A Dark Fantasy Spy

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“Greenpeace is an environmental organization, right? But the crux of the matter is that Greenpeace isn’t your average environmental organization; it’s one that pursues its ideals in somewhat extreme ways. They crash ships to stop fishing, invade French nuclear power plants…”

Camila said.

“And Colonel, you mentioned that when I brought up Greenpeace while burning the forest, the Elves would protest. You also definitely pointed out that the Elves tend to be extreme. But I only mentioned that there’s an organization called Greenpeace. I never said it was an environmental organization or that it had extreme tendencies.”

A university student from England pondered aloud.

“So, there are two possible answers.”

Two slender white fingers were raised.

“First, detailed information about Greenpeace is available here as well.”

“Second, there isn’t any information about Greenpeace here, but the Colonel is well-informed about it.”

“Which do you think is correct?”

She punctuated her reasoning.

“I can’t help but feel like I’m leaning towards the latter.”

That was indeed the correct answer.

—

Camila finished speaking, and I found myself in a long silence.

While the Black-haired Foreigner kept quiet, the Blue-eyed Englishman merely observed me in silence.

After a long pause, I resolved to calmly accept the reality.

“…When did it begin?”

Camila spoke. The response was immediate.

“It was at the Research Institute.”

It had been a longer time than I thought.

“The researchers always asked me if we were on the same page, but since the Colonel didn’t, it felt a bit off when I thought about it.”

“…….”

“Of course, I didn’t realize it at first.”

Camila sensed something odd at the Research Institute. Based on that, she formed various hypotheses and insisted on verifying them the moment she left the Institute.

“At first, I wondered if I was mistaken. So, I searched for all the books and articles in the library.”

“Articles?”

“A library that keeps old newspapers, you know.”

She looked for articles, borrowed books, and sought out papers and journals.

After weeks of toiling, Camila managed to gather most of the information available about Earth in this town.

“There was a lot of inaccurate information, and at times discussions from WWII or the Cold War got mixed in, but one thing was for sure: most of the material was micro and local data gathered from individual testimonies rather than macro and systematic research.”

“…….”

“In fact, it leaned more towards gossip than credible newspapers or wikis made by multiple contributors. For instance, instead of discussing the origins of labor movements in European society or societal changes, it was just complaints from people about their unions without any background explanation. Given that I researched and investigated with that material, it’s no wonder that most of the data here turned out to be unreliable. That’s my personal opinion.”

I quietly sat in my place, evaluating the university student from the blurred land.

Strong mentality. Calm demeanor. Sharp judgment. Concise reasoning. High concentration.

Camila was unusually wise for someone her age, and she had a suspiciously quick mind.

“So what about Greenpeace?”

“Not a mention at all. It could be that I just couldn’t find it, or maybe there just wasn’t any information about Greenpeace in that library.”

It was a gamble she had cast.

Whether the information about Greenpeace existed in this town or not, it didn’t matter; the information floating around related to Earth was mostly unreliable anyway, so she decided to take a leap of faith.

Even if I didn’t know anything about Greenpeace, it didn’t matter much; if I did, I could change the subject and dig for more information. Of course, the opposite was also possible. Whether it was the UN, the dollar as a reserve currency, or the Cold War, there were countless means to validate her hypothesis. If the opponent seemed ignorant of Greenpeace, she could throw out another bait.

Yet, I found myself sharing insights about the tendencies of a group she never even mentioned.

I had taken the bait.

“…….”

At this point, I decided to acknowledge my mistake. After being out of the scene for over 20 years, I had become completely obsolete.

Simultaneously, regardless of Camila Lowell’s background or demeanor, I recognized her abilities. Though slightly lacking, she was undoubtedly not an ordinary person.

However, it seemed Camila still had some hidden cards up her sleeve.

“Of course, there was a distinct catalyst at play.”

“What was that?”

She revealed an item that she had consistently kept hidden since entering the room.

It was something very familiar to me.

“…It’s a plastic bottle. A drink container.”

“It’s not just a drink.”

The university student from England chuckled lightly as she pointed to the bottle.

“Hydrogen peroxide and nitric acid are key materials for making improvised explosives. The large syringe was probably used to extract the contents from the bottle, while the nitric acid was likely omitted to avoid detection. What remains are acetic acid, powdered juice, and a magic power conversion device… After reading the instructions, I realized the device converts magic into a substance akin to electricity. Much like a battery.”

Camila recited the ingredients and methods used in the bottle.

Some of it was information I knew, some diverged from what I was aware of, and some was much more detailed than what I had known. Her explanation, though significantly different, resonated with the general gist.

The method for creating improvised explosives. It was something I had learned ages ago during special demolitions training at the Special Forces Headquarters.

For the record, the improvised explosive I had learned to make was discovered in England.

And coincidentally, Camila was from England.

“Where did you learn this?”

The university student smiled brightly.

“I happened to catch a glimpse when Jake was out buying supplies. It wasn’t intentional or anything.”

“Did you learn how to make it at university?”

“My professor didn’t teach me directly, but my department is a bit special. I saw the information in materials handed to me by a senior who graduated while prepping an essay.”

“What was that essay about?”

“It was on the potential for airport terrorism by non-state actors.”

“…….”

“I mentioned it’s a special department.”

“…….”

I mulled over her words, deeply contemplating.

Materials handed to her by a graduated senior, huh…

Camila studied at a university in England: Cambridge University, specializing in conflict studies.

Because it’s a globally recognized institution, all Cambridge graduates are considered elites. In fact, such prestigious universities are well-known just by name: Tokyo University, Peking University, Tsinghua University, Princeton, Cambridge, Oxford, Stanford, Harvard, Yale.

Typically, those coming from such universities are labeled as elites, and most individuals entering information agencies belong to that category. This is an undeniable fact. It’s no wonder that Americans mock the CIA by saying it’s a place for “only white graduates from Harvard and Yale.”

The same goes for South Korea.

The National Intelligence Service predominantly recruits not from local universities, but from Seoul. Not from the lower tier of Seoul, but the upper tier—SKY graduates.

Some might criticize it as elitism, but the truth remains that the National Intelligence Service wouldn’t consider applicants who just loafed around without studying. Of course, even if one graduated from Seoul National University, average GPA of 3.2 without any qualifications or extra language skills is a definite disqualification. No matter how prestigious the university, someone unprepared has no right to apply.

In that sense, England isn’t very different.

In fact, it was true. According to the Langley acquaintances I had met, the dominant forces within the British intelligence agencies were indeed Oxford and Cambridge.

And here, serendipitously, stood someone with a Cambridge background before me.

She said, “A normal army major or resident officer wouldn’t stockpile such a chemical or medical supplies. Right?”

“Right.”

Camila smiled broadly and narrowed her eyes.

“Were you in the intelligence department?”

“Um… I wasn’t a full-time employee, just an intern during the break? For about 12 weeks.”

“University recruitment-related internship?”

“Oh, you know about that?”

“There were those roaming around trying to bring that in.”

I recalled the NIS personnel who had been cruising around university zones and comfortably leaned back on the sofa.

Camila smiled cheerfully, lowered my hand, and perched herself on the bed.

“So what’s the answer?”

I remained silent, choosing not to respond. My silence was acquiescence.

Camila wasn’t the sort to miss that, so she finally allowed herself a rare smile.

“Well, regardless of where you’re from, I feel like we can communicate just fine!”

“What if your assumptions were wrong?”

“Still, if you know what Greenpeace does, you shouldn’t have to worry about being surrounded by those who can’t communicate at all, right?”

“That’s true.”

Camila joyfully extended her hand, and I quietly contemplated the warm tones of her gently folded eyelids.

I couldn’t fully trust her.

And she likely didn’t completely trust me either.

Therefore, I took her extended hand. A warm hue contrasted sharply against the cool sensation I felt.

“I guess I won’t be bored either.”

Whether I could truly trust her remained uncertain.

I wasn’t sure if she could trust me either.

“Let me introduce myself properly. I’m Camila Lowell from England.”

The rule in this line of work is to never trust anyone recklessly.

—

Side Episode – Spy Game – START –