A Dark Fantasy Spy

---

If you were to ask which wizard is the strongest in this world, the wizards would argue and fight until the sun comes up the next day. Similarly, if you were to ask who the most devout priest is, the priests from different sects would duel to defend their claims, never backing down.

Such debates determining the superiority of wizards, knights, or priests were intensely fierce.

Honor, symbols, value, propaganda, historical conflicts, legitimacy, pride.

That simple question entangles countless complex interests of various groups, and no conclusion that everyone can agree upon will ever emerge, no matter how much time passes. It’s akin to people squabbling over how to eat sweet and sour pork.

Of course, most of the wizards, knights, and priests who regularly join in such debates are either legendary figures who’ve died or are now just legends.

Yet among these many legends, there are still those who remain ‘active.’

A wizard from the Imperial family, renowned for their striking silver hair reminiscent of mystical blue flames and the perpetual snows of the Northern Regions, is one.

Once feared and revered by all Inquisition Officers, Knights, and Exorcists for vanquishing demons, her whereabouts are currently unknown but she was once the High Priest of the Cult.

On the opposing side, the Goddess, heralded as the Mother of all shamans and astrologers, has stood firm for the last hundred years, defending faith against the Cult, reading the mysterious truths of the universe with her eyes.

The Plains Chief, who climbed the snow-covered Parahangasan, fought with dragons, and roared after soaking in their blood.

These individuals were living, breathing legends who had reached the pinnacle of humanity, and Camila belonged to that ranks by her mere existence.

With her unmatched magical affinity, explosive growth rate, and astonishing output, the Government of Abas deemed that if she were to learn a bit more magic and enough time passed, she had the potential to reach the level of legendary wizards who triumphed in the wars against the Cult. This meant they believed she was someone whose value was beyond measure.

Like a Bitcoin that could either suddenly plummet or soar into space, that’s Camila for you.

But what is she doing right now?

“Take a deep breath. The strap isn’t tightening, you know.”

“This is way too tight…!”

“Okay, here we go. Hold your breath.”

“Huuh…!”

“…Ah, this isn’t working either.”

She’s struggling to wear a bulletproof vest.

—

Episode 9 – Old Fashioned

—

A bulletproof vest is crucial protection.

If armor protects against sharp weapons like swords and spears, a bulletproof vest protects the wearer from bullets and shrapnel. Thus, for soldiers or police officers who might find themselves in a situation of getting shot, a bulletproof vest is akin to a lifeline.

With the emergence of heat weapons, the bulletproof vest was born and has gradually evolved through two world wars, the Cold War, and the war on terror.

Primarily enhancing its bulletproof qualities while reducing weight to alleviate fatigue and allowing for customization to suit the wearer’s preferences.

However, I have not had much experience wearing a bulletproof vest, as I was an Information Officer belonging to the Information Agency.

The first principle of being an Information Officer is to blend in as much as possible. How can someone wearing a bulletproof vest go unnoticed?

No matter how much I tried to hide it under my clothes, it would stand out awkwardly, and if I put on an outer coat to cover it, it was the desert. Ignoring heat exhaustion, going out in a bulletproof vest attracts the suspicious stares and whispers from locals.

So, I rarely wore a bulletproof vest, both during my time in the Military Intelligence Agency and the Information Agency.

That was my downfall.

“Ah… I don’t think this fits either.”

My experience with wearing bulletproof vests has been minimal, and since most of it was ages ago, my knowledge about them was nearly non-existent.

The problem arose at that point.

For safety reasons, Camila and I had to wear bulletproof vests before firing. Luckily, we were able to borrow a few from a nearby unit.

But I had forgotten that Camila was a woman.

“Uh, Camila… I’m really sorry, but we might need to consider losing some weight…”

“How am I supposed to lose weight off my chest…!?”

A bulletproof vest essentially contains armor plates, so it’s rigid. Whether a man or a woman wears it, it’s equally heavy and uncomfortable. However, it is generally more challenging for women to fit into bulletproof vests, given the physical characteristics of developed chests and pelvises.

Regrettably, Camila was not a man but a woman.

She managed to get her head through the bulletproof vest, but when she tried to pull the strap around her waist, the armor kept catching on her chest, making it impossible to wear.

“Nope, this won’t tighten at all.”

“J-just once more…let’s try again….”

“Do we have to? It might be better to skip the vest….”

“Still, for safety’s sake…! Ah….”

I moved behind Camila.

With her flushed face turned upward, she took a deep breath and held it while I pressed myself against her back, straining to pull the vest’s straps tighter.

I pressed down with so much force, the vest and waist straps were trembling precariously. We were both struggling to get that vest on.

Of course, mere brute strength wouldn’t make the vest stretch. Just as the strap was barely about to tighten, the moment Camila couldn’t hold her breath any longer and opened her mouth, the vest flew forward as if jolted.

“Ah!…!”

“…….”

The taut strap drooped down, and the massive vest began to dangle in the air awkwardly, swinging like it was having a sad dance. Truly a pitiful sight.

In the end, after wrestling with the vest for over 30 minutes, we had no choice but to concede defeat.

“Let’s just get a new one or have a custom-made one.”

“…Let’s just shoot.”

—

The second day of shooting practice finally hit a stride. I started by teaching Camila about pistols and rifles.

“This area’s firearms might seem strange, but if you’ve used an AR or an AK before, you should adapt easily. Today, we’ll start by learning about the military rifles from Abas and Kien.”

Today, Camila would handle a rifle. I lined up the firearms she would use and described each one in turn.

“You can notice differences from the design principles and appearance of Abas and Kien rifles, but the most prominent difference is the control lever. The Kien army’s rifle operates by using the thumb or index and middle fingers of the shooter to raise or lower the lever. This can inadvertently create a gap as the index finger lifts off the trigger, which can put inexperienced soldiers at risk.”

“In contrast, Abas’ rifle can be operated solely with the thumb. Since the two rifles have fundamental differences in handling and shooting techniques, we won’t be concentrating solely on one side. That means you’ll need to study both hard.”

Camila took the rifle and stepped away. I opened a box of ammunition, poured the bullets out, and began explaining the training while loading the cartridges.

“We’ll start our training with zeroing the scope, followed by handling techniques and shooting skills. For rifles, we’ll do precision shooting like yesterday. As for the pistols, we’ll move on to the next stage.”

“The next stage?”

“That’s moving target shooting. We’ll shoot while moving, shoot moving targets while standing still, and shoot moving targets while also moving.”

I handed Camila a chest rig that had been stuffed in a box, attached the magazine for her, then picked up my own weapon. Thus, training commenced.

As promised, the rifle training began with zeroing in. Camila fired three shots, and I checked the impact on the target before adjusting the sights. Surprisingly, her shooting skills were quite decent; from her very first shot, she hit near the center of the target.

“You’re doing well.”

“Really?”

“Of course, this is more than good.”

Clearly, she had some experience with guns, as Camila adapted easily to the Abas rifle. I heard she owned an AR, which likely helped her adjust.

However, issues arose with the Kien rifle. Camila had no idea how to handle this unfamiliar Imperial rifle and, after trying to load it a few times, looked at me with those pleading eyes for help.

“Haven’t you ever used an AK? Soviet, Russian, Eastern European—any of those. Or even a Chinese one or a cheap knock-off.”

“Why would I ever use something like that…? Have you used one before?”

“Is there an Information Officer who has worked in Africa or the Middle East and hasn’t handled an AK?”

Of course, I had used it before.

As Camila examined the Kien rifle, she asked me a question.

“By the way, where do you get those guns?”

“In Africa or the Middle East, you could just go to a market and buy one. Well, depending on the region, sometimes you’d bring them from your home country. Especially sniper rifles are more often brought along than sourced locally due to the need for careful maintenance.”

“Is it okay to use firearms obtained locally? What if one blows up while shooting it?”

“These days, AKs in Africa or the Middle East are quite good quality. Even DIY methods are now more sophisticated… If you’re really in doubt, you can always buy good parts separately and just assemble them yourself.”

“Wait, you can do that?”

“Ammunition often involves buying shells and projectiles from suppliers. There are even places producing and selling ammunition at tribal levels. They make money off it too.”

Let’s wrap up the Africa and Middle East talk here and get back to the main topic.

I reviewed my old memories and the firearm training I received at the Military Intelligence Agency to patiently explain to Camila.

“AKs have a slot that must align with the magazine when loading. And because the loading handle is on the right, untrained individuals instinctively try to load with their right hand, which is a very bad habit.”

“So, what should I use?”

“You need to use your left hand.”

I taught her how to maneuver her left hand over the top of the rifle and properly load it by tilting the gun and pushing the magazine in.

As soon as I finished explaining, I handed the rifle over to Camila. She fumbled it clumsily a few times, but as she began to get the hang of the Kien rifle, we moved on to live fire training.

We practiced live firing in a warehouse.

According to Abas’ regulations, strict safety protocols required targets to be set at least 100m to 300m away on a tightly secured outdoor shooting range, but we casually shot indoors.

Why?

Because… we weren’t regular troops.

“Let’s start with rifles. Change your stance and shoot at the target.”

When I gave the signal, Camila changed her stance and fired at the target. She would stand, squat, or slowly move side to side.

In contrast to rifles, we conducted the pistol training in a slightly more challenging way. Camila moved around the warehouse, firing at the target according to my signals.

“Move to the left cover while shooting.”

“Advance and shoot.”

“This time, move backward, but don’t stop shooting, okay?”

Camila demonstrated reasonably good form. She extended her arm holding the pistol, slightly bent over, and moved with steady steps while shooting at the target.

Not stopping there, we practiced taking shooting stances using covers and reloading in-between shots, but unfortunately, Camila kept dropping magazines to the floor or forgetting where she had placed them, hesitating.

Of course, I had made the same mistakes a few times, so instead of berating her, I advised her not to rush and to stay as calm as possible.

Nobody can be perfect all the time, after all.

As she started to get accustomed to pistol shooting, I switched up the target’s location and increased the number of targets, complicating the orders to push her limits. Just when she began to show signs of adjusting, I hurled a new order at her.

“Camila, do you know how to do a jumping push-up?”

“You mean jumping while doing push-ups? Yeah, I’ve done it.”

“From now on, do that before you shoot. And once you’ve finished the jumping push-ups, run over there and lift the sandbag over your head a few times before returning here to shoot.”

“What…?”

“It’s training under physical stress before shooting. They do this in special forces and regular army….”

“Why would they do something like that…!?”

“Combat always erupts under unpredictable circumstances. If bullets are flying at you now, you can’t say, ‘Let’s fight tomorrow because I’m feeling unwell,’ can you?”

“…….”

I trained Camila in an incredibly logical, systematic, scientific, and proven way. It was definitely not an expression of desire to torment her conditionally or to teach her through guesswork.

Perhaps it was due to my efforts and sincerity that Camila persisted, continuing to shoot with her trembling arms and weighted wrist while managing the push-ups. There was absolutely no way she was doing this just because I held a rifle, right? Probably.

Looking at Camila, who earnestly followed the training, I couldn’t help but smile. The warehouse stank of gunpowder mixed with sweat and dampness, which wasn’t pleasant at all, yet it wasn’t entirely bad.

“How’s it going? It’s not as tough as you thought, right?”

“…….”

“I’ll find a specialized training ground soon, so just hold on a bit. We’ll also scrape together some vehicles and heavy weaponry for real training.”

“Gyaaaah…!”

How much time had passed?

When Camila, trembling like a quaking aspen, threw down the sandbags after finishing her push-ups, I handed her cold water and a towel.

“Let’s take a short break.”

“How about eating something first…?”

“I don’t think it’s time yet? There should be about two hours left until lunch.”

“Ah.”

Camila’s eyes went blank. It seemed she was fried.

As she sat lost in thought, half-conscious, I swung the tightly shut door wide open for ventilation. Or at least intended to.

– CREEEAAK.

The moment I raised the handle, the warehouse door flung open. Bright sunlight poured in with the fresh forest air, and an unexpected visitor peered into the warehouse, meeting my gaze.

It was Lucia.

“…….”

“…….”

“…Saint, what brings you here?”

“I thought you should receive treatment before your injuries worsen, so I came to bring you back. But… what’s going on here…?”

Lucia glanced at Camila once, then at me, before looking back at Camila again.

Then, with a very skeptical expression, she narrowed her eyes and glared at me.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“That’s a clear misunderstanding.”