A Dark Fantasy Spy

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It was a day when I didn’t think about my hometown for a long time.

In the surveillance security room located at the Patalia Embassy of the Magic Tower, a security terminal made strange noises on my desk, and I absorbed the outdated security programs and figures displayed on the screen.

Looking at this outdated encryption material, even by 21st-century standards, made me realize anew, “Yes, this truly is another world.”

-‘…I see. It seems you’re preparing for your return well. Is there any issue?’

“Nothing major.”

-‘That’s a relief. We can discuss the details once you return.’

Rustling. The sound of paper soaring through the air on waves of magic power echoed in my ears.

-‘Are you well prepared for the debriefing?’

“It’s just work looking at documents, after all.”

I took out the mission brief and information reports stored in my desk drawer. The documents totaled several hundred pages, filled with information about all the intelligence operations conducted at the Magic Tower in the past.

No matter how much intelligence agencies talk about minimizing documents for security reasons, most of their work ends up being paper-heavy. It’s a reality where one spends more time with a pen and keyboard than with a gun.

It seemed the other party agreed, as laughter came through the security line.

-‘How does it feel to have left the life of an advisor to return to the field? Is it unbearable?’

“You, of all people, should know. You’ve been an investigator for over ten years.”

-‘That’s just how office life is.’

Before I could respond, a security data reception alert appeared in the corner of the screen. I clicked on the screen displayed on the terminal and asked Clevenz.

“What is this?”

-‘It’s the documents you need for your return. I’ve noted the details, so refer to them. The password is 3174.’

The communication ended. The terminal, now gray, indicated that the connection was severed. I opened the downloaded security file and unfolded the password book from my drawer to combine the password.

Inside the file were the documents needed for using the Warp Gate, how to pass through the immigration checkpoint as a diplomat, means to contact nearby branches in case of issues, and the location for receiving operational funds.

After staring at the screen for a while, I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

“……”

The day had come.

Finally, I was to return.

—

Episode 7 – Ordinary Day

Being an information officer is a boring job.

The portrayal of information agents in movies often paints a glamorous and flashy image, but in reality, they live ordinary lives.

Wake up, eat, get ready for work, attend morning meetings, shuffle through paperwork, grab a quick lunch, and resume paperwork until 6 PM when it’s time to go home. When you arrive home, there’s not much to do. If you have a family, you manage household chores; if you’re single, you order late-night snacks while gaming or watch Netflix, and if you’re ambitious about promotions, you study in your spare time. Time passes until you fall asleep, only to repeat the cycle the next day.

The biggest concern of the day? Today’s lunch menu. I dislike working late, find overtime annoying, and love payday. Especially on performance bonus days. Just glancing at the words ‘National Army Finance Management Division’ on my smartphone lifts my spirits.

There’s nothing particularly special about working in intelligence. It’s just easier to think of it like any other job.

Perhaps things might be different if you were posted abroad or in a local office, but having lived here, I found little difference.

Of course, not everyone at the intelligence agency has such a cynical mindset.

However, after doing the same job for over ten years, falling into a routine is inevitable. Don’t we all know someone who’s counting down to retirement after fulfilling their pension period? Those people usually run around in golf attire.

Once, while observing my seniors roaming the office in their golf outfits, I wondered, “Will I end up like that after 20 more years of service?”

Twenty years? Not a chance.

Here I am, barely ten years in, and it feels unbearable.

“Good morning.”

“Oh, uh….”

Two hours of sleep later, I was on my way to the dining hall for breakfast when I ran into Lucia in casual clothes in the hallway.

Waving down the stairs as if pleased to see me, she stopped in front of me, a puzzled expression on her face.

“You look a bit unwell. Is something wrong?”

“I was on night duty yesterday.”

“Oh.”

—

Humans are creatures of adaptation.

Just as a stray dog in three years can recite poetry and an absolute genius can blabber about Mencius, I have gradually adapted to life abroad after exceeding three months of overseas duty.

And Camila, now in her third week of training, was no exception.

“Accéndo.”

Whirl! A bright red flame flared at her fingertips. Although the small size of the flickering flame resembled a candle, its intensity was comparable to a torch.

Camila beamed at the sight of the flame. In her other hand, a magic book precariously balanced.

The raging fire fluctuated with Camila’s abilities, sometimes swaying sideways like it was tossed by the wind or bursting forth.

“Wow! A flamethrower!”

Maneuvering the flame like an old man playing music with a cobra, Camila was theatrically swirling around the room.

I silently watched the spectacle, and when she got close, I splashed a cup of water on her head and gave her a light smack.

“I told you not to play with fire inside!”

Thwap!

“D’oh!”

Camila, hit on the head, squinted one eye and let out a comical scream. Did she turn into a character from The Simpsons?

“I said practice your magic on the roof! I left the pool empty for you to practice without killing anyone!”

“KYAAAA!”

Just as I adapted to life in the Tower, it seemed Camila was also adjusting well in her way, taking time to study magic whenever possible.

Although it was evident she was still clumsy and bouncing here and there due to her lack of experience, under my supervision during her magic practice, we managed to avoid any serious incidents.

Regardless, it mattered little to me. A lack of accidents does not mean avoiding punishment.

“Do you intend to burn everything down by using magic carelessly like that…?”

Camila scratched her head and yelled back.

“I can’t use a gun, so I have to use magic!”

“I’ll let you practice shooting once we get a gun, so please don’t use magic in the room.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But first, check your pockets.”

“Why do I have to check my pockets…?”

“There are snacks on the floor. I clearly confiscated them, but you just couldn’t hold out…!”

As I scolded Camila, I discovered the hidden animal cookies she had stowed away and confiscated them. She resisted, but inevitably had to pout, having had all her secret stash taken away.

As we conducted pocket and suite searches, confiscating cookies, bread, and drinks, someone knocked on the door.

With long eye corners and eyelashes—a glance of charisma in her gaze, the familiar sight of violets reflected in her purple hair, it was someone both Camila and I knew.

“Administrator? You’re back already.”

“Nice to see you. Have you both been well?”

Francesca, the high-ranking official and alchemist from the Magic Tower Secretariat.

“Welcome back!”

“I just returned. I felt it was a bit rude to come back empty-handed, so I brought a gift, but I’m not sure if you’ll like it.”

She held up a luxurious-looking envelope or box. The emblem indicated it came from Patalia or a long-established company or workshop in the Magic Tower.

“What is all of this?”

“They’re items I brought from my homeland to aid in your magic practice. But I hope you’ll like them. Would you like to take a look?”

“I’d love to. But is it only for me?”

Francesca smiled slightly.

“Don’t worry. There’s also a gift for the Saint and the Colonel.”

Camila expressed her relief, opening the presents that Francesca had brought. I discreetly stifled a hand trying to steal a cookie while greeting her warmly.

“I heard you returned, but I didn’t expect you to come today. How was your trip?”

I didn’t ask out of genuine curiosity. Considering that Francesca was a monitored target of the National Security Agency and I had a connection there, I was somewhat aware of what she might have been up to in Patalia.

However, sometimes, you have to tell lies while living.

“It was nostalgic visiting my hometown after a long time. I met with friends and saw my brother. It felt just like I remembered, after all these years.”

“I’m glad to hear you returned safely. So where did you visit?”

“Just my alma mater, a friend’s workshop, a store, the streets…I wandered around greeting people I had forgotten.”

“I see. By the way, you’ve lived overseas for over ten years. Have you visited your hometown?”

“I went to the villa where I used to live. Though it’s someone else’s property now.”

“And your family?”

“……”

Francesca silently smiled without answering further. The hint of reluctance was evident. My guess was that she was either still conscious of the National Security Agency’s scrutiny or perhaps had a strained relationship with her family.

It seemed I had something new to investigate.

I plastered a smile on my face and pivoted the conversation.

“It’s nice to see you again after such a long time. Now that you’re back, let’s all have a meal together.”

“That sounds great. Thank you.”

“And if it’s not too much trouble, could you share some stories from your travels? There’s so much we don’t know about Patalia.”

She answered.

“Of course.”

—

Publicly, Francesca was a high-ranking official of the Magic Tower Secretariat.

Having come to study at the Magic Tower as a child and graduating from prestigious universities, she became an alchemist and joined the elemental school, the main faction of the Magic Tower. Currently, Francesca serves as an administrator in the Secretariat, assisting the Oracle, and many media outlets predict she will soon take a key position with the ongoing major restructuring in the Secretariat.

However, some often wonder, “Can Francesca Ranieri really hold a key position at the Magic Tower?” Because the most significant background of Francesca—the Ranieri family—is a target of the National Security Agency.

Would the Magic Tower appoint a traitor from its staunch ally, Patalia, to a key position? Would the blood alliance of the Magic Tower allow a public security criminal to rise to prominence?

Due to the provocative narrative, such questions have constantly arisen among the continent’s gossipers and diplomats. That has been the case until now, and it would be so in the future.

Once branded with the scarlet letter of a public security criminal, such questions and the shameful stigma will follow Francesca for a lifetime.

However, what they don’t know is that Francesca Ranieri is an informant controlled by a foreign intelligence agency.

And an intelligence officer managing her is right beside her.

“I heard something happened during your travels?”

In the suite right next to Camila’s, I sat across from Francesca, sharing conversation.

Having just returned to the hotel, Francesca wore a truly fatigued expression.

“Yes, it seems the news has reached you as well.”

She nodded calmly and elaborated on what had transpired.

“Someone from the family came. It was someone who had worked in our household for a long time. She was also my nanny.”

“I see.”

Francesca described the situation from when she met her nanny in Patalia.

Her tone sounded more like she was reporting the details of her actions to a superior rather than sharing experiences with a friend. Given that I was indeed her supervising intelligence officer, I was her superior.

“What did she say?”

“She mentioned the head of the family wanted to see me since I had returned home after a long time. Specifically, it was to have a family dinner and see my face, but I felt there was something more behind it.”

The head of the family.

“When you say the head of the Ranieri family, do you mean your father?”

“Yes.”

Patalia is nominally a democratic republic without a caste system, yet the government exceptionally recognizes the nobility status of the Ranieri family.

Of course, this fact outright contradicts Patalia’s constitution, and given the national sentiment against the caste system, it’s a known fact that such a move is hard to accept, but since the Ranieri family maintains deep connections with the Magic Tower, which holds power in the magical society, they have managed to retain their noble status through consensus (or rather, the tacit approval of the entire state) ‘for now’.

From memory, the current head of the Ranieri family should be Francesca’s father. He took the position twenty years ago, clearing up the mess caused by her grandfather, who had been branded a public security criminal. Documents from the Royal Intelligence Department received from Leoni define the head of the family as such.

The question is,

“What reason do they have for wanting to meet you? It seemed the family considered you half-married off.”

This concerns the purpose behind the head wanting to make contact with Francesca.

Francesca’s daughter succinctly answered.

“It seemed to be a matter internal to the family.”

Internal affairs.

“Are you unaware of the details? Or are you reluctant to share them?”

“I don’t know about that. I didn’t hear anything further.”

Francesca explained that she only received the messages from her nanny mentioning ‘the head wants to see you’ and ‘it’s an internal family matter.’

“Did you happen to have a recording or any recorded materials related to this?”

“No.”

Francesca gently huddled her shoulders and clasped her hands as she replied. She seemed somewhat uncomfortable, making her answer sound slightly unusual.

“Did your nanny not mention anything else about what that internal matter is, or when and where you’re supposed to meet?”

“She didn’t mention anything besides suggesting to meet at the family home. It seemed she was also unaware of the specific reasons.”

“Is there any letter or message sent directly from the head?”

“No.”

Since it seemed there was something suspicious about what she was saying, I wanted to press further but ultimately halted my questioning. It looked like I’d have to contact Sophia.

“Understood.”

I continued to ask her various questions—what kind of food she had in Patalia, where she stayed, if any suspicious individuals had followed her, and so on.

After asking a series of questions, I confirmed that Francesca’s direct testimonies somewhat aligned with the information from the National Security Agency regarding her activities, and it appeared that she had not noticed the intelligence officers monitoring her.

I also managed to hear an intriguing story that hadn’t shown up in the Royal Intelligence Department documents.

“What was that family villa like?”

“It’s where I was born and grew up.”

This was information not found in the intelligence, defense, or foreign affairs departments. Perhaps due to my instinct as an intelligence officer, I felt drawn to learn more, so I began to pry further into the villa.

Perhaps, I could uncover the motive behind why Francesca entered this line of work.

“Were you not born at your family home?”

“No, I was born at the villa. My mother unexpectedly went into labor while visiting for a convalescence, and a priest who found us then helped with my delivery. I grew up there until I entered the Academy. I went back to the family home but returned often when I wasn’t feeling well since my grandmother was also there recovering, so I wasn’t alone.”

“It holds significant meaning, then.”

“A place that I always yearn for.”

Of course.

“But why were you staying at a hotel instead of the villa?”

“Because it was sold.”

“……”

I didn’t realize that the villa filled with Francesca’s memories had been auctioned off several years ago.

I felt a bit awkward as I had unintentionally pried into a painful memory, yet Francesca seemed to care little about it.

“Don’t mind it. It’s in the past.”

“Uh, um… How much would it cost to buy it back? It did hold some fond memories, after all.”

“Would you really buy it for me? I would like to have it back.”

That was a positive sign. If she was considering repurchasing the villa, I would calculate the specific amount of operational funds to allocate to Francesca in the future.

But.

“What was the price again?”

“I think it was around this much.”

“……”

Real estate prices in this area had skyrocketed. I completely overlooked how outrageous property value had become.

In the end, I could only gulp nervously.

An awkward silence fell as she gazed out the window like someone wrapped in distant recollections.

In the dim hotel room, her wistful violet eyes merged with the twilight of the gray city.

“It’s a place I miss. A place I always wish to return to.”

—

Though I suggested we celebrate with a meal upon her return, we could not go out to eat.

Due to security.

With both saints receiving a state-level reception and high-ranking officials from prestigious magic families, alongside important guests from another world and foreign diplomats, security was bound to be a concern. Not to mention, this is the Magic Tower. Considering the turbulent conditions at this time, taking two religious figures out en masse for dinner was a highly dangerous adventure.

Furthermore, due to the nature of the Magic Tower, there are many restaurants that refuse entrance to religious individuals, so finding a place that accepted Lucia and Veronica alone was a considerable task. This left little room for a casual outing.

However, if problems arose while dining out secretly, it would only complicate entry into the Tower, and ordering room service felt a bit too mundane after eating the same food every day.

Of course, there was not zero alternative.

“I brought a chef with me.”

I had arranged for a chef to come to the hotel with help from the diplomats working at the embassy.

While exercising near the hotel, Camila tilted her head at the line of people entering.

“Oh wow. Aren’t those the people from that Arab restaurant you mentioned?”

“Not from the Middle East; they’re from the Mauritania Continent. After checking the shop owner, it turns out he was a well-known chef from the Mauritania Continent and had worked as a head chef at a hotel until a few years ago.”

“Weren’t they of a different religion? How on earth did you manage to invite him?”

To Camila’s question, I made an ‘okay’ gesture with my fingers.

“Money, of course.”

Regardless of whether they dislike America or don’t speak English, everyone accepts dollars. This is my experience.

In any case, one might wonder why we’d bring in a chef just for five people, but since it was to entertain saints and high-ranking officials from the Magic Tower, there was no need to skimp on expenses.

With a request from the Patalia embassy ambassador, the chefs who had closed their restaurants for the day came over to prepare dinner for us.

Mauritania Continent food shares similarities with Middle Eastern and South Asian cuisine. Even the method of butchering livestock for the meal resembled how Muslims would do it, laying the beast’s head towards the ‘Qibla’ and reciting ‘Shahada’ before sending the creature off painlessly, so the chefs from the Mauritania Continent slaughtered and prepared livestock according to their faith right there.

Goats, chickens, sheep, cows, and more.

The chefs systematically butchered the livestock brought from somewhere for use in the meal.

Rather than just buying ingredients and preparing them, the intricacy was due to the religious and cultural practices of the Mauritania Continent.

What do they call it? According to the diplomat who introduced the chefs (an envoy who has served in Mauritania for 20 years), there’s a cultural practice in Mauritania where serving livestock raised at home to guests is considered the highest form of hospitality. I don’t recall the exact term, but it arose from nomadic cultures where guests are honored through offering their possessions.

Once the rare sight concluded, it was followed by a feast of culinary delights.

Dishes from the Mauritania Continent featuring spices, grains, meats, and fishes were served, intermingled with sweet figs drizzled in olive oil and honey, along with cucumbers. Pita bread, pilaf, falafel, hummus, kabsa, shurak, mandi, and kofta…

An abundance of exotic food not easily found sparked an atmosphere during meals that needed not further description.

“Wow, there’s a duck inside a camel!”

Among Lucia and Francesca, who hadn’t often traveled abroad, and even Camila, who had been to Africa multiple times, the intrigue surrounding Mauritania’s culinary culture was evident.

“Wait, haven’t you tried Middle Eastern food despite traveling often to Africa? The North African cuisine is pretty much the same as Arabic.”

“I haven’t been to North Africa. I mainly traveled to East and South Africa, where the only food I encountered was some dough made with grains and water.”

That sounded accurate. There was quite a difference comparing affluent North African countries like Morocco with Libya, South Sudan, and Eritrea regarding food culture.

I remember once going on a business trip thinking the food would be similar to Middle Eastern cuisine, only to be served a suspicious-looking rice (like ketchup) packed with spices; oh, the complaints I made.

Having lived mainly on water-dough mixture buns, it appeared Camila quite enjoyed the Middle Eastern cuisine.

Francesca had lived in the Magic Tower for a long time, but it looked like it was her first time appetizing Mauritania’s cuisine, while Lucia seemed more attracted to the cultural colors of different religions present in the cooking process and ingredients rather than the food itself.

Meanwhile, I was pouring drinks for the saint beside me.

“I don’t know whether I’m entertained by a diplomat or alcohol distributor here.”

“Feel honored to serve a saint.”

“Ah, okay.”

The mood was indeed solemn, yet it felt less like a gathering of high-ranking officials laden with heavy duties and more like a group of aged gentlemen who couldn’t quite fit in with the younger crowd, clinking glasses and pouring drinks amongst themselves.

While I served drinks, I turned to Veronica.

“Please cut down on the drinks, Saint. How many bottles do you drink in a day—”

“Shh!”

“Uugh—”

Veronica, clearly aware of who was around, shoved a goat leg resting on the kabsa into my mouth.

The savory scent of meat infused with spices filled my palate as I tried to chew the meat straight from the bone. It was no mere flavor; it completely filled my mouth.

While I struggled to detach my mouth from the bone, Veronica sighed softly and lifted her glass.

“How could you say such things in public…!”

“Are you kidding me? Yet you flaunt smoking shisha in a tobacco shop right in front of the bishops…?”

“That’s just behind their backs! Sneaky.”

“You sure do live an interesting life, Saint. Brilliant!”

“I’m aware.”

That wasn’t a compliment.

As usual, we fiddled around with silly banter, drifting slightly away from the others and continuing our playful exchanges—primarily a comedic exchange where Veronica uttered nonsense, and I provided dry retorts.

“The preparations for Raphael’s enthronement ceremony are nearly complete. Soon, Lucia will also be having her canonization ceremony, which is expected to be one of the grandest in history.”

“Is that so? Just hearing about it already seems lavish. Are the guest lists out?”

“One could say representatives from all over the world will gather. Ah— I envy you. The thought of ceremony even grander than mine.”

“You’re too old to be envious about such things…”

“Being envious is just being envious! I still have the ceremonial robes I wore during my canonization safely stored. Would you like to see them someday? They were splendid.”

“No thanks. Why would I want to see that?”

Not that our conversation held substantial value.

Veronica was eager to boast about Lucia and Francesca while I was too busy pouring her drinks to keep my head above water.

“So that means our Lucia is exceptionally talented. She broke a stone as big as her head with her bare fist…”

“Ah, yes, yes. It seems you like martial arts a lot.”

“That’s the truth.”

“Of course, it is. Just not in your imaginations.”

We rambled on without a care for time.

With the representative duties normalizing and my role as a resident officer wrapping up, what remained was now solely on the intelligence officers of the Tower.

Additionally, outdoor activities for Camila, Lucia, and Francesca were actively underway, and any political or diplomatic issues regarding their activities were being resolved by political figures like Veronica.

Moreover, Camila was showing results regarding her intelligence training and magic practice, allowing me to finally relax a bit.

“How long has it been since I’ve had a comfortable meal…?”

“Shall we make a toast?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be so boring.”

Veronica pressed to refill her drink, insisting that I stay away from self-made excuses. Without hesitating, I complied with her requests.

Thus, as the atmosphere thickened and our meal approached completion, Veronica tapped my side.

“I hear you’re planning to return soon, Colonel?”

“Where did you even hear that?”

“From the ambassadors in the embassy. They mentioned you’ll be returning soon.”

Word must’ve leaked from the Foreign Affairs Office.

Since I wasn’t particularly trying to hide it, I merely nodded in affirmation.

“Yeah. I’ve got to go back for a bit.”

“Hm. Is that so? I had thought with your busy schedule, you might finally take a breather.”

She stretched as if contemplating whether she ought to give me a gift. I chuckled at her words lightly, taking them as a joke.

“I received a watch last time, why would you give me something else?”

“If the Colonel receives money, that’s a crime, but if it’s me giving you a bribe, that’s not a crime, is it?”

“Even giving money to a spy is a crime. I checked, and that’s the law.”

“You could just say you didn’t know.”

She confidently assured me not to worry, promising that she’d never spill if she were found out.

I wasn’t sure how much I could trust her, but the sentiment felt good nonetheless.

“Thank you for your hard work, Colonel.”

Veronica extended her glass to me. It smelled sweet, possibly date wine.

“The chefs brought this one. I didn’t find it to my taste—how about you? Can you drink while being on duty?”

“I told you I don’t drink.”

“Oh, if you keep saying that, I might just sulk…”

She flashed me a warm smile and gently rattled her glass. Saying no again might risk offending her.

“Saint, you do know about this, right?”

“What is it?”

I took the glass she offered. Veronica had no idea what I based my next comment on.

“In the Quran, alcohol is forbidden. However, in the Middle East, date wine isn’t treated as real alcohol.”

“The Quran? Hmm…”

Veronica knitted her brows as if pondering what it was but couldn’t recall anything pertinent. So she faced my nonsense with indifference.

“Well, whatever.”

The glass clinked together.

She emptied her glass in one go, while I savored the date wine I had not tasted in 28 years.

Laughter and music harmonized cheerfully, and a wall’s worth of windows mirrored the dazzling city of magic beyond.

“You really worked hard, Colonel.”

“My job is to work hard, after all.”

It was just the conclusion of an ordinary day.

—

After our meal, I returned to the hotel room to organize my luggage.

The view of the Magic Tower’s nighttime illumination glowed brightly, and the streets, just as before, seemed breathtakingly beautiful.

Just when I thought I was starting to adapt to life in the Tower, I was going back soon. I probably wouldn’t get to gaze upon the night view for a while.

As I arranged my things, I pondered what gifts to bring back—what would Kamila or Lucia, Francesca, or Veronica need?

“…Oh, I need to see my family too.”

-♬!

A noise rang out. The security terminal packed inside my bag lit up with a loud sound.

It was Jake.

“Hey, what’s going on, Jake?”

-‘C-Colonel!’

His panicked voice came through the line. I could also hear Pippin shouting in the background.

“What’s happening? Where are you two now?”

-‘We’re at the embassy! No, that’s not the important part…!’

“Calm down, speak clearly.”

-‘I have a senior who’s in the Inspection Office! They called me! They said you’re on their surveillance list—!’

The rest of his words were drowned out. I dropped the terminal and stood there dazed, collapsing onto the bed like a sack of potatoes.

“Oh, hell no.”

This was a disaster.