A Dark Fantasy Spy

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Life is like the two sides of a thin card, where the fragile boundary separates light and darkness, destined to coexist.

There is no perfection in this world.

Just as shadows are ever-present where light exists.

Born as humans, we carry imperfections, and no one can escape this grand destiny.

Thus, fate always lies in the hands of individuals.

—

Episode 21 – The Peace of Our Era

A rather unpleasant rebellion has erupted.

The Saint and the Pope have clashed without any rank.

It’s no exaggeration to call it an unprecedented case of insubordination, and it’s the reason Camila’s jaw dropped.

With a face as red as her hair, her voice pitch high.

Just like the governor of the British Empire facing a rebellion by colonists, Camila could hardly contain her shock and shot a glare at Lucia.

“Bloody Fuck—Lucia, get over here!”

“Why, why are you doing this…?”

“Camila. First, get her out and… persuade her well… hurry! Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

“Got it!”

After dragging Lucia, who was bound by chains, Camila disappeared first.

I clasped my throbbing forehead, shuddering at the total strike by the neuron union governing my autonomic nervous system.

Oh dear.

What kind of lunatic locks people in an underground warehouse? Just look at the dust and the smell of mold. What a nauseating sight.

“…sigh.”

While gazing at the distinct shape of a backside imprinted on the thick dust piled on a box, I let out a deeply sinking sigh.

There hasn’t been a peaceful day, not a single one. Not even one.

“What in the world caused this mess…?”

—

The church hierarchy constitutes the very foundation of the cult.

Just as the structure of a nation is established based on fundamental rights represented by life and freedom, surrounded by a constitution that guarantees them, a religion exists through an orderly framework.

From that perspective, Lucia’s act of insubordination was incredibly reckless.

When something perceived as obvious collapses, everything else would fall like dominoes.

This was not merely an act that could have disrupted order; didn’t it also involve the use of force?

And against the Pope, no less.

One, the fact that the Saint instigated the insubordination was kept strictly secret.

Considering that even high-ranking clerics could not access proper information, I easily sensed that the Pope’s influence had extended.

And that’s where my questions began.

Why did the Pope cover up the truth?

In a time when the cult is in uproar over issues of reconciliation and compensation for past wrongs, the insubordination was nearly the only atomic bomb-level blow Raphael could deal to Lucia, who stood at the eye of the storm.

Yet the Pope chose to abandon his political offensive.

Instead, he merely decided to bury it quietly.

Why did Lucia resort to violence?

Fundamentally, she wasn’t one to seek turmoil.

Unlike the first Saint who repeatedly irritated people, she had never even engaged in the most mundane of arguments with others.

For someone like her to smash someone’s head was only something that could happen under mutual agreement, or if the other party was someone urgently in need of a one-way ticket to hell.

A word like “unprovoked violence” was utterly unbefitting of Lucia. It could be said, barring the annoying senile elders in the northern kingdom.

Some claim that most problems can be solved through violence, but at least Lucia was not someone who resolved issues in that manner.

Did the Duke of the North blow air into her lungs to instigate her insubordination?

I would sooner believe that Bill Gates had implanted a chip in his brain to control her. What kind of nonsense is that?

Despite that, the vivid reality unfolding before my eyes didn’t change one bit.

The brutal reality claiming common sense in real time, a heap of bewildering questions.

The one thing both Camila and I felt in common was simply frustration.

Why? Why?

Just as I uttered that intolerable, exclamatory wail, the response that came back was remarkably concise and clear.

“There was a trivial argument.”

“You mean you smashed her head while fighting over words?”

“I did not attack her head! What do you take me for…!”

The current Pope’s would-be assassin. The first Saint in history to have stripped her rank and sought physical confrontation with the Pope declared firmly, but I turned my gaze towards Camila without a care.

“Did you just confess that you beat up the old lady as if you were beating a dog? Just look at how proudly you say that! Is this even sane?”

“Quite the dilemma indeed….”

“Oh my gosh….”

Camila looked shell-shocked, as though the world had crumbled around her.

Her desolate gaze provoking pity resembled that of an acquaintance from the French intelligence agency witnessing the Notre Dame Cathedral engulfed in flames. It was clear just how shocking this was.

The disciple who had attempted to persuade Lucia while escaping her master’s clutches finally faced reality. She realized that what she thought was a path of flowers had turned out to be a road of fire.

They say there’s no paradise where you run away.

Who could have anticipated that the consequences of her cunning would be so spicy—surely even the Archmage could not have foreseen that outcome. But now, it was too late to return to the Empire, so what could be done?

I offered a bittersweet consolation that wasn’t really consolation at all.

“Camila. Don’t try to evade the responsibilities your choices have brought upon you.”

“Just shut up.”

Not particularly helpful.

“Dammit… a fistfight following an argument. Aren’t we adults, not teens, Lucia?”

“…….”

“Was it really necessary to take it that far?”

As if bursting with the frustration, Camila began pacing around and unloading words at Lucia. She seemed slightly angered, too.

“You were the one who strongly advocated for wrapping up the past issues. So, what are you trying to achieve by using violence when mere words couldn’t persuade them in a tough twelve-round debate? This is entirely unlike the Lucia I knew.”

Having come to persuade Lucia, she was now in a position to reprimand her. Yet in a voice laden with indignation as though it were her own, one could sense the concern she had for her colleague.

Though the question appeared somewhat similar on the surface, the connotation was distinctly different.

She was questioning need, rather than cause.

What she truly wanted to hear was not the action that produced the results but rather the intent that moved Lucia.

It seemed this would lead to quite the lengthy discussion.

It also explained why the information officer had brought alcohol, claiming it was a moment of truth.

That was the crux of the matter.

—

Every incident possesses its cause.

There are no accidents without reason, nor disasters that cannot be anticipated.

The reason Lucia disclosed traces back to a rather old encounter.

To say it’s old might be misleading, as when calculated in terms of time, it was a matter of only a few months.

“…the blood-drinking tree. Everyone remembers, don’t you?”

The cultist terrorism that occurred in the Jamria Federation. The tree that nearly obliterated a large city as it claimed humans as offerings.

It began with the incident of the Saint’s blood theft, followed by the engagement of the Order of the Holy Knights, then infiltrating the necropolis where occultists and banish mages coexisted.

Ultimately, Al Kair was revealed as the mastermind.

A tree that appeared in Nabucto.

And the instigator who was purged.

“I know. We endured hours of hard labor just to fell that one tree. Akande had also joined around that time.”

“The damage was quite extensive, I presume?”

“Indeed. Very, very extensive.”

We achieved victory. But we lost a great deal in return.

With casualties numbering in the tens of thousands and incomparably more than hundreds of thousands displaced, the international situation on the northern Mauritania continent was entering a state of fog.

The shadow of the blood-drinking tree continues to smolder, sparking turmoil in various places.

“After Al Kair gained notoriety, self-proclaimed ‘Messiahs’ began to surface. Fueled by a singular desire to set the world ablaze, imitative attacks are on the rise, and countless spin-off groups have emerged, claiming to be spiritual successors.”

This was a phenomenon we could observe around us as well.

Just as numerous al-Qaeda affiliates sprouted in places like Saudi Arabia and Yemen after Osama bin Laden’s removal, and as ISIL terrorized Iraq only to fracture into countless affiliates now wandering the Sahel Desert.

This current situation bears a striking resemblance to those contexts.

A large organization has split into subgroups, splinter groups are rampant, and imitative attacks are rampant as well.

While the backdrop may differ, the essence remains the same.

The only issue is that these attacks don’t involve improvised explosive devices but instead resort to dark magic that can instantly desiccate the living like mummies or convert cemeteries into ghoul gardens.

If that’s the extent of it, then it’s manageable.

Such petty imitation terrorism is something that the Magic Department and counter-terrorism agencies can reasonably “manage” to deal with.

However, Lucia’s concern lay elsewhere.

“Al Kair’s leader harbors malice towards our cult. From what I discerned personally, a bishop from a now-defunct nation on the Mauritania continent remained silent in the face of a massacre perpetrated by the government army. In fact, there were moments of cooperation with the dictatorship.”

“…….”

“Though the nation no longer exists, we all are aware of someone who was born there.”

It was an extraordinarily delicate hint.

Yet no one here was so dull as to miss its meaning.

That’s why Lucia insists.

“We must stop it. To prevent repeating the same mistake.”

Silence permeated the air. A short silence, yet long enough.

After a while of standing still, Camila suddenly broke the silence.

Her tone was exceedingly soft and gentle, with an undertone that could easily unlock any locks.

“We should acknowledge our wrongs and seek forgiveness… to prevent potential victims from becoming perpetrators. To sever the cycle of violence… It’s a good intention.”

Camila expressed her agreement with a bright voice. Yet she still refused to bend her will.

“But to be honest… I don’t know if it needs to go this far, Lucia. This method seems too aggressive.”

“Isn’t it possible that the same kind could emerge again? Sometimes beginnings may come unexpectedly.”

“Isn’t that a leap in logic?”

Just because one has suffered unjust harm doesn’t mean they’ll always seek blood revenge. That was Camila’s main point.

“Someone might harbor resentment over the past wrongs of the cult. They can demand apologies. Forgiveness is a rightful power given to the victim, after all.”

However, they must not attack clergy of the cult or wave their weapons at innocent civilians without justification.

Taking innocent lives without legitimate cause is an unforgivable crime in any circumstance. No matter how wronged one might feel, playing with human lives is taboo.

A sensible person would not feed dozens of thousands of strangers to the trees as fertilizer.

Thus, Camila could confidently assert.

“Lucia. If the reason we cling to the issue of the past is because of that incident… then there’s no need to wrap things up in this manner. You know it’s wrong to subjugate others through force, Lucia.”

“Yes.”

“Even if we apologize, there’s no guarantee that another incident like the last terrorism won’t occur.”

“I share that sentiment as well.”

“If we genuinely worry about everyone’s lives and safety, wouldn’t it be better to seize this opportunity and explore alternatives? We could establish preventive measures through investigative bodies and international organizations, or devise other strategies to thwart terrorism in advance.”

In other words, she suggested mobilizing the military and police to take out the terrorists without wasting time on apologies. Or perhaps sending the Inquisition Officers to stomp them down.

Camila might argue that wasn’t her intent, but intentions are subjective to each interpreters’ understanding.

Considering her major in conflict studies, her aspirations in the information agency, and the fact that her hometown is England, this assumption aligns with Camila’s broader intentions.

In truth, unless other sharp methods emerge, this remains the most realistic alternative.

“You’re echoing similar sentiments as His Holiness the Pope.”

Lucia remarked flatly. And since she had stripped her rank and confronted the Pope, this clearly signified her outright rejection.

Despite being firmly rebuffed, Camila didn’t intend to give up. A bitter smile reminiscent of a child who had tasted unsweetened coffee spread across her face.

“If someone were to lower their arms just because they apologized, they wouldn’t have attempted to harm anyone in the first place! What they need isn’t leniency but punishment!”

“From a judicial perspective, that may be true. Yet, we should still seek forgiveness and extend grace.”

“That won’t solve everything perfectly, though?”

It was exactly at this moment that Camila’s expertise shone.

She began referencing all the external dispute cases involving existing cults. Unraveling historical mistakes and meticulously dissecting the entangled interests within the international community.

Diplomatic friction arising from cult followers repressed abroad,
fierce trade wars waged from strategic viewpoints,
military competitions deployed to safeguard the interests of allies in a binary opposing structure,
and the worsening public opinion within civil societies day by day.

The examples she cited were conflicts that had repeated endlessly throughout the Cold War and its supplement.

The American perspective perceiving Russia as a stumbling block and the White House kicking Chinese companies for issues regarding Xinjiang were just a few examples.

Camila suggested that recognizing historical mistakes under the current circumstances was far from an easy decision.

If one attempts to apologize, the counterpart will demand many responsibilities for ‘forgiveness,’ which burden the cult to a point beyond defining it as ‘compensation.’

Above all, she asserted that domestic public opinion wouldn’t be amenable.

However, if they were to selectively seek forgiveness from only certain nations while being conscious of public sentiment, they could expect backlash of the foulest variety, hence Camila carefully proposed, “Let’s give it a bit more time and observe.”

Needless to say, this embodies a highly political perspective.

At the same time, it reflects a quintessentially English insight.

While she skillfully dodged the implications and obscured the discourse, to put it simply, Camila was ultimately arguing…

“If you apologize now, it seems likely that both Lucia and Raphael will suffer politically as a result, so let’s just keep quiet and endure! With time, the compensation issues will quiet down! Let’s tough it out until time resolves it!”

…This was the gist of it, wasn’t it?

To beat the terrorists with brute force and to endure silence over issues from the past. Is this truly the mindset of a European?

Once again, the world’s leading producer of independent holidays seemed entirely different. No wonder companies only hire seasoned professionals.

—

Lucia silently observed and listened as Camila articulated her grievances ten times over.

And when her grand speech finally came to an end,

The Saint finally opened her mouth.

“So you’re saying, in essence, what you just told me is to effectively cease discussions about reconciling past mistakes?”

“…Huh?”

It was right on target.

Unprepared for the accurate strike, Camila looked on with a stunned, open-mouthed expression. Perhaps the alcohol was taking effect; she appeared slightly dazed and different from her usual composed self.

Regardless of her state, Lucia continued in a flat tone to make her point.

“That cannot be. This issue must be resolved.”

“No, no! Lucia!”

Her pitch rose.

Camila, who rarely appeared flustered, began pacing around as if trying to arrange her thoughts. However, it seemed she could no longer hold back. She leapt up from her seat and began wailing in despair.

“If you truly wanted this resolved, you should have done it properly! What do you expect when you resort to violence against the elderly because you can’t communicate?! This isn’t Germany—do you think they’ll follow the orders of someone beating them?!”

“Wait a moment… Why the sudden racism? Does the Brexit mean we’re no longer Europeans?”

“Just shut up, Frederick. If you don’t want to be beaten.”

I couldn’t help but stare at the British girl in astonishment.

Am I a slave from a territory? Just because I opened my mouth once, am I supposed to get beaten? It was absurd; I was dumbfounded.

If I had the chance, I would want to hit her right back, but unfortunately, I was the weakest here, and Camila was currently inebriated. Additionally, since anyone intoxicated tends to become a disruptive customer in public service—she was indeed an eternal enemy of government workers.

That’s why I quietly sneaked away to a corner.

Bang! Camila thumped the ground, raising her voice as if she couldn’t bear it any longer.

“I understand this issue is important to Lucia! It’s so obvious that it will cause controversy, though—what’s the reason for pushing it through despite the backlash when we hardly see its purpose?!”

“…….”

“Don’t you think it’s time to tell me? Why are you going to such lengths?”

The answer returned after a slight pause.

After sitting still with her eyes closed for a while, Lucia finally broke her silence.

Her voice was calmer than expected.

To be precise, it would be more accurate to say it was subdued.

“Are you asking why seeking forgiveness is so important?”

“Yes.”

“Is it possible for someone who has forgotten even the laws of confessing their sins, simply because they wear the cloth, to ask others to confess and plead for mercy?”