A Dark Fantasy Spy

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A week ago. In the dim, shadowy depths, the capital of the Kien Empire, Petrogard, glimmered like a beacon.

In the soundproof security conference room, rows of chairs stretched long, some vacant, while cigarette smoke curled from the occupied seats.

And at the head table sat the man.

Ilya Nikolaevich Kutuzov, director of the Information Officer of the Imperial Guard HQ, offered his dry congratulations.

“Congratulations on being promoted to section chief this time.”

As his calm eyes scanned the documents, Director Ilya Nikolaevich began to recite in a measured tone.

“The Royal Family and the Imperial Guard HQ commend you highly for protecting our tactical communication systems from the Eastern Region Intelligence Agency that seeks to undermine the Empire. Had you not identified the communication vulnerabilities between the juno and auxiliary nodes, all major communication stations, including command posts at the front and rear, would have been compromised.”

“His Excellency the Prime Minister has recently ordered a full investigation regarding the incidents and accidents that occurred within the military. This is aimed at restoring discipline disrupted by the military’s lax command, and furthermore, it is the starting point for devising rapid detection and responses to potential attacks on our military’s communication and command systems.”

“The palace and cabinet, after discussion, wish to appoint you as the head of the special investigation division. As you have greatly contributed in the previous inquiry, it is hoped you can restore order to the military.”

“…However, I personally would like to propose an alternative.”

With a snap, a capped fountain pen was placed neatly on the table before him. Wispy smoke rose between the sparsely populated chairs, and a thin sigh trailed through the air.

“Ekaterina Andreevna.”

The director lifted his clasped hands, suddenly looking up from the documents.

“Bring just one person from Shizuya.”

—

Side Episode – A Peaceful Day in Ashtistan

If you walk straight from the exit 4 of Pajeski Station, you will find a plaza stretching east to west.

A palace that exudes a majestic atmosphere, symbolizing the authority of the Imperial Family, stands before the square known as Lobnoye.

Lobnoye Square, a landmark of Petrogard that boasts a millennium of history, is a symbol of the Kien Empire, an arena where brilliant culture and art breathe.

Drifting travelers, intoxicated by beauty, often find their hearts captured by the melodies sung by artists and bards.

The simple yet deeply resonant melodies and tales infused with joy and sorrow serve as tools for tuning the machine of the soul. Anyone setting foot in that square would quickly grasp why cultural figures are dubbed the “repairers of souls.”

However, a mere step away from Lobnoye Square, and the heart, once elevated by emotions, would chill to the bone.

Upon reaching the street where the aquamarine statue towers, the world abruptly divides into thoroughfares and small squares, exuding a dichotomous atmosphere.

A department store, adorned with various children’s goods and dazzling lights, attracts the innocent children.

Opposite it stands an 8-story governmental office, boasting a faded golden exterior.

A nondescript building that, to foreigners unaware of its backstory, seems like just another common structure. Yet, with a bit of focus, oddities will suddenly catch your eye.

Above the entrance, meant to appear as the main door, there are no signs to be found.

Entrances around the building are locked tight with double lock mechanisms, and the windows are uniformly shut with curtains and blinds.

The external walls fortified with spikes enclose the entire premises, making it difficult to see the courtyard despite approaching closely, as dense shrubbery blocks the view.

Walking along the seemingly heavy and oppressive building, one will eventually discover a narrow door at the right corner.

A door wide enough for just one person to enter.

That’s the entrance provided for outsiders with a reason to be here.

Occasionally, numerous tourists trickling in from Lobnoye Square harbor suspicions about this “unknown building.”

Curious folks would stop passing citizens, asking, “What is this place?” but even an old man who had lived on Jerzhinsky Street for sixty years would shake his head firmly, knowing nothing.

Lack of knowledge was normal.

To be precise, it was something that should not be known.

In Petrogard, there are many truths not necessary to know, and stories that should never be spoken of.

The fact that anyone who violated such trivial yet significant rules would enter that “narrow entrance” was so well known throughout the Empire. Just as it is equally well known that some of those individuals have yet to return to their families and friends.

Of course, no one in the Empire would carelessly voice that fact.

Especially in the heart of Jerzhinsky Square, where watchful eyes lurk everywhere.

Thus, only a few brave subjects and those without reservations could openly speak of that mysterious government office.

Its true identity was the sword and shield guarding the Smirnov Royal Family.

The Imperial Guard HQ.

—

If there is a fundamental principle that the information agency holds as fate, it would be “the end justifies the means.”

As disclosed by an information officer traversing the iron curtain of London, a righteous outcome justifies everything, even if it springs from an unjust process.

The Imperial Guard HQ was a collective strictly adhering to such a principle.

Whether it be illegal or unethical, as long as it met the standards and results required from above, the officials would put no responsibility on their employees.

The Empire’s judiciary also went along with the Imperial Guard HQ’s sophistry. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs did as well. Even if the workers sometimes crossed the “line,” the justification of protecting the Royal Family compelled even the staunchest advocates of integrity to comply.

Therefore, fear within the Imperial Guard HQ resided solely in the internal realm.

Especially toward superiors holding higher ranks.

When summoned to the 6th-floor conference room, it was for such reasons that curiosity would take a backseat to tension. The tale of a lower-tier employee being summoned to a conference arranged by a director-level official usually foretold great responsibility or commendation.

But some employees existed who were more dominated by curiosity than anxiety. Those who had achieved remarkable feats and had nothing to be ashamed of.

Ekaterina Andreevna was one of those people.

“……”

Upon arriving at the 6th-floor conference room at the call of the Director.

While lofty superiors occupied the sparsely filled seats, Ekaterina stood firm with her legs planted, her mouth opening.

“Are you telling me to rescue someone from Shizuya?”

Ilya Nikolaevich Kutuzov, head of the Imperial Guard HQ’s counterintelligence, investigation, and security departments nodded quietly, like an elderly doctor.

“Who are we bringing?”

“An Information Agent.”

The Director slowly added, “A foreigner who was cooperating with the counterintelligence division.”

A pipe that we set up.

The director muttered and glanced sideways. The official, seated to the left of the head table, smoothly pushed a clipboard toward her.

“It’s the dossier. Please sit and read this first.”

The paper slid gently across the table, stopping right in front of Ekaterina. She carefully accepted the clipboard and began to read silently.

As the edge of the paper barely lifted under her fingernail, a tap of ash from a cigarette followed suit.

The official began casually.

“It’s a report from the counterintelligence division 1 that came in the day before yesterday. They reported that a contact who had infiltrated Abas was captured.”

As her fingers kept turning the excited pages, the background knowledge of the counterintelligence division played like a panorama in her mind.

The counterintelligence division, comprising 20 sub-departments, handled overseas intelligence for the Imperial Guard HQ.

It operated on continental and regional levels, with groups dedicated to specific religious bodies such as cults or Al-Yabd. Among them, division 1, overseeing the Kingdom of Abas, stands as a core unit within the counterintelligence agency.

As could be inferred from the mention of overseas counterintelligence, the core duty of this division involves interactions with foreign intelligence agencies. Dealing with deceptive and counter-intelligence, tracking spies returning to their home countries after operating within the Empire, following information agents meeting in third countries, and competing with domestic intelligence agencies advancing toward embassy staff or visiting delegations, among others.

This was fundamentally the nature of the counterintelligence division’s work.

Also, it included the task of recruiting information agents from foreign intelligence to switch to double agents.

“By contact, you mean?” She inquired.

“A courier. Someone who connects dual agents abroad to the headquarters officials.”

“It seems a captured individual was involved.”

The head of the overseas counterintelligence division cast a sidelong glance at the superior seated on the right. The official, who gently clasped the teacup, briefly summarizing the situation uncovered by the subordinates of the counterintelligence division.

“The identity of the courier was compromised due to his own blunders. Inadequate measures to prevent eavesdropping led the Abas intelligence agency to catch a whiff of it.”

Ekaterina instinctively grasped the mistake the courier had made through the report and the head of the counterintelligence division’s words.

In a situation where a cipher system couldn’t be used, the courier likely arranged times and locations to prepare for eavesdropping. Utilizing public transport, vehicles shuttling between junctions and urban areas, and telephones amidst crowds that made pinpointing a location difficult.

He must have spoken shortly only at scheduled times in places where it would be hard to ascertain a location.

However, the courier, carelessly maintaining communication, ultimately got captured. A baseless confidence that he would never get caught, or perhaps the dulling of routine had made him forget the rules.

There was simply no way to fail to recognize that.

Even the foreign intelligence agency’s collaborators captured thus far had typically made similar mistakes, and they had paid the tax here.

As the investigator who captured them, Ekaterina had seen this scenario far too frequently.

“What kind of person is the collaborator?”

Ekaterina asked. The analysis department official who sat in the middle replied in a tired tone.

“Zigmund. That’s his name. We call him ‘Domoboy’.”

“A being from the mythos. A spirit that monitors whether a household runs well.”

“A fitting nickname for a double agent. Indeed, he has been quite a help as well.”

The analyst spread out a thick file with a brown cover.

As he dampened his fingertips and flipped the paper, he recited the history that had passed.

“Zigmund is the head of the Royal Intelligence Department of Abas. Born 46 years ago to an immigrant family in the south, he currently oversees the international intelligence operations of Abas Intelligence. Notably, his area of responsibility encompasses Eastern Mauritania. There, he directed intelligence operations against our agency.”

“Eastern Mauritania….”

The investigator nodded as if in understanding.

“That’s where the Republic of Ashtistan lies.”

“Exactly. The Republic of Ashtistan is right there.”

The analyst continued explaining about the collaborator, echoing Ekaterina’s remark.

Twenty years ago, Zigmund was just one of many lower-tier information officers in the Royal Intelligence Department.

His first confirmed role was serving as a resident representative for Abas government’s private enterprises in Shizuya while the monarchy was still in place, starting his information activities there.

Zigmund, in charge of the grand empire project in Shizuya, found himself in danger when the information agents he had embedded in trade were exposed to us. While staff from the counterintelligence division at the time attempted to capture the Royal Intelligence Department’s pawns, Zigmund discarded his entire information network and fled. The next we would see of him was two years later.

The information officer who had vanished from Shizuya reappeared in the same place.

A revolution had commenced, and the Republic had transformed from a monarchy, while the pro-Abas stance had shifted to an anti-Abas one.

Once an ally that aimed to assault the Empire, the information officer now commenced attacks on the returning Ashtistan and Kien Empire.

The emerging Intelligence Agency of Ashtistan fell under his command, and intelligence officers from the Kien Empire sent to aide their blood alliance were systematically eliminated by Zigmund.

“At that time, Zigmund acquired intelligence on our military’s technological assets.”

An official at the back of the room interjected abruptly.

The weary-looking official paused as if reminiscing about the past momentarily before producing a cigarette, muttering quietly.

“All our listening posts set throughout Mauritania were laid bare. It was later investigated and revealed that acquaintances of Zigmund, who worked at the intelligence agency during the monarchy, remained within the Republic’s intelligence agency. Coincidentally, an information officer from our Ministry of Defense, dispatched as a liaison, had slipped details about those listening bases to them.”

The fate of those acquaintances was something no one needed to explore. One could imagine the likely answers without needing to inquire.

What Ekaterina was curious about pertained separately.

“So he was the spy that shattered our intelligence network. I had heard rumors that he had died. But… why did that information officer switch to our side?”

The analysis department official chuckled softly.

“What else could it be? It’s naturally all about the money.”

“……”

After the collapse of the Kien Empire’s listening post in Mauritania, a letter arrived at the residence of the Imperial Guard HQ supervisors who had come to investigate the issue in Ashtistan.

A single letter bearing three names and an account number in a tax haven. It concluded with a brief line: “Transfer 6 million shillings if you wish to have different names.”

Under normal circumstances, they would receive the intelligence and comfortably toss aside the account. But at that moment, even the agents of the Imperial Guard HQ could not bear to tear the letter apart.

The three figures referenced in the letter were high-ranking officials of the Kien Empire who had been coopted in Eastern Mauritania. Notably, they were senior officials from a fictitious enemy nation that enjoyed cordial relations with the opposing country.

This was a red flag indicating that the monumental edifice built by the Imperial Guard HQ over several years could collapse. Simultaneously, it suggested that the sender was an employee of a hostile country’s intelligence agency.

Receiving the report, the Imperial Guard HQ held internal discussions and then transferred the 6 million shillings to the account. Shortly after, a fax arrived at the Kien Empire’s embassy in Shizuya.

A second list appeared, detailing additional identities—individuals with disclosed statuses and acquaintances among local dignitaries. It did not take long for them to identify that they were the eyes and ears of the enemy intelligence agency.

After eliminating the exposed informants and the enemy intelligence agents, the Imperial Guard HQ immediately sought to reach out to the letter’s author.

This was a signal thrown by a defector in plain sight.

And upon first establishing contact with the letter sender, that moment lingered in the mind of the official no matter how many decades passed.

“Zigmund. It was him.”

“……”

“The spy who troubled us the most appeared at Timarshak Park. He seemed like someone casually out for a stroll.”

At that very location, Zigmund checked if the Imperial Guard HQ was open to the idea of him switching allegiances. The enemy’s intelligence officer who had once savored a peak by sowing discord now boldly extended his hand.

The official cautiously recalled the intelligence officer they encountered that day in the park.

“He suggested we take a walk. He mentioned that there were many eyes at the embassy, so we should stroll around the park. At first, I wondered if it wasn’t a trap.”

The hesitation was significant but brief.

And the fruit of that meeting was sweeter than any other produce.

A civil servant at No. 9 Shizuya Estalanga was found with a slashed throat in his home. He served within the Agricultural Department of Ashtistan.

Two customs officers managing the warehouse at the Zim Port were found dead with their heads bashed in. In a subsequent police investigation, it was revealed they had accepted undisclosed bribes.

A member of a delegation to the Latwan Principality was shot dead. Someone fired a submachine gun as they exited a theater, and that same day, a colleague of the delegation met with a traffic accident while attempting to cross into the Kingdom of Abas from the southern border.

Over several decades, the Imperial Guard HQ had effectively neutralized the assets of enemy intelligence agencies.

Patalia, Lushan Federation, Abas…

With each disappearance, the funds were wired to an account, and letters piled up at the embassy.

Throughout this process, Zigmund had never drawn suspicion. Not during the times the Royal Intelligence Department’s inspection office raked through the offices of his colleagues, nor when double agents planted by the Military Intelligence Agency caused chaos in the Empire. Doubt had never beenfalling him.

It was not merely a stroke of luck. Although it wouldn’t be wrong to say Zigmund had great fortune, he was a far more cunning man than one might assume.

“He avoided direct encounters that could lead to suspicion and communicated through a courier only. When we designated a contact point, he left the files at a pre-arranged location, and the courier retrieved them to relay back to us.”

“Did you always use the same contact?”

“Not at all. He would switch contacts regularly. Relying on just one would leave too many traces.”

The Imperial Guard HQ spared no expense for Zigmund. From the money he needed to the couriers involved.

Changing people was just part of the routine, and everything else followed suit.

To protect him, the Imperial Guard HQ ensured the couriers had no knowledge of Zigmund’s identity, while Zigmund, in turn, refrained from capturing agents of the Imperial Guard HQ.

Though the phony reports authored by Zigmund unearthed the overseas operations led by the Royal Intelligence Department, the overseas operations carried out by the Imperial Guard HQ were veiled beneath the surface.

The Imperial Guard HQ had to go to great lengths to hide the grateful Zigmund.

They sometimes provided information that Abas intelligence agencies wanted to learn, and at other times, even fabricated fictitious double agents to mislead their eyes and ears.

Thus, a secret relationship lasting an impressive 16 years had unfolded.

Yet now, that connection was beginning to show signs of nearing its end.

“Because of one courier, we’re facing such humiliation. Damn it….”

“When the tail gets too long, it gets caught.”

“Be quiet.”

Just as the officials, each smoking a cigarette, managed a hollow laugh, the head director raised his hand abruptly, halting the conversation.

It had been a lengthy preamble.

Now it was time to get to the main point.

“Domoboy is a highly significant individual. The reason we’ve stayed a step ahead of the Abas intelligence agency over the past 16 years is not that their agents are foolish, but rather that Domoboy is sitting above them.”

The Abas intelligence agency and the Kien intelligence agency exchanged crippling blows frequently enough, yet ultimately neither could cut off the other’s lifeline.

Even if Zigmund had concealed fatal secrets, he was still but one man. Outside his grasp, the Imperial Guard HQ battled fiercely against the Royal Intelligence Department.

Of course, that was mere history now.

Zigmund’s exploits would remain a legend, alongside the glorious past of the Imperial Guard HQ. Domoboy would live on only as a name rendered mythic.

Yet there remained one final line before that legend could find its period.

“Bring it here.”

As Ilya waved his hand, the counterintelligence official tore off a notepad and passed it to Ekaterina.

“It’s the last document Domoboy sent us just before his escape from Abas.”

[Shizuya. One week later. Planned gift purchase.]

Ekaterina’s gaze shifted from the memo. She carefully replied as she clasped her hands behind her back.

“What exactly does ‘planned gift purchase’ mean?”

“It means there’s information left that Zigmund intends to obtain before leaving.”

The final information.

The investigator murmured softly, lost in thought.

Typically, the escape process of a double agent unfolds under urgency. Usually, situations requiring a double agent to flee are those where their identity has been compromised. The hostile nation would sense the existence of a mole and immediately initiate a pursuit, leaving the agent with no choice but to flee desperately.

Yet he plans to bring information last?

“……”

Ekaterina exchanged glances between the analysis official and the head director. The director, who had remained silently in place, now gazed deeply into her eyes before instructing the officials to “step aside for a moment.”

As the high-ranking officials began to exit the conference room one by one, and the soundproofing material bolted the doors shut,

Ilya Nikolaevich, who had maintained his silence, finally spoke softly.

“What we most wish to obtain.”

“……”

“You’ll likely understand once you go there.”

Ilya Nikolaevich didn’t bother to ask whether Ekaterina could bring Zigmund back. He was aware that if it was Ekaterina, she would undoubtedly aid regardless of circumstances.

She was someone who could never resist curiosity. That was why she had shed her uniform, why she was the one being sent for him.

So the director said nothing in inquiry.

Instead, he only offered advice.

“Ekaterina Andreevna. If Domoboy desires anything, grant it without question. I expect it may take some time, so keep that in mind.”

“……”

“And should anyone come seeking Domoboy, remember you have the power and responsibility to utilize all assets for his safety.”

“……”

“And also remember that our top priority is to secure Domoboy.”

The director posed a question.

“Do you comprehend my meaning?”

—

Soft sensations of a plush bed awakened her.

Ekaterina, who had been lying sideways, sat up on the bed, arranging her disheveled hair.

“…What’s the contact?”

A colleague, waiting on standby, responded,

“The information agents have arrived near the border. Although some haven’t been able to escape yet as the operation continues, two teams are standing by.”

The warmth remained in the bowl. While chewing oatmeal soaked in milk, she continued her thought.

“But is it really okay? Even if we’re allies, if a conflict breaks out within Ashtistan, I doubt these people will remain idle.”

“…They should remain complacent. If they want to continue exporting magic stones to us next year.”

“What a warm alliance, indeed.”

“And Domoboy?”

“He’s currently sorting out his original lodging before shifting to another place. He plans to stay at an Imperial hotel. For now, he’s going to check on his family’s status first.”

“……”

Ekaterina brushed her bangs aside and approached the window.

The sky was filled with gloomy gray clouds.

It almost seemed like rain would pour down at any moment.

—

“How do you plan to catch the double agent?”

Frederick asked Matt as he lit a cigarette.

“We’re going to use bait.”

“Bait?”

“The mother and daughter your colleagues were chasing hard after. They’re the bait.”

Matt walked toward the device stored in Hadrake, pulling a few sheets of paper.

“This is the material you asked Jake for.”

“And where did that come from? No, more importantly, are you confessing that you were eavesdropping on me?”

“Not eavesdropping, per se. It was something we had prepared in advance. Had it not been for you, I might not have found it.”

“Oh man…. What are you saying?”

Frederick chuckled softly but stopped mid-laugh to grab the documents.

He stared intently at the papers for a long while. Quite a lengthy moment.

“……”

Removing his gaze from the documents, Frederick arranged the papers, turning to Matt, asking,

“Zigmund. Is that the person aiming for me?”

“Yes.”

“And the mother and daughter we captured this time are his family?”

“Right. They’re also the women you shot at and sent fleeing.”

“……”

A sudden, soft laugh echoed through.

Matt shot a glance at Frederick, who chuckled.

“What’s so funny? Is it absurd to threaten someone using their family as hostages?”

“No. It’s not that. It’s just that I suddenly started wondering.”

What kind of older man, facing death, would come up with such a surprise event?

Did he want to demolish the country he himself established?

Frederick mumbled distractedly toward the Azadi Palace visible beyond the glass.

By the way, in Persian, Azadi means peace.

“He’s quite fond of peace, isn’t he?”