, but this was better. If Elama had gotten mad just because I almost got hurt, the loan might've fallen through. Instead, he was scheming to turn this mess into a bigger win for the bank.
Anything was better than the elves not getting the money at all.
“I'll push the board for repayments every five years over 30 years—principal plus 9% interest.”
“Nine percent? That's high for a collateralized loan.”
“130 billion Gulden isn't pocket change. Factor in the 30-year lockup risk, and 9% is a steal.”
“If another bank snags this first...”
“They've shopped every bank in this dimension already. That's why they came to us, idiot.”
Made sense. There had to be a reason they'd crossed dimensions for it.
Willumdeforme—a planet that's one giant nation with just a single livable continent—wasn't exactly swimming in economic slack. The north's Bardia Province was bankrolling the rest of the region.
Even if every bank teamed up for a loan syndicate, handing 130 billion Gulden to a furniture company against World Tree collateral would be a stretch. We'd barely considered it feasible ourselves; I could only imagine the other banks' reactions.
In short, the Dimensional Credit Vault was the only bank that could extend a helping hand to the World Tree elves.
Nine percent wasn't low, but selling World Tree furniture would cover it easily.
I was a Dimensional Credit Vault banker. Balancing customer needs with bank profits was my job, so I couldn't oppose Elama's high rate.
No, I should back it.
“When you put it that way, 9% doesn't sound so bad.”
“It's downright generous.”
Elama was already wearing a fresh long blonde wig—just like the elves'—having retrieved it somehow.
“By the way, it played out just like your Job Authority predicted.”
“Yeah. But I didn't expect this...”
When I'd used Goddess Judgment, it had confirmed I needed to get directly involved in this loan. But as no prophet, I had no clue how. Never imagined it'd be saving two World Tree seedlings from going up in flames.
Truth be told, amid all the rolling and the water deluge, I had no idea what happened to the seedlings afterward. Hopefully Turea had them safe.
“I was too out of it getting carted off earlier—what about the seedlings?”
“Safe. For now.”
Elama leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His face wasn't cheerful.
“'For now' what?”
Instead of answering, Elama leaned on the railing inside the donut-shaped floor and gazed up at the ceiling. The elevator shaft, powered by wind spirits, was now sealed shut by a massive boulder.
“What the hell...?”
“The seedlings you saved are under guard by one of Turea's close aides on the top floor.”
“And the blocked path up?”
“Earth spirits sealed the passage. Keeps the bishop and his followers from climbing.”
So the old guy was the bishop. That explained the heavy religious vibe.
“Those two were meant for the ley lines, right?”
“Yeah. Without them, the World Tree elves can't grow their numbers anymore.”
Destroying something like that? It was beyond mad.
“Trying to wipe those out... Better to lose their faith than die slow?”
“Not like medieval martyrs. Unbelievable.”
First time seeing people value something over their own lives for real.
Even Turea—who'd meticulously planned for the future—had shocked me by offering the World Tree as collateral. But the bishop actively trying to end his own kind's lifespan? Utterly incomprehensible.
“Even after failing once, they might try again.”
Elama nodded gravely.
“Chopping down these ancient trees was already betrayal enough in their eyes.”
Peering over the railing, I spotted two factions facing off below, murmuring tensely. One side: young elves in work clothes and suits. The other: elderly in traditional robes.
The former were Turea's allies from Cappelino di Driade—artisans and temple folk. The latter, the bishop's crew.
Tiny spirits of every shape and color swirled around both groups, mirroring their masters' hostilities.
I didn't know the ins and outs of spirit arts, but if wind could lift elevators to the 152nd floor, harming people would be child's play. A clash could turn bloody fast.
And worse—
“If they break through that boulder blocking the shaft...”
“The seedlings on the top floor go up in smoke.”
“......”
“Obvious, but no seedlings means no loan.”
“Nothing else like them around?”
“Turea said those two are the last.”
Beyond the loan, the World Tree elves could face extinction. The mature trees couldn't sustain their population forever. No new plantings, and they'd dwindle into history's footnotes.
Even if it wasn't my people, watching another race vanish wasn't pleasant. Like lemmings racing off a cliff, with others grabbing ankles. Or worse—could we even get out safely?
The ground floor crackled with imminent violence. To reach the exit, we'd pass right through dangerous old elves gearing up for a spirit-powered show of force.
They were mainly after Turea and the seedlings, but as his collaborators, we'd be targets too.
Unarmed except for that iron-plated wig, could we push through an angry mob?
“...Why the iron in the wig, anyway? For fighting?”
“High winds.”
“You threw it like a pro.”
“Not my first rodeo.”
“That's different from what you said earlier.”
“You know nothing about negotiation. Like faking injury in a car crash—you flop over the horn first.”
“......”
What a slimy fox. I'd figured his concern was acting, but not that he'd done this before.
“Anyway, glad you're in one piece. Let's find a way out.”
“Didn't expect the worry. Nice surprise.”
“Idiot. Who writes the incident report if my guy gets hurt on a business trip?”
Of course. My bad for expecting any humanity from Elama.
“Hm.”
Ignoring my vibe, Elama alternated glances between the ground-floor crowd and his watch.
“Gotta move soon or the dimensional gate closes. Time to hustle.”
“I'm in patient scrubs here.”
“And?”
“Can't go out like this.”
“Obviously change.”
“Into what?”
Elama popped open his suit case instead of answering.
-Clunk.
Somehow, it held way more than its size suggested—like an invisible giant pocket attached.
“...Packed heavy, huh.”
Inside: fire extinguisher, folding tent, pickaxe-like tools, and more. Neatly stowed among them: two casual outfits my size.
“Lightweight and space-expanded mage-tech bag.”
Sorry, but can I call you Elamont?
“Cool. Want one.”
“On sale for 15 Kim Jians. Buy it.”
“What unit's that?”
“Your salary, 15 years.”
“Makes sense, but why the pickaxe...?”
“Training camp didn't teach you? Sometimes you crash locally on inter-dimensional trips.”
“Nope.”
“Corporate trainers with no field experience—biggest problem.”
Elama handed me clothes. We swapped in the bathroom quick and emerged.
Sunglasses, ear-hiding beanie, mask—decent disguise.
“Kinda like a MapleStory avatar...”
“What'd you say?”
“Nothing.”
Out in the hall, Turea waited.
“Secret stairs to the outside. I'll drive you to the station.”
Under Turea's lead, we slipped past the old elves on the first floor and escaped the World Tree unscathed. The bishop's goons were all inside, so no one clocked our disguises. We hopped in the car and headed to the station.
“......”
“......”
A silence thick enough to choke on. Turea—who'd just dodged losing his race's future in a heartbeat—looked ashen, his skin paling to dark elf tones.
“My oversight. Thought the bishop would come around once funding was secured...”
No words of comfort came for his devastated face.
If HQ heard about this, the corporate loan division wouldn't rubber-stamp it. No bank lends 130 billion amid visible risks.
But.
“It's not over yet.”
No matter who, I wouldn't let my loan fall apart. Absolutely not.