The Bishop's Doctrinal Trap

Bishop Zailini Bambino thought to himself. This had to be something Turea had asked them to do—a sabotage operation. He had no idea what they were plotting, but it was clearly meant to stall for time.

A doctrinal debate wasn't just about a religious leader seeking guidance. When held between fellow leaders, it was a life-or-death showdown where one's authority was on the line. In short, it was closer to a doctrinal argument.

The fact that a banker siding with Turea had requested one meant they intended to dismantle his arguments and undermine his authority. He couldn't imagine it actually happening, but right now, there were more pressing matters.

"I'm busy at the moment, so we'll do this later. I'm not refusing. It just means I'll give you time to prepare."

He framed it as mercy: praising the banker's audacity to challenge a bishop doctrinally and granting ample time to prepare. He meant to postpone the match under the guise of benevolence—but

"Are you running away?"

Slick Ellama brushed the dirt off his knees as he stood, grinning at the bishop.

"……."

A vein bulged prominently on the bishop's forehead, half-hidden by his hat.

—Crack.

"…What did you just say?"

"No confidence answering a question from someone who only read the scriptures yesterday? Even for a tree bishop like you?"

A ferocious ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠smile clung to Ellama's face as he spoke, clearly provoking the bishop.

The bishop glanced at his followers. But their gazes held an unexpected emotion: the expectation that he would crush this outsider who dared request a debate after just encountering elven scriptures.

Refusing now would betray that and be unwise. It went against both doctrine and public expectation. He couldn't allow a blemish on the legitimacy he'd built up.

"……."

Bishop Zailini thought. He desperately wanted to burn the sapling, but with Turea already collapsed and carried off, victory was assured. Since things had come to this, turning it into a celebratory performance by thoroughly subjugating the banker in a doctrinal debate wasn't a bad idea. After all, he—the tree pope himself—couldn't possibly lose.

"I accept the doctrinal debate. I shall impart valuable teachings to you, traveler from afar."

"I'm on annual leave, so let's chat until you're satisfied."

Too focused on glaring at Ellama, Bishop Zailini failed to notice Kim Jian and the wind spirit slipping through the followers toward the World Tree's interior. Or that they were heading not to the top floor with the sapling, but underground.

While the bishop's followers were away, Echo and I bolted to the center of the World Tree's first floor.

"Kyuu! Kyuwoowoowoo!!"

Once inside the World Tree, Echo began exerting its power again. As I ran across the first floor, I could see young elves extending their hands toward us, channeling energy as per Turea's prior instructions.

—Whoooosh!!!!

Echo absorbed it all without waste and whipped up a gale. The wind shoved back the bishop's followers who had confirmed my entry and moved to surround me.

The elves couldn't even open their eyes against the unimaginable speed of the wind—several meters per second, at least—and retreated.

"The entrance Turea mentioned is…."

The obstacles were cleared, but where was the passage to the underground? It was supposed to be in the center of the first floor, but I saw nothing. Just the altar where the bishop prayed—

—Crunch.

That was when the pillar anchoring the altar's base lifted in the wind.

"Huh?"

For a split second, I'd glimpsed a dark hole beneath.

"That's it."

I seized the gap as the altar—twice the height of a person—rose and shoved it aside.

—Thud!

The tilting altar toppled sideways in under ten seconds, revealing the hidden stairs beneath. This must be the passage Turea mentioned.

Nothing was visible in the darkness, so I pressed on with my smartphone's flashlight. Damp air brushed my face. The scent of water and earth. Focusing, I heard flowing water.

"Underground aquifer…?"

I'd figured such a massive tree needed rich soil with ample water and nutrients, but I hadn't expected a full staircase leading down. Maybe to check the roots' health. Or perhaps—

"This is it."

After descending the dark stairs for a while, my vision gradually brightened. What appeared was a vast cave connected to a lake. Like Thai temples from photos or documentaries, stone structures were enveloped by massive tree roots. The World Tree's roots reached the underground river, and the glowing tips—submerged in water—served as lights.

—Gulp.

The World Tree supplies life force to elves, grants them longevity, serves as spirits' dwelling, and bestows power to wield nature's forces. A tree rooted in ordinary soil achieves these miracles with just water, earth, and sunlight. It's said a god's blessing dwelling within enables it all—a vast flow that cycles stars and moons, governing all things in natural order.

"Will this work?"

Coming from Earth, these concepts felt alien, so I focused on my task. My mission: let Zailini and the mysterious loan shark's conversation reach the bishop's followers above.

For that, I needed just one thing: Echo to amplify the air vibrations it recorded internally, boosting the volume thousands or millions of times.

Spirits are created beings serving elves. They live emitting cries we can't comprehend, but they can speak human languages. We don't hear them because, forged for labor, they produce sounds so faint only gods can detect them.

But there's an exception. Among spirits, those with immense power can convey their will and voice clearly to non-gods. The sole exception is—

"Okay, get up here."

I placed Echo on a nearby World Tree root and mercilessly jabbed it with a fountain pen from my pocket. Sap oozed from the wound. Echo hesitated, then lapped it up.

Absorbing life force's source from a god-blessed colossal tree. Echo's body began glowing like the submerged roots.

Now for the final step—

"Alright, I'm counting on you."

Confirming Echo's nod, I pulled a folded memo from my jacket pocket. This was what Ellama had received from the president at the airport.

Unfolding it revealed handwriting from one of the ancient gods. The language of creation, wielding the authority of absolutes who shaped heaven and earth: divine utterance.

"Suuup."

I took a deep breath and opened the paper. Neat, tiny script in elegant feminine handwriting.

So the president is a woman.

…No time for that; my mouth recited the completed sentence first.

"Appointment certificate. Echo."

I steadied my breath, enunciating each syllable clearly.

"You have served the elves for a long time—"

On the way here, Ellama had said the president bringing me to the bank might not just be due to my high potential. In summary, something she'd lost long ago might dwell within me, and she wanted me close to reclaim it.

I had no idea how or when that happened. But I had a guess.

The nightmare of someone excising my eyeball and replacing it. Since that dream, I couldn't draw properly anymore. Maybe that's why I abandoned becoming a painter—a fragment of a god had taken root in me.

But so what? I'm a banker now. I have to help clients secure loans.

"…for faithfully fulfilling your existential duty—"

Steadying my heart and will, I read the god's words. With each finished phrase, the president's ballpoint script on the memo turned golden.

Letters bearing the creators' authority. The miraculous incantation birthing something from nothing. Power I'd never sought or could bear—a fragment of a non-human's essence—granted my breath limited ability to reenact their deeds.

"Kyuu- ugh!!!"

—Gooooh!!!

Fierce winds swirled around Echo. Gripping the memo tightly, I read the final line to complete the divine utterance.

"Thus, I appoint you as arch spirit."

—Flash!!

Light bloomed outward. The ancient god's blessing in her name had descended upon Echo.

While Kim Jian executed the plan underground, things moved quickly on the World Tree's first floor.

Young elves dragged the wind-toppled elders away, bound them, and restored the altar. Thanks to that, Bishop Zailini noticed nothing and returned with Ellama to begin the doctrinal debate—or argument—before everyone.

The unexpected part: the banker, who'd studied doctrine for just one day, was stumping the bishop, who struggled to respond.

'How can outsiders research our doctrine this deeply….'

The exchange started with easy questions. Confident he couldn't be bested by an outsider, the bishop parried smoothly. But they were all meticulously laid traps.

It began with the era when multiple World Trees still dotted the planet. A peaceful time when elves lived divided among many trees. Theology's golden age, with doctrines evolving and research flourishing.

To swiftly end the debate and assert his legitimacy while preempting rebuttals, Zailini took the easiest path.

"As I've said many times, only the doctrine we follow and the extant scriptures are truth. Other elves failed to gain the star spirits' and World Trees' approval and were culled."

This denied the faiths and diverse doctrines of elves from vanished trees.

"That story's recorded identically by the elves of the last tree that burned away. Here's the proof."

Ellama manipulated his tablet PC, projecting a scanned ancient scroll onto the World Tree's inner wall via portable beam projector. A precious research artifact from a jar unearthed by archaeologists in ashes—known as the Deadwood Document for being salvaged from a dead tree.

The bishop knew of it well.

"Emphasizing your legitimacy is fine. But claiming only you receive the star spirits' guidance seems thinly evidenced. After all, tree bishops from vanished trees made the same claim."

"……."

In short: the guy who said that before you died with his tree in the flames.

Stumped by the blatant provocation, Zailini fell silent. What he'd just told the banker borrowed logic from various tree bishops during post-industrial warming, when trees dwindled worldwide.

Elves of surviving trees faithfully followed star spirits' teachings—the righteous ones—while the perished lived wrongly, an insulting narrative.

This Slick Ellama knew not only that the claim predated him but had perfect counterarguments ready. To fight back, the bishop had to continue tales he didn't truly believe.

"To cut to the chase, those kin who claimed so were deemed unfit by the star spirits and perished. This tree enduring unscathed proves our faith's purity."

"So you're opposing the tree as collateral for a loan? If it gets approved or chopped up, it'd mean you failed to guide these elves rightly as bishop?"

Ellama's odd remark puzzled the bishop, but he wouldn't miss the opening.

"My reputation isn't the point. I'm the tree bishop. I'd do anything to protect it—even give my life for my people!"

Appealing his bishop's resolve to one doubting purity drew thunderous applause. Followers' cheers remained fervent. But why, then—

Having declared he wouldn't lose so easily, Zailini sensed a faint unease.

From some point, the fire spirit floating beside him had begun distancing itself. Not just physically—the mental link was weakening in real time.

"……."

After a moment's thought, he guessed the cause and groaned softly.

Spirits hate lies. Repeated lies in the debate had halved his spirit's power.

'Did they plan this from the start?'

His power waning, yet pride challenged, he'd overlooked it. If Turea returned now, he'd lose in raw force.

"Enough. I won't play your games anymore."

—Whoosh!!

Instead of replying, the bishop unilaterally ended the debate, summoning flames in the air via his fire spirit. This man was dangerous. No killing, but burns to drive him off if needed.

"Why so wary? I'm just an ordinary human."

The banker provocatively smiled with leisure.

"…Hm?"

Only then did the bishop realize: two bankers had come. When had the other vanished?

—Gooooh!!

Right then, fierce winds raged across the first floor. Vibrating air. Amid the whooshing, voices emerged.

Familiar voices dyed the bishop's face with horror. It was his conversation with the loan shark. And not just for him—nearby kin's faces twisted rapidly, the voices audible to all elves.

"No, no…!!"

The volume swelled. No longer whispers—it echoed like a broadcast throughout the World Tree.

Not just hostile young elves—even obedient followers now glared with fury.

"It's fake!! Manipulation!! I never said that!!! Who did this cheap trick?! Yeah!! Proof!! Show proof!!!"

His fire spirit link nearly severed, unable to threaten physically, the bishop screamed hoarsely. He couldn't fathom when he'd been recorded. World Tree elves feared fire, shunning electronics; the bankers must have planted bugs or recorders.

Followers distrusted machines, so pinning it as fabrication offered hope.

"I'll show you proof."

Then, another banker emerged from under the toppled altar. No clue why he'd gone underground, but in under five seconds, the bishop realized what had happened at his feet.

The first-floor winds halted, then a massive white fluffy mass appeared midair. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The last wind spirit, Echo—which had handled the elevator—floated with dignified poise, shaking its cute, round ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠body.

"Not illegal recordings or deepfakes rejected in court. Just the spirit replaying air vibrations it recorded internally."

The enlarged spirit. Elder elves who'd lived through war knew its form well.

"You all know spirits hate lies, right?"

This was an apostle of the mighty divine spirits—one per element across the planet: the arch spirit.

Before this legendary being—appearing after 500 years—no one doubted the voices' authenticity.