The Wind Spirit's Desperate Dash
Early dawn, when everyone except the night watch had fallen asleep. A furry white ball slipped silently between the elves of the two opposing factions facing off on the first floor of the World Tree.
"Squeak... grrrk!"
The wind spirit, cloaked in pure white fur, bounced across the floor like a rubber ball with its limbless body as it headed out of the World Tree. Its mission was to operate the elevator, allowing elves to travel between the upper and lower levels of the World Tree.
But right now, the spirit was abandoning the World Tree and bounding toward the city streets of Rhinomil.
"Grrrt, grrroo grrrooo...!!"
Bouncing its small body off the ground, forward, forward. Normally, it could ride the winds with its power, but this was outside the World Tree, with no elves nearby to lend it strength. Pushing its abilities in this state risked not surviving the shock of dimensional travel, so it had no choice but to endure.
As it neared the city, its fluffy white body grew dirtier with dust. The polluted air eroded its pure life force.
But the wind spirit didn't give up. Just as the World Tree had limits on how many elves it could house, no more than one of each spirit could reside there. And with all but one World Tree gone from this world, the wind spirit had lost every kin and become a lonely outcast.
Its only hope now was that the two saplings Turea kept would take root in the ley lines, birthing a new wind spirit. It couldn't let Bishop Zailini, who tried to force another spirit to burn those precious saplings, get away with it.
As a spirit bound to obey elven commands, it couldn't directly harm the bishop. But last night, it had obtained something crucial—a key to strip the bishop of all authority and thwart his schemes.
By eavesdropping on every conversation between Zailini and the mysterious man with unknown powers.
"Kyuuuaaa!!"
The spirit raced through the dawn quiet. To others, it might look like it was crawling or rolling, but it was giving its all. Along the forest road. Following the scent left by "that man" who had departed first.
South, south.
That man was an ordinary human. A banker whom Turea treated with special care. He didn't live as long as elves, nor could he command spirits unilaterally.
But he possessed something far more extraordinary. A power lost even before spirit arts faded from the outside world. A massive fragment of the forgotten goddess's authority dwelled in his eye—greater than what the bald man beside him had.
Spirits could understand elven speech, but elves couldn't comprehend spirits' will. But the man with "that eye"...
A fragment of the ancient god's power to hear the wind's voice, even if imperfectly held. He could surely replay the conversation the spirit had overheard last night—the vibrations of air perfectly recorded in its tiny body.
He could let it hear the wind's voice.
"Grrrk...!!!"
Hours passed. In the hazy morning light bathing Rhinomil's streets, the spirit arrived at its destination, exhausted to the brink of death.
-Plop!!
The spirit crammed its cute, squishy body into the narrow gap of the firmly shut dimensional gate. Praying desperately that a non-human like itself could withstand the dimensional travel's peril, and that its voice would reach.
* * *
The next morning. The Kikiwai Multidimensional Branch, still empty with no one arrived yet.
-Bang!
I entered alone through the staff passage and flung open the branch chief's office door.
"Good morning."
"Fancy greeting."
Elama turned to me, his eyes bloodshot. Stubble dotted his face. His haggard look screamed he'd pulled an all-nighter at the bank.
Ancient, thick tomes scattered across the desk. The computer screen was crammed with tiny text like ants—enough to hurt your eyes just looking at it.
"You didn't go home."
"And you don't look like you slept properly either."
We exchanged glances and smiled wordlessly. Just as he'd said.
Unlike him, I'd returned straight to my lodging, but I hadn't rested or slept. I'd pored over the exact same materials he'd been reviewing all night.
Rarely acquired ancient elven scriptures and doctrinal interpretations. Weapons we needed to go head-to-head with the bishop, our enemy this time.
The reason we'd dug into this instead of calling the cops—
"...Which side are you on?"
"You tell me first, Chief."
"Once you've chucked an iron plate at his wrist, going harder's tough positionally. Persuasion... yeah, defense is my limit."
"Attack's on me, then."
Exactly as expected. To resolve this, Elama and I had to play our roles perfectly.
He had to argue why the bishop couldn't burn the saplings and shake his followers.
Meanwhile, I'd attack and dismantle the bishop.
"...Not reassuring."
Elama stared at me blankly for a moment before speaking.
"Test me, then."
His face, immobile except for his mouth, reminded me of my interview. Yeah, that was the expression he made when testing me.
"Recite the taboos set by Shinmokgyo doctrine."
"Drinking, promiscuity, lending money at interest."
"Then, the virtues of a World Tree cleric?"
"A priest must wear purity as a hat, nobility as ornament, and devote their life wholly before the mother tree blessed by the star spirits."
"...You've memorized the basics. Now, if someone asks the bishop a doctrinal question?"
"They must respond, no matter the situation."
This was the rule that would be our key to resolving the crisis. Doctrinal Q&A—questioning and answering religious teachings to instruct the faithful.
No matter who asks, the bishop of Shinmok must respond to seekers of wisdom.
A rule so ancient even the World Tree elves had forgotten it. Most Shinmok followers were long-lived elves well-versed in doctrine, so no one had requested a Q&A from the bishop in ages.
Records showed the last official one was 480 years ago. They didn't worship the World Tree and its star spirits exactly like ancient elves, but we'd use every tool available.
"But that's not enough. That knowledge won't dismantle the bishop in a Q&A."
"I never thought persuasion or refutation would work anyway. If he was reasonable, he wouldn't try burning flowerpots."
"You get it."
Elama chuckled.
"I figured my memory and focus outclass yours, no matter what."
"Brag much? Jealous of how sharp you are."
"Hear me out to the end. You probably guessed, but I'll try persuading the elves why he can't burn the saplings."
"For real?"
Was that even possible? Even if the old coots were stubborn, he was a bishop—master of doctrine and sophistry.
"Nah. But if I pose a question tough to refute publicly, I can shake his followers."
Then I got it—Elama's plan.
"To avoid looking weak verbally in front of followers, he'll make excuses galore."
"Or drag me somewhere with fewer eyes."
"Either way, it'll pin the bishop down awhile."
Elama nodded. He was buying me time. Time to fetch a bomb that'd shatter public trust while he held the bishop.
"A World Tree bishop burning saplings defies logic. He's surely breaking doctrine behind the scenes. Money issues, high odds."
"But exposing that—will his elderly followers change sides?"
I knew. I'd seen it countless times on Earth. Even when a cult leader's true face or scandals emerged, most believers denied reality.
They clung to the leader, attacking truth-tellers.
"Tough. People believe what they want."
"......"
My gaze dropped unwittingly. Even Elama saw slim chances of success.
"The older they are, the more pride keeps them from admitting faults. His followers are mostly elderly. They won't ditch Zailini easily."
"So attacking the bishop's pointless?"
"When'd I say that?"
"Just now—"
"Your job: prove he's directly harming all elves."
It hit like a hammer to the head. Right—I wasn't just nipping at his morals mildly.
Go half-measures, and we couldn't save the near-extinct World Tree elves' future or land the 130 billion gulden high-interest loan for the branch's performance.
The bishop was dooming his own species' future. Whatever his reasons, it was evil. No mercy needed.
If I could shatter his prestige and followers, I'd do anything.
'Remember. Keep asking yourself where the line is, no matter how far you go.'
'Or you might cross it someday.'
"......"
Even if it meant lies. Better if he hid dirty truths.
But how exactly to topple him? How to turn his supporters?
-Boom!
Something exploded outside the door.
"...Bank robbers?"
Elama yanked a pistol from his desk drawer, flung open the door, and aimed out.
Was gun ownership legal here...?
"Who the hell?!"
I crouched low, following him cautiously. Then, something unexpected entered my view.
"...Huh?"
Correction—not a thing, a creature.
Filthy but still hamster-like, trembling in terror.
"Kyuu...."
The wind spirit from the World Tree, the one that had rubbed against me.