The Bishop's Shadowy Debt
Six hours after the bankers of the Dimensional Credit Vault passed through the secret staircase and departed for the train station, the standoff at the World Tree in the Santan Chonello Josabella Forest had entered a temporary lull due to the exhaustion of the elderly elves following the bishop.
Spirit magic was an ability that borrowed power from entities other than oneself, much like the Job Authority wielded by the Dimensional Credit Vault's bankers, but it consumed the caster's own stamina. For ancient elves who had lived through eons, commanding spirits was as natural as moving their limbs. But there was no outlasting age itself.
The rock ceiling that the craftsmen and priests of Cappelino di Driade, loyal to Turea, had created to block the elevator passage held firm without a crack. The bishop and his followers, unable to return to their homes in the upper levels, pitched tents on the first floor of the World Tree and collapsed inside.
"The nerve of those young punks, taking over the World Tree like it's theirs..."
"Look at them rampaging without a shred of gratitude. This is why a nation that forgets its history is doomed."
The aged elves hurled curses at the young guards standing watch before crawling into their sleeping bags. Though no physical clash had erupted yet, the young elves had no room for even a moment's lapse—they had to protect the sapling on the rooftop from being burned.
In the center of the World Tree's first floor, Bishop Zailini Bambino of the New Tree had set up a lavish large tent and claimed his spot, his expression growing increasingly irritable. But his frustration wasn't solely because the path upward was blocked or because his hand throbbed from the iron-plated wig the banker had thrown at him.
"...If only we had a little more time."
Inside the carpeted tent, the bishop sat facing a man, unable to hide his bewilderment.
*Gulp*
In the silent tent, only the sound of Bishop Zailini swallowing dryly echoed. His face was taut with tension. It was an unexpected visit from a creditor.
Naturally, he was on edge—the man he'd borrowed a fortune from had shown up unannounced. In contrast, the visitor in his tent wore a smile plastered to his face, as if something immensely pleased him.
"Come on, Bishop. We're closer than that. Of course we'd wait for you."
At the man's words, the deep wrinkles etched into the bishop's face smoothed ever so slightly. Unlike his fears, the man hadn't come to collect.
"I'm grateful you say that..."
"We've already waited over fifteen years. What's a few more days?"
But the man's follow-up made Zailini's expression sour instantly. He was politely demanding repayment of the gambling debt, but the bishop was speechless.
It had been fifteen years since the repayment deadline passed and overdue interest began accruing. The bishop's debt stemmed from a momentary lapse: borrowing a small sum from this loan shark to gamble.
Unable to handle the snowballing interest, he'd offered additional collateral to extend the term. And what he'd pledged was something he didn't even have rightful ownership of.
"If the bank takes the tree as collateral, that'd be a problem. You know that, right?"
"......"
The handsome man, with skin paler than an elf's—almost ghostly—spoke with a relaxed smile. Bishop Zailini could only nod.
It was his fault for not repaying. After borrowing from the man under the excuse of lacking liquid funds, Zailini had lost massive sums in illegal gambling dens multiple times. Yet each time, the man had whispered reassurances with a kind smile: "I trust in your reputation and credit," extending deadlines without demanding more collateral.
Regaining confidence from those words, Zailini believed he could repay anytime he wanted. That complacency led to negligence. Year after year, he blew past repayment dates, gambling away winnings instead of settling debts.
The result was catastrophic. Compound interest had ballooned the debt beyond what he could ever pay. In a panic, he'd even dipped into his New Spirit Church followers' offerings, but it still fell far short. Paying minimal interest annually only made it grow.
Now, fifteen years past the original due date, the man was demanding ownership of the collateral.
That collateral was none other than:
"Even if it's not in the records, I set the lien on the World Tree first."
The World Tree where the bishop and other ancient elves lived.
"That's right. Now that repayment's impossible, the tree is yours."
"I'm so glad you remember. I was worried you'd forgotten."
The man shook documents from his bag in front of the bishop's eyes. His face beamed, but an irresistible chill permeated the air around him. It wasn't just tension—the tent's temperature seemed to drop a degree with every word he spoke.
In truth, the bishop was shivering, white breath escaping his lips.
"......"
Caught in the loan shark's mysterious power, Zailini felt terror as his body slowly stiffened.
Failed — Overwhelmed by chill
He tried summoning a fire spirit to warm himself, but it was futile. The spirit answered his call only to flee in fear of the unidentified cold.
"It's fine you couldn't pay on time. You provided collateral of ample value. But if the bank gets involved, I'll be in real trouble—you get that, right?"
"Of course..."
"Don't worry. Taking the World Tree's rights won't mean evicting you all right away."
"...Cough! Hack... Gah!!!"
Unable to endure the dry chill, the bishop erupted into violent coughing. His palm, pressed to his mouth, was soaked with blood from torn throat and mouth.
"Enough... Please, stop..."
Before the loan shark whose power even spirits feared, the bishop dropped to his knees, begging for mercy. The old man's fingertips clutching the man's pants were encased in frost from the encroaching cold.
"My apologies. It wasn't intentional. Please, stand."
The loan shark gave a small nod as if excusing a mistake, then helped the prone bishop to his feet. Withdrawing the extreme cold, the old man finally gasped for breath and curled into the sofa like a burrow.
"As you know, but just to be thorough: please ensure the bank doesn't take the World Tree as collateral."
The man peered into the bishop's eyes. His smile seemed harmless, but the bishop now knew he held the power to claim his life at any moment.
"No matter what, this loan must not go through. If they do take the tree..."
The loan shark's gaze shifted to the bishop's chest. As if piercing through ribs to the beating heart within.
"...I'll claim something else instead of the tree."
When the bishop blinked, the man was gone. Clutching his pounding chest, the bishop calmed his ragged breaths instead of replying.
"Huff... Huff..."
He could imagine the consequences if the sapling wasn't burned. Unbeknownst to him, a small fluffball spirit had clung to the tent, eavesdropping—his ominous thoughts blinding him to it.
We safely returned to Rhinomil town via Turea's carriage, then used a dimensional gate to head back to the Kikiwai outpost in Dimension 6-2.
Elama shut himself in his office immediately upon arrival and showed no sign of emerging. Voices suggested he was on the phone somewhere, but the thick door and walls muffled them.
He was probably contacting people to gather info for persuading the bishop. Come to think of it, earlier he'd mentioned that among Great Huuriten's traditional theater Karbuk's classic comedies, some featured World Tree elves as protagonists. As the eldest son of the Watch family, leaders in the twelve Karbuk lineages, he might dig up old records through family connections.
"Hope there's some clue left."
He was so capable he'd handle it, but anxiety outweighed reassurance in me. Our opponent had tried to burn one of the last two remaining World Tree saplings. I doubted rational talk was possible with a bishop who revered the World Tree yet sought to destroy its "child."
Would words even reach him? A doctrinal debate might sway him, but if not?
"......"
On the day Cappelino di Driade's elves first visited the bank, my Job Authority had forewarned intervention was needed for the loan to succeed and the 130 billion gulden repayment. And that intervention meant me, the Job Authority's wielder, not Elama.
Elama was an elite among elites, snagging deputy manager youngest ever. I was a rookie not even a year in—utter cannon fodder.
Anything I could do, he could. He had the skills and networks for what I couldn't. So why me, not him?
Why had Job Authority decreed I must act, not let him resolve it?
Maybe what I needed to do wasn't "what Elama can't," but "what Elama won't."
"......"
Elama was a lone wolf, but his unbroken ascent stemmed from balancing risks—knowing when to pull strings. He weighed dangers of provoking the bishop against gains.
He'd even thrown that iron-plated wig without injuring him badly. Urgent or not, a banker harming someone required precautions. Luckily, the other factions' interests aligned, so even if the bishop complained, Elama wouldn't suffer.
His act was heroic, stopping the bishop's loan interference crime. But it was aggressive all the same.
Any more illegal moves, and he'd be cornered. His hands were already tied to some degree.
Banks thrived on image. Harming an elder meant minor reprimand at least. This incident blemished Elama's pristine career.
And it started because I foresaw the loan's success via Job Authority.
So ultimately:
"The one who can move is—"
Me. No one else—I had to.
"......"
Bank bosses were stereotyped as stealing subordinates' credit and shoving blame. But Slick Elama had thrown himself in, creating the final chance for my loan—risking his shiny record.
Failing to seize it would disqualify me as a banker.
'Remember: keep asking yourself where the line is. Cross it unknowingly, and you might never come back.'
Del Monte's words before leaving Podoks flashed by, but I shook my head.
"Time to cross it, Branch Manager."
If persuasion failed against an unyielding foe, there was only one way: take them down.