A Dark Fantasy Spy

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There are almost no normal people in this neighborhood.

Especially around me, I wouldn’t be able to find a normal person even if they scrubbed their two eyes clean in the Thames for a long time.

At least that’s what Camila thought.

From our very first meeting, Francesca exuded an aura of mystery, making it seem like she knew nothing about the ways of the world. To my surprise, she had talent in zero-sum games.

It’s like the classic, “money for nothing” scenario. She excelled at stocks and bonds, of course.

From the private loans most commonly handled by Jews to corporate bonds, which would dive into the Thames the moment a company went bankrupt, she had dipped her toes in everything. Rumors even said she was starting to dabble in mergers and acquisitions recently.

This reminded Camila of her mother, who was downright dismissive of the financial law, fighting against the legal teams in the “City of London.”

If I didn’t prepare to enlist the help of a skilled law firm ahead of time, my magical-Jewish colleague with her mysterious purple hair might soon find herself facing charges for capital outflow and likely going to prison.

Next was Saint Veronica, who casually approached as if having absolutely no selfish motives. A flawlessly decent person in both public and private matters.

Our first encounter was during a life-saving moment, so there was a time when I saw her as something akin to the Good Samaritan.

However, her ambiguous identity, straddling the line between devoutly religious and perfectly political, left me feeling uneasy.

More than anything, whether she resembled an arctic fox or a desert fox, whenever my gaze met that of the fox-like saint, I couldn’t shake off the curious feeling that an oddly sinister aura dripped from her beautifully curled eyelids.

It felt as if she had many secrets.

Thinking back, I realized I had sensed a similar kind of aura from Francesca a few times as well.

Not surprisingly.

My gut feeling, half instinct, half guess, solidified into certainty when I spotted Saint Veronica hanging out closely with Frederick. I heard he managed information agents.

Right. If we’re talking about abnormality, this person cannot be overlooked.

Frederick.

If someone were to ask me to pick just one person who was the furthest from common sense, Camila would confidently point to Frederick without hesitation.

The reasons for that are omitted.

He’s an Akande, a member of a battle tribe who loses control whenever a fight breaks out. Well…

It’s a bit of a downside that he turns into a single-celled amoeba the moment a battle begins, but he still acts fairly normally during everyday life.

Participating in religious activities diligently, he also makes efforts to bond with his somewhat awkward colleagues.

Among them, he’s the only one from the Mauritania Continent, being a nomad, so he has quite a few interesting stories to tell.

When we gather around a campfire and listen to Akande recount tales while gazing at the stars of the desert, before we know it, the campfire turns to ashes, and the sun starts to shyly light up the horizon. That’s just how fascinating Akande’s storytelling was.

Though he might appear like a Latin American drug cartel enforcer trained on steroids…

That misunderstanding arose from his full-body tattoos resembling Dwayne Johnson, after all.

One should never judge a person by their appearance alone.

If Camila could fix her temperament of going wild at the sight of blood like a cat discovering catnip, I believed there wouldn’t be anyone as hardworking and diligent as Akande.

In other words, her extreme penchant for fighting overshadowed all her strengths.

Potential economic criminal.

Lobbyist and state secret leaker.

Spy.

Brawler.

What a dismal lineup it was, and it just couldn’t get any worse.

Finding any normal person in such a grim reality was almost impossible.

In this chaotic multiverse, Camila, who considered herself the only normal one, often felt like she wanted to spit blood while climbing Golgotha Hill. (Of course, the opinion of Camila being normal might lack objectivity, and others might think differently.)

For Camila, someone she could genuinely trust and rely on.

In simple terms, her only “crutch” was Lucia.

Thus, she placed her hopes there.

Though it might be a burden for Lucia, she wished for her to step up and hold the center firm. If only the kind-hearted Lucia could just play the role of a brake, she wouldn’t ask for anything more.

Isn’t that obvious?

How many people possess a character more kind and upright than hers?

At least in Camila’s judgment, Lucia was the only one among her colleagues worthy of being called a person of integrity.

And as everyone except Camila knew, the world wasn’t that forgiving.

In the first place, expecting something only leads to betrayal.

“…You struck the Pope on the head with a mace?”

“…Yes.”

Lucia, whom Camila believed without a doubt to be the only normal one among their colleagues.

Assassination attempt, confirmed.

—

Episode 21 – The Peace of Our Times

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The first and last assassination attempt against a pope by a saint in the history of the Holy See.

It was hardly a surprise that an unprecedented civil strife had occurred; but truly, the kicker was that the protagonist of this scandal was Saint Lucia.

“Wait, what…?”

I was left speechless, staring blankly into space. It was hard to fathom that this could actually happen.

What kind of person is Lucia?

The second saint to appear in the history of the cult. One of the two saints existing in the same era.

In contrast to the more seasoned Saint Veronica, evaluations of Saint Lucia were overwhelmingly positive.

Even bishops and cardinals who politically opposed the saint were quick to praise her character, integrity, and moral conduct.

It’d be unwise to overlook how Veronica, often in the tabloids for her eccentric conduct, served as a stark contrast to Lucia, quietly focusing on her duties.

However, how could such a saint…

Hit the Pope’s head with a mace?

“…Lucia.”

As I repeatedly splashed cold water on my face, I quietly approached the iron bars and spoke up.

“If you don’t mind me asking… You’re not attempting to assassinate the Pope with the intent to ‘take care of Raphael first and then seize the holy land,’ are you?”

Lucia made the chains rattle, meeting my gaze.

Her expression carried the air of someone who had just heard the most terribly unfunny German humor.

“Do I seem like that kind of person to you?”

“Well, under normal circumstances, I would have answered no, but…”

The image of Lucia swinging a mace at bishops and cardinals flashed through my mind.

As that scene played out like a panorama, it seemed as if I couldn’t move my tongue.

Who would have imagined that Saint Lucia would lay her hands on bishops and cardinals? Anyone who knew her usual behavior would question if their ears deceived them.

But she did.

Taking justice into her own hands against the old geezers (the bishops and cardinals she judged with common sense), the saint personally wielded the mace to spank their behinds.

To top it off, she had the audacity to take a whack at the Pope’s crown as well!

Even though it was a failure, it would still go down in history.

Thus, Lucia has secured her place in history as the “Assassin of Pope Raphael!”

It could very well be compared to figures like Adolf Hitler attempting to kill his adversaries, or Lee Harvey Oswald who executed the long-range butt shot on the first North American President, utilizing a human torch metaphorically reminiscent of Lu Bu.

I’m losing my mind here.

“Absolutely not.”

“……”

“Really. Please believe me.”

Seeing Lucia humbly downplaying her deed made me tear up. I might as well practice for a moment when I might face a religious trial later on.

Who knows?

If the saint could smash the Pope’s head, maybe the Inquisition would somehow link me with assassination incitement and throw me to the pyre alongside Lucia.

Then shouldn’t I survive first?

I wiped my eyes and began urging my “only companion” to escape.

“Camila, let’s get out of here. If we stay, we’ll get caught up in this assassination conspiracy.”

“Isn’t it too late? They may already be surrounding the entrance, waiting for us.”

“You move when you think it’s too late. Come on, lead the way quickly!”

“Sounds like something out of a proverb. But why are you sending me out front…?”

“To use you as bait, if necessary.”

“…….”

As Camila gave me a blank look.

“Hey, can you not hear me? I’m talking to you!”

Just two minutes ago, our ‘assassin’ or ‘traitor’ colleague had been muttering something about misunderstandings.

“I did indeed lay hands on His Holiness the Pope’s body, but it’s not as serious as you fear.”

“…Ah, right.”

“And assassination? Why treat a living person like a corpse?”

“If you hit him with a mace… wouldn’t you be charged with murder regardless of whether he’s alive or dead?”

Legally, there are distinctions like assault leading to death, unintentional manslaughter, and murder. But come on, a mace?

Anyone can tell this isn’t just an accident. Even a seven-year-old child would see this as planned criminality.

I should have realized it from the moment I went outside daily to pray at dawn in the blizzard-struck Kien northern regions. A normal person wouldn’t go to morning prayer every single day in a war zone.

Let alone a so-called devout ‘religious person’ attacking the ‘Pope’ with a relic they’re supposed to worship?

And what was her excuse?

“Let’s just let it be. So why did you hit Raphael? Surely, there must have been a reason?”

“There was a meeting of bishops that was dragging on, so on my way to meet His Holiness, I happened to hear some advice that there’s nothing like a duel to solve complex issues.”

With how impossible it seemed, it felt as if my brain was going hazy. Camila even came to hold me up in my daze.

“Wait… is this the Dark Ages all over again? Duel trials? What’s that about?”

“Well, it wasn’t a trial per se. The differences between His Holiness and me were so stark that finding common ground was exceedingly difficult…”

Which essentially meant it was a duel trial.

My hands, pushed through the twisted chains, were repeatedly touching my own face like I was pinned down by nails.

It was almost embarrassing for Lucia, as she was fidgeting with her fingers and palms.

Then, adjusting her tone to a calmer one, she opened her mouth.

“Nevertheless, His Holiness is unharmed. He merely lost consciousness for a moment. There’s no real injury. It’s uncertain to even call it a duel… But I asked, and His Holiness accepted willingly, so it was a legitimate duel.”

“But you’re locked in chains now.”

“……”

Once more, the saint turned into a shell, lowering her head deeply. Her ears turned a bright shade of red.

Whether out of shame or something else, I couldn’t care less. What mattered now wasn’t Lucia’s feeling of embarrassment.

Like the Führer in the Berlin bunker spewing blood in front of his map, I took deep breaths, gathering my thoughts.

“Seriously, WHO in the world did you consult with that led you to a resolution of throwing off your rank and going for a duel? Name that person.”

The most likely candidate would be Veronica.

If this crazy woman could do anything, it wouldn’t come as a surprise. Honestly, I couldn’t think of anyone else except Veronica, who had the power to incite Lucia into battling the Pope.

But who did that?

It’s easier to get fooled when you trust someone.

The saying, “Knowing someone is terrifying,” couldn’t be truer.

“…Actually, it was His Grace, the Duke—”

– Flinch.

– Flinch.

After my eyelids fluttered open and shut rapidly, I felt the true meaning of “my lungs flipped over.”

Camila, who had been hanging onto me, felt the same way.

“What the hell?!”

“That’s why you didn’t follow us, professor?!”

Of course, no matter how much we screamed, the old man had no intention of responding, leaving Lucia to bury her head deeper into her skirt.

Flop.

—

“……”

“Why do you ask, Your Grace?”

“Nothing. I just….”

Alexandra Petrovna put down her teacup and looked around with a strange expression. Was someone gossiping?

The surroundings were quiet.

In the orderly yet aged dacha (дача), only the Duke and the owner were present. So she figured it was just her imagination and dismissed it with a slight gesture.

“Nothing much. I must have misheard the sound of the wind outside.”

“I see you can also startle. The one who never felt nervous even against the demons of that frozen land, yet now is surprised by the wind.”

Rush—…

The cobalt blue tea set filled the table. When a small kettle was tilted, the steam wafted, tickling the tip of the nose with warmth.

The gentle aroma and warmth wrapped around, it felt like time slowed down while gazing at the falling snow and sitting beside the fireplace.

“You seem deep in thought.”

Chancellor Stollipin set the small kettle down. Alexandra Petrovna, gazing absentmindedly out the window, snorted lightly.

“I’m tired.”

“If something is troubling Your Grace, it might just be your worries. Or perhaps your concerns.”

Snowflakes continued to sprinkle down, as if they were resting on her blue irises.

The Duke’s silence hinted at many things, which the chancellor quickly understood.

Stollipin asked and Alexandra Petrovna answered.

“How is your discipleship going? Is it rather smooth?”

“I can teach magic well enough, but courtesy is proving impossible no matter how hard I try. Yet, it is rather fun.”

“Previously, when I urged you to help nurture the younger generation, you flatly rejected my offer… How surprising. Speaking of which, I’ve heard the positions of head of magic at the Imperial University and head of the Magic Tower’s elemental division still remain vacant.”

“Don’t mention that. Are you planning to work me to the bone before I’ve taken my last breath?”

“If I could have, I would have done it since 40 years ago.”

“The future of the Empire looks dim.”

Just the usual banter. Alexandra Petrovna smiled lightly.

The chancellor asked, and the duke replied.

“The meeting place is set at Bahar. As Foreign Minister Nepomnyashchy feared, it seems the Lushan Federation is trying to act as a mediator.”

“Is the Foreign Ministry’s stance unchanged?”

“The view is dominant: we must not hand over the keys to the Lushan Federation. Considering the hostile relationship between the Republic of Ashtistan and the Lushan Federation, it is imperative for our Empire to balance matters, as per the request of the Republic’s government.”

“Diligent bureaucrats won’t let the old man rest, huh? What can you do? I might as well go visit a friend. If I’m lucky, I might get to see the fortune teller as well.”

The Northern Duke quenched his throat with tea.

The Empire’s cabinet papers were strewn beside the tea set. The chancellor opened his mouth.

“There are rumors that Princess Anastasia has established secret connections with the authorities of law enforcement. Currently, only a few ministers share this information—”

“Who’s saying that?”

“Philip.”

“Ah, Margarita’s grandfather.”

A nod followed.

“The bond between the two princesses is indeed quite thick. So, what’s Margarita up to?”

“She is engaging in charity work, demonstrating the royal family’s ideals through fundraising and donations to social organizations.”

“Philip’s hometown is in the West, isn’t it?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“What a foolish decision.”

Alexandra Petrovna nodded casually, yet the seasoned chancellor deftly read the fragments reflected in her azure eyes.

“What do we do about Princess Anastasia and Princess Margarita’s issues?”

“Let them be.”

The chancellor asked, and the archmage responded.

“Keep it secret from the Crown Prince. Until further notice, you shall see nothing, hear nothing. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“By the way, there hasn’t been any news of Angelica.”

The chancellor conveyed that “there’s nothing that requires reporting about Angelica,” but instead promised to compile it with other documents soon for submission, which Alexandra Petrovna lightly permitted.

In the now quiet Northern dacha, the snowstorm morphed into a storm that began to shake the very earth.

With the warmth of the fragrant tea gently warming her, the archmage momentarily closed her eyelids and leaned back into the armchair.

“My only disciple still hasn’t made contact.”

Just then, with a frown, she subtly remarked with a pout.

“Not even a thought for the mentor, is that it?”

It was either a passive-aggressive jab or self-deprecation.

“Surely not! She must have something urgent going on that she’s barely able to reach out.”

“An urgent matter? More like she’s probably just too lost in snacking.”

Sadly, the archmage’s deduction was far off-base.

Right now, Camila was genuinely too occupied with chaos to even think of contacting her.

The disappointed voice of her disciple would soar to the archmage’s mana crystal late into the night.

Just at that moment, an unexpected visitor arrived.