A Dark Fantasy Spy

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Humans are creatures of adaptation.

No matter how rugged the neighborhood may be, there will always be humans residing there, and even if the environment is constantly changing, they will adapt accordingly.

Or they might just fix the environment to suit their tastes.

Frederick and Camila were cases of adaptation.

Experience played a significant role here.

After repeatedly enduring the wrath of a magical girl (a former Muggle) who would open her mouth wide and shout “KWAHAHAAANG!” whenever things went awry, the spy skillfully learned to read her like a pro, thinking, “Ah, at this point, she must be about to shoot flames.”

Conversely, if the spy started dropping dad jokes from the time of the British Empire, Camila would quickly catch on, thinking, “Oh, here we go again? Well, I suppose it’s been a while since the cooldown started,” and would retaliate with a precisely timed flame.

This back-and-forth of magical vengeance based on historical facts was possible due to the experiences accumulated over the last year.

Frederick knew that the pain-inducing Camila wouldn’t burn him alive like a colonial village.

Also, Camila had come to realize that if she pretended to be furious while casually closing her eyes, there was a 140% chance that a deliciously crispy dessert she’d never had before would come as reward.

In short,

Dropping a “the roots of all evil in world history” joke at an Englishman vs. firing elemental magic that could come straight from a fairy-tale dragon at a person.

They’ve been repeating this ridiculous game every time the cooldown ended, just for kicks.

It was a classic playground jest from the semi-barbaric nation and the antics of the native islanders.

“Om nom nom….”

Unconditional surrender brought peace.

As they shouted, “I’ll give you cake and cookies! Just spare me!” while bringing loads of desserts, even the magician’s anger softened considerably.

Of course, on the surface, Camila pretended to be displeased, saying, “Ugh, why such things….” But when her lips, smeared with whipped cream, rose to her ears, it seemed she had already devoured all her anger.

To anyone watching, it looked exactly like someone was training a person with food.

And that was partly true.

“Take your time eating. Aren’t you worried about choking?”

“It would be nice to have something to drink.”

“What should I brew for you?”

“Black tea!”

Frederick began preparing the black tea that Camila requested as per her wish.

She had just relaxed her mood and found good material. Now to take revenge for the burning he received in the earlier magical mishap, he prepared another dad joke.

As he held a mug, peeking around the sink, he looked at the other person.

“Is it okay if I just toss a teabag into tap water and microwave it? I don’t want to bother with taking out the kettle.”

“Is that a method you learned in some uncultured country that doesn’t even know the taste of black tea?”

“America.”

“Then I’ll tell you how witch hunts were conducted in Europe today. First, let’s gather some firewood.”

“I’ll hurry out and buy some distilled water.”

—

Episode 21 – Peace of Our Time

—

Historically, the size of a house has been used as a measure of the resident’s power.

Take the Palace of Versailles, hailed as a masterpiece of Baroque architecture.

To firmly establish absolute monarchy, the King of France commissioned the construction of the Palace of Versailles, seeking to elevate his authority through the display of wealth.

This was during the time of the Sun King, Louis XIV, whose power reached astronomical heights.

A similar example can be found in the early Joseon dynasty’s housing restrictions, which regulated the overall size and type of hanoks according to social status.

While the population of Hanyang steadily increased, the houses built by noblemen and commoners alike became increasingly grandiose as signs of real estate speculation began to emerge.

The King Sejong, devoted both to science and muscle gains, declared, “Those who disturb the tranquility of the land with luxury shall not go unpunished!” and swiftly enacted regulations to punish them all.

Thus, residing in large, spacious homes has historically been viewed as a sign of wealth or upper-class status.

This doesn’t apply to old villas only giving off bubbles of charm without any signs of redevelopment.

Think of the country houses in the suburbs of England, sprawled across three acres of land, or the opulent mansions nestled in Beverly Hills.

Set in the early modern era, the buildings from centuries ago, filled with antiques galore.

Opening the windows reveals a panoramic landscape and a vast garden where neatly trimmed grass dances, with a grand stone staircase leading to the entrance that can only be accessed after alighting from a vintage car.

If one were to own such a mansion, monopolizing the plains near the capital to the point that even other wealthy individuals could not set foot there, what kind of immense social background must the owner have?

It’s not a difficult question to answer.

Who in the entirety of Kien Empire wouldn’t recognize Duke Alexandra Petrovna of the Northern Duchy?

– Whirrr~!

—

“Where’s the professor?”

“I thought you’d be here since I didn’t see him.”

It’s well-known that Alexandra Petrovna, the duke, famously kidnapped Camila and took her to the Empire.

In the first place, when she parted ways in Ashtistan, Alexandra headed for the Warp Gate with her disciple tucked under her arm like a piece of luggage. This event was no secret, as the tale circulated from mouth to mouth, from embassy to various ministries.

Given the Empire’s royal family values face, they’d go to great lengths to maintain their honor (which frankly, was a bit embarrassing even to me, the impartial observer). I had expected Alexandra to throw Camila somewhere in the North and put her through a system of automatic hunting against remnants of demon lords and monsters.

But lo and behold? She appears to have opened up her massive mansion, only to vanish elsewhere.

—

The imperial villa in Petrogard, built by the command of the Emperor, who ranks among the top five greatest monarchs ever. Only Camila and a slew of attendants, including the imperial secretary and estate manager, remained within.

So why cause such a ruckus in bringing her over here?

As I pondered the perplexing mindset of the duke, the kidnapped Camila (who could leisurely dismiss the notion of being kidnapped even if a brilliant judge were brought in to argue) provided a clear answer to my questioning.

“I heard she went to the palace.”

“The palace? Why on earth there, all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know. I just saw her leave in a hurry in the morning after receiving a message from the palace. I didn’t get a chance to ask why since she seemed busy.”

Camila replied nonchalantly, reciting the breakfast menu like a child. Whether it was the expression “fireball” or a couple of glowing fireballs that she was juggling at the moment, I couldn’t tell. When I asked why she was doing this, the simple answer was, “Because the professor told me to.”

After dodging the falling fireball, she teetered momentarily, back and forth.

“Apparently, it’s practice to maintain multiple spells at once. Using several spells at once.”

“Oh, so each of these is a different spell?”

“Yeah. Whoops, almost dropped it.”

“I see….”

Somehow, she did appear a little different than before.

Anyhow.

Seizing the opportunity of the duke’s absence, I approached Camila, who was deeply focused on her magical practice. If the duke knew of my presence, I surely wouldn’t be leaving under my own power.

But isn’t there a saying? “What hasn’t been seen is as good as not having happened.”

As long as my mere presence wasn’t detected, there was no business that would ignite the old man’s wrath.

“This is a perfect crime.”

“What are you talking about….”

Camila, while juggling fireballs, spun around in her place and effortlessly caught a falling fireball behind her without even looking.

It seemed she was quite at ease, suggesting a level of skill acquired through practice.

“Mmm, this is actually harder than cricket. Anyway! Now I understand why you’re here. I’ll take responsibility and help persuade Lucia.”

She offered to help.

With Camila’s support in persuading Lucia, it would be immensely beneficial. After all, the two had formed a relationship beyond mere colleagues.

Of course, Camila’s thorough understanding of the British Empire’s idiosyncrasies (shifting around for Independence Day gifts and lumping Colonial reparations) also played a part in her willingness to come.

Conflict doesn’t only encompass military standoffs. Historical, religious, racial, and social tensions fall under the category of conflict as well.

“I’m genuinely grateful to hear that. I’ll summarize what I have to say.”

I began sharing certain information with Camila.

The historical issues on the part of the cult, the religious conflict hindering unity, the contrasting views of the conservative priests focused on tradition and the progressive clergy calling for self-reflection.

And a myriad of controversies surrounding the current situation.

“The amount of reparations is staggering. It’s estimated at 8 trillion won, nearly 57 trillion dollars. It might vary slightly, as it’s the figure determined by an economic research institute.”

“Eh? Would the Holy See be able to manage such an amount? I don’t think the reparations Britain has to pay to Caribbean countries even amounts to that.”

“The debt is owed across the globe, so it’s bound to be different in terms of figures. Moreover, they’re even discussing issues dating back to 1500 years…. The British colonial rule in the Caribbean only spanned 400 years at most, maxing out at 600 years, no?”

“The first to discover those lands was Spain. England and France only began outpacing Spain during Cromwell’s time when the expedition fleet that went to Jamaica faced the Spanish navy in battle for the colonies.”

“The cases involving the cult are even more severe. The Papal States, an independent city-state with over 1100 years of history, existed relatively recently. They had no choice but to return it due to demands for restitution, but if they hadn’t, they probably would’ve faced quite a headache, especially since it was near the Elves…”

“Well! I get the gist now. So, the problem is that it’s an unmanageable amount of money, right?”

“Exactly. To sum it up, it’s all about the economy.”

To put it bluntly, the cult didn’t have the means or the thought to repay the reparations.

The amount was so astronomical that even if they gathered all the antiques, sacred relics, and holy items from the Holy Land Lateran and sold them off, it might not be sufficient to cover the reparations.

But now, Lucia was swinging her mace and channeling Holy-telepathy akin to a shaman, and the affected nations were raising their claims exorbitantly, feeling a need to cash in, even estimating reparations above 62 trillion seals.

From the standpoint of the cult, they were undoubtedly exclaiming in outrage, “Are you guys thieves?”

It was intolerable.

“The thing is, while we often say ‘please give it to us’ on a regular basis, nobody ever thought we’d actually receive it, you know? The Holy See isn’t exactly known for being easy to pry open their wallets.”

“But this time, there seems to be a glimmer of hope? Truly, there’s a one in fourteen million, six hundred and five chance of receiving the reparations.”

I couldn’t help but nod in agreement. Understandably, I could see where their governments were coming from.

“Developed nations might say ‘so what if we don’t get the money?’ but… for developing countries and third-world nations, it becomes a different matter. There’s no reason not to want it, and it isn’t exactly a small sum either.”

“When you say ‘essential,’ what do you mean by that…?”

“For example, the small countries caught between the Eastern and Mauritania continents. Those that got trampled by the Order of the Holy Knights centuries ago for being pagan nations that wouldn’t yield during the ‘Eastern Expedition.’ In terms of environmental comparison, perhaps like Nepal? Tibet? Something like that—characterized by a rather precarious state.”

They have resources, yet lack the technology or capital to cultivate it. Foreign companies hesitate to invest in these treacherous mountain terrains, shaking their heads at the thought.

Meanwhile, under an oppressive dictatorship are rebels, chaotic regions hosting dark magicians, gangsters trafficking captured individuals to dark magicians for illicit potions, warlords fully corrupted from their loss of control, and countless cultists trying to take advantage of the desperate civilians; all these elements are intertwined in a dire mess…

Possessing a wealth of knowledge about conflicts, Cambridge’s intellect, Camila wrapped up this tumultuous situation in just one sentence.

“It’s like Far Cry 4. In South America, it’s like Ghost Recon.”

“Cut back on the games.”

“Why? It makes it easy to understand. The southern part of Mauritania? The area closed off due to pollution or something reminds me just of the Stalker series. Or perhaps The Division.”

“……”

Stumped by Camila’s shining eyes that seemed to express “I truly have no idea,” I found myself at a loss for words. Sigh.

It truly was a conundrum.

“Well, across countries, reparations are not merely about seeking recompense for painful histories but also present a chance to rebuild faltering nations. For some countries, it’s a lifeline. Conversely, the cult prefers to resolve issues as slowly as possible. This is beneficial for them. Time should be abundantly allowed to properly examine past events.”

“Indeed, that makes sense.”

“Who knows how many years or decades it’ll take….”

Given the numerous incidents, is it even possible to scope everything down in just a few months? At least several years would be required for referencing records and consulting experts.

Of course, questions like determining the reckoning based on investigation outcomes, who should actually receive reparations, and how long the others would wait were problems for a later discussion.

At present, however, the priority was to prevent Lucia from smashing the bishops’ and cardinals’ heads into bits.

I and Camila had sufficient discussions and sketches for plans.

When to meet Lucia, what logic to persuade her, and what potential counterarguments may arise, and even touch upon the most critical obstacles.

“It’s crucial to go to Lateran as fast as possible. But indeed, the challenge lies here, right?”

“Yes. Determining whether the Duke finds out or not.”

“Hm….”

Camila wore a distinctly serious expression while holding her chin. I too folded my arms and anxiously tapped my legs.

As everyone knows, the current Alexandra Petrovna held sway over Camila’s wellbeing. The duke, being her previous teacher, was firmly disappointed in her due to an incident that took place in Ashtistan (a misunderstanding). She was currently undergoing training with the assertion of fixing her mindset by dragging her all the way to the Empire.

But what if the disciple suddenly pulls a “Goodbye, Professor! I’m off to seek freedom and gourmet food far away!” and runs away?

There would likely be an immediate pursuit by the archmage who had once turned the Holy Land, the heart of the cult, into a blazing inferno. And almost certainly, it would entail me being chased as well.

Hmm.

There’s really no other method.

“I suppose we just have to go as is.”

“Are you sure it’ll be alright? I thought your temper is pretty fiery…?”

As I muttered this calmly, Camila asked, somewhat worriedly.

“It can’t be helped, can it? A cook not preparing soup because they’re afraid of worms is a joke waiting to happen.”

I shrugged, assuring her not to worry.

“Honestly, it’s always easier to do something wrong and beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission first.”

“I doubt they’d be forgiving.”

“What can we do? Just because I once happened to scorch a holy ground, you think they’d come all the way to the capital of another country to use magic against us? Or turn the cathedral into a wreck in pursuit of you hiding away there? Honestly, maybe a hundred years ago, but would they really rampage like that at this age?”

“Perhaps they would break the legs of you and the child.”

“Right. If that were the case, they’d just make both of us numb fools instead, wouldn’t you say? Wait a second?”

—

Whirling around, there stood the duke.

This crazy old man, what is he doing here?

“…!”

With his ethereal silver hair swirling around, the appearing archmage made his little disciple nearly faint in panic.

The fireballs she had diligently juggled soared into the air, raining down upon the grass and her head.

Thud- the last fireball landed squarely on the plump backside of the fallen Camila.

—

-Whoosh…!

“KYAAAAAAAH! P-PROFESSOR…!”

That wasn’t the end.

As the magic plummeted towards the ground in strange arcs, hitting her buttocks made the startled disciple erupt into tears, rolling about on the grass.

I was caught.

“Duke, how did you—?”

While I trembled like a quivering aspens, the archmage swept his tousled hair back and provided a curt response.

“I placed a magic alert just in case this troublesome disciple might attempt a sneaky escape. Since the alarm went off, I thought it might be an intruder coming through from outside.”

Alexandra Petrovna closed her eyes. And then, huffing in dissatisfaction, she lightly clicked her tongue.

“…I half wondered, but it figures. You’ve been here.”

An awkward smile crept over my face.

It was more of a forced grin than anything genuine.

“Ah, ha…”

Annoyance flared on the archmage’s face.

It wasn’t that she was unpleasant to look at, possessing considerable beauty; however, that would suffice if it meant delivering a beating.

Especially for someone who had merely misunderstood me over the notion of touching her disciple’s chest.

Of course, I hadn’t touched it, and the duke harbored her own misguided assumptions.

“I’ll hear your excuses later….”

“……”

“I want you to give me ten reasons why I shouldn’t fry you with lightning.”

As I gazed into the tense veins sprouting from Alexandra Petrovna’s forehead and her fierce, piercing blue eyes, I thought to myself.

Honestly speaking, whether I died now or later was irrelevant, but if I would have the chance to touch it one last time, it might as well be worth it, right?

Of course, that was utterly nonsense.