A Dark Fantasy Spy

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We dashed straight out of the infirmary and headed towards the Atrihall. Since the infirmary was on the top floor, we had no choice but to take the stairs.

“Where is it?”

“The front gate. It’s over that way. Follow me.”

I led the way, pointing my revolver towards the front gate. Since I had given a pistol to Camila, who couldn’t use magic, I had no choice but to use the handgun I had seized from the terrorist.

Just as I was checking whether the six rounds were properly loaded and guiding the way—

Suddenly, Lucia popped out and blocked our path.

“Wait a moment.”

“What is it?”

“Think about your physical condition right now. If you aren’t careful, your injuries might worsen here.”

“I’ll lead.”

Lucia pushed me back while telling me to stay cautious. But I was not one to back down and tried to move ahead while brushing off her concerns.

“Why are you trying to lead when you have no weapon, huh?”

“It’s fine. I have my own thoughts on this.”

Lucia smiled gently as she spoke. But really, she doesn’t listen at all. What a pain.

We didn’t have time to bicker here. In the end, I left the rear to Francesca with her sword and Camila with her gun, and together with Lucia, I kept my eyes on the front as we moved towards the Atrihall.

—

Episode 8 – Say Hello To My Little Friend

“Nothing here?”

I scanned the Atrihall. Camila, looking around while holding her pistol, muttered in a flustered voice.

“There was definitely cargo here… Where could it have gone?”

The Atrihall, where the terrorists brought suspicious cargo through the front gate, was completely empty—there wasn’t even an ant or a speck of dust in sight.

Feeling awkward, I looked back at my companions.

“It seems the terrorists moved the cargo in the meantime.”

There were six terrorists transporting it. Although I wiped out the ones that chased after me, it appeared that the others moved the cargo away—most likely those Beastman terrorists. Maybe new terrorists showed up and carried it off.

Francesca, keeping watch with Lucia, turned to me and asked.

“Colonel, you mentioned that two terrorists were pushing a single cargo. Do you remember how big it was?”

“The cargo? It was hard to gauge its exact size, but it was large enough for two adult males to push at the same time.”

“Was the only six terrorists you faced on the stairs?”

“…No, there was one Beastman.”

There was only one cargo. I remembered it being wide enough for an adult male to hide in and quite tall. But I couldn’t identify what it was exactly; it was too far away and covered with cloth.

“Were there any other distinguishing features? Anything at all?”

“Not much stood out… I can’t really recall anything concrete.”

At that moment, I remembered how Camila’s condition deteriorated sharply when she first laid eyes on the cargo. I calmly explained what I had seen and heard to Francesca.

Francesca closed her eyes for a moment as she pondered what I had conveyed.

“Hmm. I suspect that you might have sensed some kind of magic power flowing from that cargo. But whether it was dark magic or something else entirely is still uncertain.”

At this point, Camila, who had been quietly listening, suddenly interrupted.

“So, you’re saying what I felt might not be a dark magic aura?”

“That’s a possibility. Given your constitution, we can’t completely rule that out.”

However…

“Considering the rosary possessed by the Saint and the information provided by the Colonel, I believe there is a strong possibility it is dark magic. You mentioned feeling a strong presence as soon as you saw the cargo, right?”

“Yes, it made me feel quite nauseous.”

Francesca nodded with a gentle smile at Camila’s affirmation.

“The feeling of nausea is one of the characteristics of dark magic. To be specific, it occurs in mages who have a constitution that clashes with dark magic when they encounter it. Of course, it can also happen when one uses a large amount of magic power all at once beyond their limits, or when they are directly or indirectly exposed to such massive spells.”

I interrupted Francesca’s explanation with a question.

“Creating a barrier large enough to encompass the entire department store is considered large-scale magic, isn’t it?”

“Typically, yes. I assumed you’d know. Especially if you’ve seen combat magicians from the military in action.”

“I don’t particularly have close relations with magicians.”

“Surely, you must have at least one magician you’re friendly with? I thought all the executives had acquaintances in common.”

“None in the afterlife.”

“Oh dear.”

Francesca formed a wistful smile, her expression tinged with melancholy.

The head of the magic tower had sent magicians of the tower into conflict zones, leading to numerous casualties among the mages. It’s not strange for Francesca to have known someone amongst them.

Could it be that her disdain for the magic tower is linked to the deaths of those she cared about? I have no concrete evidence, but it’s worth investigating.

In any case.

It was becoming clearer by the moment. There was certainly something within that cargo that was maintaining the black curtain encompassing the department store.

“Ah… I thought it was a bomb, but luckily it isn’t.”

If this hypothesis is correct, we must find the cargo and destroy it. Once the black curtain falls, it will allow us to communicate with the outside and call for military police support to deal with the remaining elements.

As I let out a sigh of relief and took a breather, Camila poked me in the side.

“Stop with the ominous comments. Why do you keep talking strangely?”

“What did I even say?”

“The way you always say things, it seems like trouble is always around the corner.”

Camila pouted, making a vexed expression as we bickered over such trivial things.

While we momentarily engaged in a petty argument amongst ourselves, another armed individual observing us burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, it’s just that you two look closer than I expected.”

“Who said we’re close?”

We protested against Francesca, who continued to chuckle. Francesca found something amusing, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, just as Lucia returned from scanning the surroundings and joined our group.

Camila relayed the hypothesis proposed by Francesca to Lucia, who listened earnestly before nodding in agreement.

“I think similarly. Let’s find the cargo first and figure out the details later.”

“But how do we find the cargo? It’s disappeared, and who knows where that furry one went?”

Camila laid her hands on her head, pondering the question. It seemed she viewed that beastman as merely furry.

“Hm? Why are we going to look for it?”

“Huh?”

“We don’t need to go searching for it in a complicated way.”

I chuckled while shaking a civilian radio. There was no need to chase after the terrorists who took the cargo.

“We just need to sit still and wait.”

“What do you mean? You aren’t thinking something weird again, are you?”

“Just trust me and wait.”

We should simply make the terrorists come to us.

—

“…Have you gathered all the hostages?”

“Yes.”

The middle-aged man asked, and the young man replied. The two conversed in Kienese while each held a firearm.

The young man, with a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder, spoke up.

“Uh, Sensei.”

“What is it? Do you have something to say?”

The young man offered a hesitant expression. He stumbled over his words but said nothing. However, the middle-aged man read a lot from his face.

“Why? You seem displeased?”

“That’s not it…”

A heavy hand, lined with wrinkles, landed on the young man’s shoulder. The one referred to as Sensei gently comforted him as he spoke.

“It’s okay. I understand.”

“……”

“I was a doctor once too. I’ve heard endlessly about the need not to take lives lightly, whether in an academy or university. Would we want to be doing this?”

The doctor softly admonished the student.

He was once a physician who saved lives in a hospital, someone who could raise his voice against unjust realities.

He was a person brave enough to hold a placard for the treatment of workers in the precarious medical industry of the impoverished empire and someone who could decry the unethical practices of charging patients extra for medicine to make up for low wages, weary of their unfair treatment.

The doctor’s grievances about the world weren’t for particularly grand reasons. The medical sector in the Kien Empire was in a miserable state, even worse than the chaotic Chinese medical system.

Just as doctors enjoy societal stature and financial stability in countries like South Korea, in socialist nations such as China, North Korea, or Cuba, doctors aren’t treated particularly well.

Low salaries, plunging support rates, distrust in hospitals, high workloads, and conflicts with complainants—all of these contributed to a cycle of escalating tensions.

Doctors charged patients for unnecessary medications to compensate for low wages, while patients found their burdens multiplied by exorbitant costs for treatments. This cycle often led to confrontations and violence.

The underlying issues stemmed primarily from the law.

The empire legally restricted the amount charged for medical treatment, intending to ease the financial burden on patients. Hospitals could not charge above a certain threshold due to law constraints, leading to financial shortcomings, which in turn forced them to cut costs wherever possible.

This resulted in curtailed medical services. Labor costs were reduced, while doctors were forced to charge patients for their medicines to meet their expenses, causing patients to seek dubious alternatives.

In short, the medical industry in the imperial realm was a time bomb of chaos and dysfunction that could explode at any moment, leaving even the medical professionals themselves aghast.

Thus, the middle-aged man, who had never even known the meaning of protests, found himself taking to the streets for the first time only after donning a doctor’s coat. He couldn’t quite figure out where it all went wrong, but he felt he had to at least attempt to bring about change.

And as is the case with most dictatorial nations, the government responded to grievances not with compassion, but with truncheons.

For participating in drafting a declaration, he was expelled from the hospital. His license was revoked for joining an independent association rather than the government-controlled one, and for holding a placard at a protest, he was seized by public security and beaten.

The doctor was taken into custody by public security and dragged to a police station, where he was beaten alongside ten others in a cramped cell. After being assaulted all night, he was thrown into a truck. The police drove urgently, pulling each individual out one by one. Finally arriving at an unfamiliar, desolate countryside, he walked approximately 50 kilometers, asking and inquiring, before he finally made it back home.

With no job and his license revoked, his family was shattered. Marked with a red line, there was no place that would accept him. Those who knew about his actions kept their distance for a time.

Of course, all of that was in the past.

Now he was no longer a doctor but a vagrant exiled to No Man’s Land. He had spent a lifetime healing others, and now he bore the burden of guiding those in a position similar to, or worse than, his own.

The former doctor turned mentor said to the young man.

“Don’t worry too much. I understand.”

“…Yes.”

The young man nodded glumly, adjusting his rifle. His expression was gloomy, but not entirely devoid of hope.

Just as the middle-aged man was gently encouraging the youth, someone surveying the entrance pulled down their scarf and shouted.

“Sensei! The Beastman is here! With the cargo!”

“Johann. Please don’t call Morrian a Beastman. Who refers to Beastmen like that?”

“That’s not the important part; this one is injured!”

“…What? Morrian?”

The middle-aged man rushed out entirely oblivious to the revolver strapped to his waist. Except for a few individuals left to guard the hostages, all the terrorists gathered around, each grabbing their weapons.

The exhausted fox beastman, dragging a huge cargo, collapsed onto the ground. Her clothes were ragged, and the dried blood, stuck to her skin like cement, dripped down along with the sweat from her body.

“Morrian! What in the world… Did you get hurt?!”

“Gah… Gah…!”

She had been stabbed.

The fox beastman clenched her teeth and spat out her words with difficulty. A growl emanated deep within her throat, like a beast’s roar.

“A knife? Who the hell… No, more importantly, why did you come alone? Where are Franz? Vicente? Where are the others carrying the cargo…?”

“Some bastard killed Franz. That son of a bitch killed Franz and took his gun… Gah…!”

The middle-aged man hurriedly crouched down to inspect the wound the beastman was holding close. Her slender waist was brutally slashed.

A terrorist swiftly grabbed a radio, signaling the others that their comrade had been hit. But the middle-aged man focused entirely on tending to the wound without even glancing at him.

“What in the world…!”

“I’m going to kill him… That bastard will die by my hands…”

“Marco, Paula, go get bandages and antiseptic. Quickly!”

Once the treatment reached the wound, the fox beastman writhed in pain on the floor. The middle-aged man poured a herbal hemostatic agent he had gathered in No Man’s Land over her injury, praying that she would keep still.

“Morrian, don’t move.”

“Ugh… that black beast is gonna… Gah…!”

The fox beastman’s eyes welled with tears as she thrashed about. Her comrades held her limbs down, and just as the middle-aged man was about to bind her wounds…

-Click.

The radio started ringing.