Ch.162011 Investigation Record – An Unexpected Opportunity (2)

Having to go to the office on a Saturday to find work materials was already a burden. Ugh, I shouldn’t be making such office worker complaints already.

Still, meeting a Spirit King required extensive preparation. Though born from humans, they had become something far more powerful than people. They had become the forces that moved cities.

For the Industrial Spirit King to move, countless factories across the city had to stop, and for the Economic Spirit King to awaken, millions of dollars in bills had to gather. That was the kind of being I was going to meet.

As for the War Spirit King… I hadn’t heard about it, so I didn’t know, but it must be a powerful entity too. How many people died when smugglers brought just one War Spirit into America?

Considering how much war could change people, the War Spirit King couldn’t possibly be weak. Unlike other Spirit Kings that existed in different countries, the War Spirit King was also the only one of its kind.

Anyway, I was going to meet something that powerful. I left home and headed to Golden Age Press. I also grabbed a handful of threatening letters from my mailbox that kept coming regardless of weekends.

You’ll die struck by lightning. That was common. I’m coming to kill you. The only elves who actually came to my house were family members. You ruined the elves’ future. That was also quite common.

We’ve accumulated quite a pile of these at the office by now. Could we use them for winter heating? I thought about selling them as waste paper later as I stuffed the letters into my bag.

These letters were mostly just acts of self-gratification. They were simply unpleasant acts of writing to me so they could say they did something on the day their believed elven future ended.

I looked through the rest on my taxi ride to the office. There was one threatening letter made by cutting out letters from Golden Age Press. At least this one showed some creativity. Maybe I’ll choose this as today’s threatening letter.

Seeing these threatening letters still pouring in made me realize how influential my father had been. He was a man who showed the charisma and ability to make elven folklore a reality.

In fact, what the detective had said about my father was something I hadn’t known. Only after my father passed away could I hear about such things that had happened to him.

If he hadn’t had a past holding him back, could my father have truly become someone who only looked forward? Could he have become a leader rather than a cult leader? There were too many “what ifs” in our lives. I gathered up the threatening letters.

The taxi arrived at the office, and after adding a reasonable tip to the fare, I got out. The security guard who had remained stationed even after the mafia stopped coming to the office greeted me first.

“Ms. Rose, isn’t today your day off? I mean, you’re on weekday duty, right?”

The feeling that had momentarily escaped while critiquing the threatening letters returned to my chest. My body went limp, and a sigh-filled voice escaped.

“Another reporter from the social affairs department passed work to me. Their child is sick, and I couldn’t refuse… They said they had prepared some questions, so I came to find them.”

“You’re working hard. Ah, I’ll open the door for you.”

After mumbling a “thank you” in a small voice, I entered the office. As I was about to grab the questionnaire from James’ desk near mine, I heard the editor-in-chief’s voice from behind.

“Ms. Rose, did you hear from James? He just called saying he contacted you… Though seeing you standing there, I guess you did receive his message.”

The editor-in-chief had completely returned to his normal self. He wasn’t smoking cigarettes he didn’t usually smoke, and except for worrying about Carmen, he was the good editor-in-chief I knew.

“Ah, yes! I came after receiving his message. It’s my first time meeting a Spirit King, so I’m not sure how to approach it…”

The editor-in-chief straightened my hunched shoulders. After contemplating what helpful advice to give, he smiled and said:

“You shouldn’t be so nervous about a Spirit King. If you continue your career as a journalist, you might eventually be invited to a White House dinner with the God-President. Spirit Kings aren’t that different from people. The only real difference is that they possess immense power, but even they aren’t fully accustomed to their own abilities. So treating them like people will actually make them happy.”

Had the editor-in-chief interviewed a Spirit King before? He spoke as if it were quite familiar.

“Ah, what do you mean by treating them like people?”

“Exactly what I said. Many journalists get intimidated because Spirit Kings are enormous and powerful beings. They often just listen to what the Spirit Kings say and write it down verbatim for their articles. Don’t do that. Ask what you can ask, and if you’re curious about something, express that curiosity. That should be a journalist’s job.”

It “should be” a journalist’s job. Not “is.” It wasn’t a demand or a doctrine. It was like an ideal. Though unreachable, it was something to strive toward, and just having something to aim for was enough.

The flower garden filling my mind wasn’t entirely useless. It was better to have the flower garden remain as a destination to move toward.

Just as following the red needle of a compass might not get you all the way to the North Pole, the compass still helps you find your way—it was the same principle.

I retrieved the list of expected questions from James’ desk. I didn’t memorize them. Memorizing this much wouldn’t be… well, I shouldn’t say this, but it wouldn’t be difficult.

The next day, I spent the entire day worrying about what to wear when meeting the Economic Spirit King. It would probably be better to dress more formally than when meeting regular interviewees. Probably.

No, maybe being too neatly dressed in formal attire wouldn’t be good even for a Spirit King. With these thoughts, I barely managed to select appropriate attire before going to bed early. If I fell asleep at my usual time, I wouldn’t make it to the bank by nine.

I woke up in the now-familiar quiet, still, and cold dawn. I didn’t habitually look for Paulina anymore. I had learned to do alone what needed to be done alone.

Unfairly, or perhaps a bit strangely, this change had come after I went to see Paulina, just as the detective had said. It seemed I hadn’t been afraid of living alone; I had just been lonely.

I prepared a modest breakfast and left early. New York’s morning roads were so congested that I thought angels spread their wings and flew instead of driving cars because of the traffic.

Despite leaving quite early, I only managed to arrive at the bank at eight forty. The atmosphere was different from my usual bank. The Federal Reserve Bank was an enormous concrete building.

There were many procedures, but they didn’t feel particularly important. They just briefly checked my belongings and verified that I was Rose Leafman, a reporter from Golden Age Press.

All I had to do was check in the pistol I had carried when I defected from the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn. I avoided the questioning looks about why a journalist would carry such a proper automatic pistol.

The Economic Spirit King resided in the deepest part of this building. She slept in a massive vault that served as both a safe and her sanctuary. All the journalists summoned here gathered in front of the vault.

The vault door opened. The massive steel door swung open, revealing neatly stacked bills that looked brand new. Not just one or two bundles. An incredible amount of money filled all the edges of the vault, leaving only the center empty. As the vault door opened, those piles of bills began to collapse.

It was something that shouldn’t happen, yet it was also mystical. The bills stacked across two levels began pouring into the center of the vault like a waterfall. Yet not a single bill became crumpled.

The bills that poured down didn’t form a random pile. As if knowing their place, they stacked neatly and began forming a human shape. It looked like a flow of massive green liquid.

Each bill seemed to stack without collapsing, not simply because it fell into that position or because bills were pouring down. Each bill seemed to proudly take its place as if it had the right to be there. It felt similar to seeing the God-President or other worshipped deities.

In the face of the almighty dollar, money itself was the god. The bills continued to stack, and by varying the height of some bills, they created contours and shapes. Like an optical illusion, they took on a human appearance.

I think I’d heard that the Water Spirit King from before the Industrial Revolution looked similar. If the Lady of Water had taken the form of a person made of water, the Lady of Dollars took the form of a person made of bills.

Bills naturally scattered from her body, and other bills naturally filled the empty spaces. She was pulsating without a moment’s pause.

She opened her mouth, or what appeared to be her mouth.

Her voice was like the sound of wind or water flowing. It was the sound of desire. It was the sound of a tree growing lushly without even being pruned. She was a living flow and growth. Things that were sound and things that weren’t sound came together to form her voice.

“You’ve gathered as I asked. I thank you first. I’d like to exchange more pleasantries and whisper more kind words, but today the main topic is urgent. May I proceed?”

Though I felt somewhat overwhelmed by her enormous form that must have been dozens of feet tall, I still nodded. I hadn’t forgotten what the editor-in-chief had told me. No matter how enormous and powerful, she was still a person.

The other journalists weren’t in much better shape. Most looked overwhelmed by her fantastic appearance that words couldn’t adequately describe. I was glad I had received advice before coming.

She raised one hand and rubbed her other arm. Like someone with poor circulation, she rubbed her arm and then spoke. Regardless of her voice’s composition, it was a concerned voice.

“I called you here because the Industrial Spirit King’s condition has been somewhat unstable lately. Since I must remain here, I cannot go to meet him. Though he is powerful, he is not immune to harm. A few months ago, he complained of phantom pain, and lately, he seems to be suffering from nightmares. Could you find out what’s happening to him?”

The Industrial Spirit King—that doomsday prophet definitely said the Industrial Spirit King would die. Could there be a connection? Since I had questions, I wouldn’t hold back.

I raised my hand slightly, and after making eye contact with the Economic Spirit King, I spoke. To continue my investigation, I needed to know what was happening.

“Is it a physical problem, or is it closer to a mental issue? From what you’ve said so far, it’s difficult to understand what’s happening. If you know more than we do, please tell us what you know.”

Human communication was imperfect. Even the detective’s words, filled with emotion, didn’t show me visions. The Economic Spirit King’s communication was similar. Imperfect and only suggestive, not definitive.

That wasn’t enough. To understand what was happening, even gathering all available knowledge was often insufficient. Communication needed to be clear. After pondering briefly, the Economic Spirit King spoke.

“I think he has seen something. Whether it’s a vision or a prophecy, I don’t know, but it’s not good. We are connected, you know. I can feel a tingling sensation. I can feel fragments of his anxiety. This is all I know. I’d like you to find out the rest. Without my authority, you wouldn’t be able to meet him, so I’m asking for your help.”

This city is quite sectioned. Even the Economic Spirit King had places she could go and places she couldn’t. She seemed to think journalists were people who could cross those lines.

Indeed, to meet a being like the Industrial Spirit King, using legal methods was the simplest approach. One couldn’t investigate him without his knowledge while standing on his body.

So once again, I just needed to fulfill my duty as a journalist. I still had more questions. Since a Spirit King was essentially an expert among experts, she could answer questions that normally couldn’t be answered.

“I still have more questions. If the Industrial Spirit King stops… that is, if he stops due to physical pain or anxiety, what would happen? What if he dies?”

I must have looked like an oddball to the other journalists. Standing before the Economic Spirit King and making her say what I wanted rather than what she intended to say was certainly not a common sight.

Still, I didn’t have a habit of keeping my mouth shut. If I did, I wouldn’t have reported on my father, and I would have ignored Philip, who was hunted like a witch because of my article.

Somehow it seemed like only my stubbornness was increasing, but I didn’t mind. Until now, I had lacked this mindset. Now I had finally reached a normal trajectory.

“If he stops, the factories will stop too. Not all factories, but all those on his body would stop. However, more than that, if news of his death spreads, the flow will stop. This kind of flow.”

She gently swung the arm she had been rubbing. Her arm, made of ten-dollar bills, disintegrated into a pile of bills that poured down, then reformed into an arm-shaped form that flowed back into her body.

The bills that flowed in spread throughout her body, and the bills that had formed her body flowed to her arm to fill the parts that had flowed out. She was always flowing.

“Money must flow. Human blood is red, but America’s blood is green. If that flow stops… it will take a long time to recover. Is there anything else you’d like to know? You’re quite bold, I like that.”

If the Industrial Spirit King dies, the impact reaches even the Economic Spirit King… It would be good to visit that doomsday prophet, and also to meet the Industrial Spirit King with the Economic Spirit King’s permission.

At some point, I had stopped getting lost when finding my way. Although since then, I had been walking on even more confusing paths, I enjoyed the feeling of having grown a little as I smiled at the Lady of Dollars.

“No, that’s all for now! I’m not an economic reporter, after all. The other journalists will ask the remaining questions. Thank you!”