A Dark Fantasy Spy

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Ashtistan is currently suffering from internal power struggles among its agencies and diplomatic tensions with neighboring nations.

Since the incidents of illegal arms smuggling and the Nikolai VI assassination, the Law Enforcement Corps has sustained a severe blow to its pride as the Republic’s top power institution, leading Commander Darius Ismailzahi to retreat into his home like a semi-retired old man.

The Kien Empire has experienced a somewhat different kind of internal turmoil.

Even with the end of the Empire-Magic conflict, suspicions surrounding Emperor Nikolai VI’s health have been growing as he remains absent from public appearances.

While the Crown Prince has endeavored to showcase the Emperor’s vitality and dismiss all doubts, there have been alarming claims that “the Crown Prince is purging nobles from the administrative, legislative, and judicial fields who have been close with his siblings.”

The Imperial Palace has made no attempts to quell these suspicions, nor has Chancellor Stollipin, who has devoted his life to the Empire.

Despite the worried murmurs from both inside and outside the nobility, the Chancellor remained silent, neither officially nor unofficially.

Besides, the Jamria Federation has seen its regime change twice due to the coup-countercoup sparked by the “blood-drinking tree” incident.

The Kingdom of Daria has yielded its neutral status, beginning a rivalry between the Prime Minister and the King due to external pressure.

The Lushan Federation faces constant scrutiny from the surrounding nations, as it cunningly seeks to dominate the Mauritania Continent by flaunting its geographic, religious, and racial superiority while still cooperating closely with western countries.

In short, there isn’t a single country functioning properly.

They’re all a big mess, quite literally.

In a world where even thieves are stealing gold teeth from corpses, how could it be any different?

Anyway.

Most countries are slowly sinking into their unique internal and external issues, and to put it bluntly, they’re all on the verge of collapse.

And the season when a democratic country faces the greatest turmoil is none other than election season.

“Return of the Nobility and Commons General Election, Local Election Held Simultaneously!”

“Abas Parliament Dissolved… Political Parties Entering Campaign Mode for 5 Weeks.”

“Is a regime change coming for the first time in 24 years? Will it be a political reclamation or endurance?”

The situation in the Kingdom of Abas, where local and general elections overlapped, was not much different either.

—

Episode 21 – Peace of Our Era

As with everything, a storm typically follows a grueling overseas assignment.

For someone like me, jet lag was the main issue.

“Ugh…”

Traveling through time zones ranging from as little as 3-4 hours to over 10 hours was always torture.

Sleepiness would hit at any hour, and just when I opened a report, I’d forget its contents the moment my fingers hit the keyboard.

If I had ample time, I might have adapted to the jet lag without trouble, but unfortunately, the deadlines approved by the company were mostly within 7 days.

To succeed in my mission, I had to head to the field with my body still unaccustomed to the time difference, tossing my bags aside. Then, just when I finally adapted to the time zone and started living like the locals, I’d have to pack my bags again to head back to Incheon Airport.

Naturally, my sleep pattern was wrecked, and my health was in ruins as well.

Of course, the company wasn’t lenient enough to excuse someone from work just because they had insomnia. With its military-style culture and a results-driven approach typical of intelligence agencies, it was even more so.

Thus, those of us like me who suffered from jet lag would always end up receiving scoldings from our seniors.

“Hey, soldier. You can’t even endure that?”

Adela Nostrim. My older sister started to look at me with a smug smile, hands shoved deep into her pockets.

I glanced at her through my sleepy haze, her disheveled shirt and tired expression clear even in my blurred vision.

A crumpled shirt with a broken collar, stockings with runs, dark circles reaching her jawline, and a constant mix of annoyance and fatigue on her face.

She was the quintessential civil servant, worn down from public service. She must have just gotten off work.

“…Oh, you’re back?”

“Yeah, this beloved idle brother is glad to see his dear sister.”

“Idle? Don’t give me that….”

Even though I had handed in my resident officer position, I was still an active officer with the Military Intelligence Agency.

And this morning at 9 AM was precisely 24 hours since I returned from the Republic of Ashtistan.

However, Adela was treating me as if I had just been fired from my job, displaying the typical sibling teasing faced by a vacationing sibling.

“Get up, wash up, and eat something.”

She tossed some clothes at me while leaning against the doorframe.

I tried to catch them but failed. Dazed, I ended up fumbling the clothes, pulling them over my head like a hood.

I took a moment, picked up the scattered clothes, and escaped my bed just to be bombarded by Adela’s nagging to “hurry up and come down.”

As soon as I reached the ground floor of the townhouse located in the capital, the warm, toasty aroma of bread began to wake my senses from the depths of sleep.

“Yawn…. What’s with the bread? Who made breakfast this early?”

“I did.”

“You?”

“Why, you got a problem with that?”

“No problems here….”

I tore off a bit of the rye bread with my hand and chewed on it.

Then, Adela suddenly started reminiscing with a distant look in her eyes.

“Does it remind you of old times?”

“Yeah….”

Although it was a familiar scene now, back when we were kids, the academies where upper-class children enrolled allowed their families to bring servants with them due to school rules.

Specifically, it required that students lodging in dormitories could have outsiders to serve them, hired individually by their parents.

This caused all sorts of issues, from increased financial burdens to instilling class conflict among re-enrolled students and pressures from parents hiring help.

Once a progressive prime minister was elected, the policy was promptly dismantled.

The problem was that the policy changed from the year we were about to enroll in the academy.

And like all government policies, it began to hit snags early on and give rise to unforeseen problems.

Thus, from the moment she stepped into secondary academy, Adela took it upon herself to prepare breakfast for the four siblings while our busy parents were away, until every meal was provided in the academy’s dining hall.

The “back then” Adela was referring to was exactly “that time.”

“Ah. Brings back memories.”

I nodded my head tiredly.

And then, I chucked a small rock at Adela’s smirking face.

“Man, this bread is cooked so poorly, it tastes just like the stuff we had every morning.”

“If you’re going to talk like that, don’t eat it!”

Avoiding the bread as she haphazardly yelled, she rushed toward the trash can, and I quickly shielded the plate with my body.

This was just a childish banter between siblings nearly forty and back from work.

“I’m really busy, and I took the time to make breakfast for you.”

“I know you’re busy, sis. I get it. I’m not complaining about that. I just meant it would have been nice if you added some flavor to all that effort.”

“Shut it. Just drink coffee.”

Adela set a mug down a bit harshly.

I took a couple sips of the coffee while she sprinkled something on the eggs—couldn’t tell if it was salt or parsley.

“Our parents will be back in a few days. Jerry said he would return before dinner, but if the Finance Ministry keeps him busy, he may not be back until tomorrow morning.”

“Busy as usual, huh?”

Adela’s gaze sharpened dangerously. As always, she had a fierce temperament, but today it seemed to be especially intense.

“Isn’t there some reason to be busy right now? It looks like everyone’s got to head to hearings.”

“Isn’t that just how national investigations work? It’s not like ministers haven’t been caught in scandals during investigations before. Don’t act surprised….”

True.

All government departments in the Kingdom of Abas were on the brink of a national investigation (also known as audit oversight).

The simultaneous timing of the general and local elections after several years had coincided with the elections for the upper and lower houses.

That was the root of the chaos.

“Yikes! Can’t they at least try to prepare ahead of time?! A national investigation is right around the corner, and look what a mess everyone’s in!”

With dark circles practically down to her jawline, Adela began to frantically tousle her hair in a fit of frustration.

This was the complaint of a diplomat who had been pulling all-nighters for over a week to prepare for the upcoming investigations in the newly formed upper and lower houses.

Despite Adela handling an enormous stack of project status paperwork thicker than a basketball player’s palm before the finance ministry grabbed Jerry, her suffering would not end here.

Before national investigations, civil servants would go beg committee members to give them a heads-up on the questioning topics—a well-known dark humor of the civil service.

As soon as the chosen committee members were decided post-elections, Adela planned to utilize all her connections to sweet-talk friends working in the committee offices until exhaustion set in.

Of course, even if she managed to get advance questions, she’d have to wait all day at the Foreign Ministry until the investigations were over.

That was why, just when I finally returned home, everything was in disarray.

The reason why my family hadn’t shown their faces despite hearing of my return from out of town was the same.

And it explained why Adela, in her shabby shirt and worn-out looks, was in the midst of a hysteria fit.

“Updates on Kien Empire movements in the East Trading Market, the Kien Empire’s anti-race policies and countermeasures, evacuation plans for the deployed forces on the Mauritania Continent, and preparations for overseas embassy investigations… When am I supposed to get all this done…!”

You could say she resembled a single person under stress.

It was a panic worthy of tears.

…Tch!

“Nom.”

“Eat quietly!”

“Why? Did it scratch you? Struggling to control your temper now that you’re hitting your thirties?”

“Ugh, you little…!”

Adela screamed with an annoyed voice, annoyed enough to shout. Success.

Once I poked her just enough to tire her out, her previously gloomy expression brightened up a bit.

That’s how I gauged this as a decent result.

Although Camila had been captured by the Duke to undergo mental reconditioning, I was a minor civil servant in a foreign intelligence agency, so no issues here.

That’s why I returned home, and I had received leave.

Unlike my family, I was completely disconnected from the national investigations and had no ties to any of it.

If Adela Nostrim, the source of every problem, a nagging sister who kept popping up every time I breathed, could simply vanish, then everything would be perfect.

Of course, the chance of her stepping out just after finishing work was non-existent.

I stood up with my empty plate and took off my coat hanging on the rack.

“I’m going out for a bit.”

Peeking around, Adela asked in a tired voice.

“Where to?”

“Meeting a friend, just nearby.”

“…A friend?”

Adela’s eyebrows raised dubiously.

“You actually have a friend…?”

—

“So what did you do?”

“I almost yanked all his hair out but managed to hold back.”

The diplomat whose hair had nearly been ripped out hurled curses at the younger brother who took his joke seriously while they were conversing in a quiet bookstore downtown.

“Isn’t that too harsh? She’s still your sister.”

“It’s because she is my sister. If she were my brother, I’d have pinned him to the sofa already.”

“Sure, you would.”

A woman roaming between bookshelves gently extracted a hardbound book, her face mixed with a faint smile while she observed the novel before suddenly mumbling to the empty air.

“Then again, you’ve always had squabbles with your siblings ever since the old days.”

Surrounded from floor to ceiling by books, the quaint bookstore created a serene ambiance.

Books piled up everywhere, unable to find their places, while people cautiously browsed and turned pages with careful expressions.

Amidst this crowd, the man appeared particularly tentative. He was discreetly shuffling through the dusty pages while holding a poetry collection beneath his arm.

Eventually, he broke the silence.

“Were you an only child then?”

The man’s voice, focused entirely on the book, prompted the woman, who had her back turned while inspecting her novels, to reply.

“Yep.”

“Must be nice being an only child. You won’t need to struggle on weekends like someone I know.”

“Every time I visit home, I’m still subjected to nagging. Just being an only child isn’t a guarantee for an easy life.”

“That’s true.”

The man closed the page he was reading and returned it to its place. He pretended to set the poetry book back down but discreetly looked inside his coat.

“…Looks neat. How about you?”

“Same here.”

The man, who dropped the poetry book as if it were a burden, concealed several wires that had emerged from his coat’s interior.

Green lights blinking vividly scientifically and magically indicated there were no ears to overhear them here.

The woman pretended to cross her arms but began to explore below her chest. There, she had a strap encircled around her ribcage, supporting a piece of equipment developed by the National Security Agency.

A portable eavesdropping device.

“Good to see you, Merlo. It’s been a while.”

The woman inserted her novel into a vacant spot on the bookshelf. Then, she turned to the bookshelf she had previously faced and stared at her acquaintance behind it.

Without hesitation, the man shifted aside the poetry collection inhibiting his view and smiled.

“Yeah. Good to see you too, Sophia.”

—

Sophia, a long-time acquaintance working for the Patalia National Security Agency.

She had once been dispatched to the Kien Empire, collaborating frequently with me, who belonged to an allied nation’s intelligence agency.

I had met her twice last year, once in the Magic Tower and once in her home country of Patalia.

“Thanks for coming.”

I greeted Sophia, meeting her after several months. Despite her lack of changes, it was still nice to see her.

“Called you out at the last minute, but you made it quickly. On a business trip?”

“Kind of.”

Sophia lightly pressed down the back of her Newsboy cap, grinning cheekily, and replied.

“I’m a short-term correspondent.”

Officially, Sophia’s title was a field reporter for Patalia’s state-run media. To be precise, she was a short-term correspondent dispatched for less than a year.

Young information officers like her often adopted designs like short-term reporters or freelance journalists, given the nature of their profession in the media.

Conversely, long-term correspondents returning for three years or longer belonged to senior-ranking information officers.

Besides, media outlets primarily selected veteran journalists for those roles.

I paused my browsing of the “Bestsellers of the Month” rack and nodded.

“Guess you got some good sources from somewhere. How long has it been since you left the desk to go overseas? You should at least fulfill your year before leaving.”

Last I checked, Sophia had switched to an office role at the headquarters about a year ago.

I had heard this directly from her when visiting Patalia during my vacation.

Yet, when I contacted her recently, her deployment had shifted from headquarters to overseas.

It was a stroke of luck that I could suggest meeting up because she was back in the field again.

By the way, the reason I reached out to Sophia was regarding Zigmund. I slightly needed her assistance during the aftermath of the double agent incident.

For confidential or counterintelligence information, nothing is better than leaking through the media.

Even if it involved the suspicion that “a foreigner killed at the Shizuya site was a level 3 information agent in the Royal Intelligence Department,” it wouldn’t be exempt from scrutiny.

That was my rationale behind calling Sophia.

“A friend was double-crossed by a spy, so it’s only proper to come check if they’re okay, right?”

Sophia smiled softly while putting her hands into her pockets. The implied side note being whether I showed up to check on her source’s wellbeing.

Checking up on someone presumed alive couldn’t be too bad. I could only look at her with displeasure.

“Oh, come on. Just look at me. Do I look like I’ve been hit in the back?”

“Well… at least for now?”

After flipping through some old books seemingly ready to fall apart, Sophia replied with a smile mixed with amusement.

“As long as you’re alive, that’s all that matters. Isn’t that so?”

“Sure, that holds true.”

We settled into the quiet bookstore, converting it into our meeting place.

In other circumstances, we would usually meet at a safe house, but in the current scenario, I was under constant surveillance from foreign intelligence agencies, so I couldn’t afford to take that route.

Thus, a quaint bookstore became our alternative choice for a meeting space.

Not only did it have a decent flow of traffic, making it less suspicious, but mingling with the calm patrons browsing through books made it also easy to spot any watchers.

That said, dining establishments on bustling streets would be easier for encounters, yet given the current season, such choices were less than ideal.

It was election season.

And the traditional market was a highway teeming with campaigners and camera crews during this time.

“Anyway, thanks for the help. You made the finishing touches easier.”

“No need to thank me. The Presidential Palace wanted Darius Ismailzahi out regardless.”

Sophia responded casually, brushing off my gratitude with her flat tone. It was a matter of overlapping interests.

The main goal for intelligence agencies often boiled down to such necessities: shared objectives or crucial information required from an ally.

Cooperation between intelligence agencies always took place under these conditions, even among allied nations.

Thus, regarding the Zigmund matter, we were evened out, and it essentially meant…

The day’s purpose for our meeting wasn’t about repaying any debts, but there was something else entirely.

—

Thunk!

A package landed neatly between the gaps on the bookshelf. Sophia, continuing to scour the books, seamlessly grabbed the envelope that rested next to a novel.

“Here’s the account list of the Milliope family hidden at Port Island in Abas, along with transaction histories of all incoming and outgoing cash in those accounts.”

“Who’s the manager?”

“Vincenzo Milliope. A greasy-looking Patalian, who came over to manage things.”

Sophia’s low whisper continued.

“Vincenzo… the designated accountant for the mafia. He was certainly on the wanted list.”

“Now he’s operating under an alias. Naturally, with a marked identity.”

I perused the books displayed on the counter, supplementing the conversation. The Ministry of Justice had sent over copies of his several passports, so they could go through them one by one.

There was indeed a significant amount of information about the Patalian mafia in the envelope.

“…Hmm.”

After quickly scanning through the information, Sophia tucked the envelope packed with documents into her coat.

Her ordinary-looking coat held a secret compartment, designed for easy concealment of crucial intelligence.

This technique had been a common tactic used since the Cold War, where agents concealed documents within their coats to avoid inspections.

Organizing her outfit once more, Sophia examined her surroundings. After confirming no one was watching, she spoke in a calmer voice.

“I got most of the info you requested.”

“…Most?”

With our eyes aligned, I turned to check the area behind Sophia, curious as to what she meant.

In response, Sophia spread her palms toward me, as if declaring she had no intention to hide anything.

“You know. Information regarding the Saints is heavily safeguarded. Following the discovery of Kien spies in Saint Veronica’s circle, the Inquisition has tightened security around her. And no matter how powerful the National Security Agency might be, the Inquisition isn’t one to take lightly either.”

Yet she assured that whatever information she had gathered was still valuable.

“I secured as much of the intel as our side holds, though bear in mind, our information has been stagnant for nearly a year and a half. Our assets that could monitor Altiora Cathedral and Cathedral of Tranquille have all been eliminated.”

It wasn’t rocky terrain for foreign intelligence agencies to be blindfolded by the Inquisition, which was notorious for its high level of counter-espionage.

Moreover, it had become common knowledge among intelligence officers that reports from human assets arriving from the Lateran had been graphing downward significantly.

“Ugh….”

Damn it.

What’s with the devotion at that age.

I hesitated to voice my concern before letting out a frustrated sigh.

“Understood. If that’s the case, there’s little I can do.”

“Thanks for your understanding. But I assure you, it’s all vetted intel from the upper avenues, so it shouldn’t be dull.”

With a gentle tap, Sophia handed me a folder through the bookcase.

“Though I suspect the information you’re after isn’t concerning the Saints from the Lateran.”

“……”

Sophia smiled knowingly, leaning against the shelf, signaling that no lengthy explanations were needed; we should read first and discuss afterwards.

I flipped open the file from the National Security Agency that she handed over.

As I gazed at the first page, decorated with a familiar pair of glancing violets, I muttered softly.

“What’s Francesca been up to lately?”