A Dark Fantasy Spy

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The discovery of fire led humanity into a civilized society, and the invention of gunpowder ushered humans to the pinnacle of the food chain.

In that sense, humanity’s natural enemy was not beasts, monsters, or demons, but rather other humans.

And from my ten-plus years working in the Information Agency, I have come to realize that nothing is scarier than people.

You never know what they might do when things go awry.

“…Just a moment.”

“What is it?”

“Let’s sketch out a plan first. Let’s start with the plan.”

I stopped the three people who were trying to enter the black market.

“Have you all used the black market before?”

Pereyti and Francesca answered that they had. However, despite my question, Camila remained silent. It wasn’t necessary to verbalize it; both Camila and I knew each other well.

I nodded and continued speaking.

“Since you’ve used the black market, I believe you all know how it operates there. However, the black market in a conflict area is a different story, so please make sure to listen to what I say.”

The black market is an underground market outside of institutional regulation. It is a place where all sorts of illegal and legal goods are traded in ways that defy the law.

Naturally, the black market lacks anything that could be called law. There may be rules, but there are no laws.

In that sense, the black market in conflict areas is more dangerous than any other black market.

“Once you enter the black market, be cautious of people. Pickpockets and scuffles are issues, but you never know what out-of-their-mind individuals might do.”

It is not a special occurrence for one person to kill another. For someone cornered, nothing is more important than their own safety. Therefore, those who make a living by stirring up chaos have a few principles.

And I have spent half my life in such places.

“The people gathered inside are here to survive, no matter what. Many have nothing left to lose. Since we know nothing about the structure here, we need to help each other if problems arise in the black market.”

“…We need to come up with measures.”

“Never fall behind.”

I gently caressed the pistol nestled in my pocket.

“And for now, just follow my lead.”

—

Episode 11 – No Issues on the Northern Front

In the north, the black market was not a market as its name suggested.

There were no stalls piled high with goods, no dazzling lights to catch the attention of passersby, and no merchants calling out to customers.

Only those struggling to scrape by, fighting for survival, remained.

“I have a few cans of food; can I exchange them for those candles over there?”

“We provide magic charging. If you need to charge electronic devices or igniting stones, come here.”

“I’m selling meat! Meat!”

People selling talent to acquire food and people selling food to seek warmth. Unidentifiable meats and items of unknown origin.

Shadows loomed over faces marked by hardship that emitted light trapped within rags.

“Hey! A piece of meat for a basket of vegetables? You think that’s reasonable?”

“If you’re unhappy, then don’t buy it. Get lost!”

“Damn it…! You young punk…!”

Two men grabbed each other by the collar. The one being grabbed twisted his wrist desperately while the one grabbing threw fists. They rolled around in the mud, choking each other as bystanders ignored them and began to leave.

In the grim alleys of a city where not even starlight could enter, the bright full moon looked silently down upon the city.

The crumbling gray city seemed to reflect all the gloom of the world that had accumulated here.

Observing the dilapidated gray city, the alchemist turned his head, a soft smile escaping his lips.

“It’s a mess.”

“That’s how black markets are. What did you expect?”

Pereyti, who was walking alongside me, spoke up.

“So many people gathered here even under martial law. They have quite the courage.”

It’s not courage but desperation. Even if they fear guns, the thought of their own survival and that of those around them dying from hunger or illness is a hundred times more terrifying.

No one here was unaware of that.

While cautiously passing through an alley, Camila, who had been sniffing around, furrowed her brow.

“…What on earth is that smell?”

“It smells like dog urine.”

“Ugh.”

As is typical for isolated conflict areas, public health in the north has hit rock bottom. The streets were littered with filth, hospitals lacked medical supplies, and every shelter was teeming with patients.

Given the situation, the hygiene in the black market was shockingly bad. The condition of the people gathered in the black market was also nearing dire.

Clothes that had not been washed for days. Every time their shoulders bumped against each other, pieces of dirt fell off, and flakes of dandruff clung to the ends of their shoulders and hair. Their teeth were yellowed, and a foul odor wafted from their mouths even when they didn’t speak. No, even passing by, one would be assaulted by an indescribable stench.

Of course, this was something familiar to both Camila and me.

Camila, who had accompanied her older sister in volunteering for Doctors Without Borders, had ventured into war-torn Syria where bullets were flying. I had, on orders from the Information Command, traveled to Central Africa, South America, and Southeast Asia for the first time in my life.

Traveling through such regions inevitably exposed me to all manners of smells. From exotic spices emitted from unfamiliar foods to the stench of decaying corpses and the body odor of people who could not wash without clean water.

They are things one doesn’t get used to but must adapt to, and eventually, one does become accustomed to them.

Even so, the reason Camila scrunched up her face was none other than the repulsive odor emanating from her own body.

“…Ugh!”

Camila, who stumbled while walking, doubled over. She heaved, casting her stomach contents into the mire.

“I can’t do this. The smell is just too much.”

“Hang in there. Can a person live only doing what they like?”

“Still…!”

Camila raised her head and shouted. Tears had begun to brim in her bright blue eyes.

“Rubbing excrement all over my body is just too much…!”

“…”

That was right.

Before entering the black market, I had asked the three people to roll around in the mud. And in that process, she had unfortunately gotten the traces of a dog on her clothes.

“Why on earth do we have to do this…?”

“There’s no other way. It’s a method.”

I let out a light sigh and spoke to Camila in a soothing tone.

“What do you think would happen if we walked around here in clean, tidy clothes? Can’t you see how these people look?”

The public health and sanitation in the north were already in shambles. If we walked into the black market looking like we had just come from a shower, smelling of shampoo and soap, what would people think?

We would become standing targets for robbery.

“If we had just walked in without this ruse, we would have been robbed long ago.”

Francesca, who was quietly listening, gave a precarious smile. The corners of her mouth rose but were twitching.

“Colonel, wouldn’t it be better to fight if that happens…? We have two magicians here.”

“Do you think magicians can’t get stabbed? And what about the gentlemen who came here claiming they wanted information? What would happen if they started a brawl? We should do our best to avoid drawing attention.”

“That’s true.”

Pereyti, who had joined the conversation, nodded.

“Unlike you and Colonel Nostrim, the way you two look is too conspicuous. You both appear to have plenty. As the Colonel said, as soon as we enter the black market, we cannot rule out the possibility of crossing paths with those of ill intent.”

“Still…”

Francesca raised her arm to sniff. Sniff, sniff.

Though she had only taken two whiffs, her face instantly soured. For someone who had grown up in a prestigious family and became a high-ranking civil servant, the stench she emitted was far too overwhelming.

“I… I smell indescribable foulness… The odor from alchemical potions in the workshop is actually fragrant in comparison…”

“Haha! Whatever smell it is, it’s better than that of a sewer!”

“…Sir Pereyti.”

As I patted Camila’s back, I shook my head. A sigh escaped me without effort.

Of course, I understood their feelings well since I carried the same foul stench. Just hours ago I had been lying in a hotel room. Now, I was caked in filth.

What noble riches was I hoping to enjoy? Damn…

Pereyti, chuckling moments ago, glanced up at the sky and urged us in a low voice.

“We can’t afford to delay any longer. We need to accomplish our task before the black market closes.”

“Right… Let’s go.”

We moved deeper into the heart of the black market.

—

At the entrance to the black market, we devised a plan to use our time effectively. With martial law in place, we didn’t know when or where military police might show up, so we aimed to complete our business quickly.

However, it was proving difficult to locate information on the merchant selling dark magic items in a black market I had never visited. Instead, we decided to put off information gathering and focus on what we could do right away.

In that sense, the first to take action was Pereyti, the head of the Knights Order.

“I need to procure supplies.”

“Can’t you just say we should buy some alcohol and cigarettes…?”

“Go! Don’t belittle the items that ease the sorrows of those fulfilling a divine task!”

“Where did this culture of not being able to call alcohol ‘alcohol’ and cigarettes ‘cigarettes’ come from?”

Pereyti, who had come to the black market to find ‘supplies’ for the knights, set out to search for a merchant dealing in alcohol and tobacco.

Honestly, calling them merchants was even a stretch; no appropriate term came to mind other than that.

“Could you tell me what you’re selling here?”

“Oh, I’m selling alcohol. Would you like to take a look?”

Finally, I found a merchant who dealt in alcohol. Look scary, Pereyti spoke to him in a surprisingly soft voice.

“Show me.”

The merchant dug out a bottle from a tattered bag. The bottle, bearing the marks of having its label scratched off, was a cheap vodka that was famous in the empire.

However, instead of clear vodka, a murky crimson liquid with bits of matter was sloshing inside.

“This is homemade wild raspberry wine.”

“Wild raspberry wine?”

“Yes. It’s made from wild raspberries gathered from the mountains using a family recipe passed down through generations. I can assure you, the taste is guaranteed. I’ve made over ten bottles, but there are only two left.”

“…Wild raspberries, huh? May I take a moment to examine it?”

Though the merchant had a hint of suspicion in his eyes, he seemed unable to find a way to stop Pereyti’s enormous figure.

Ultimately, after much deliberation, the merchant decided to take the contents out of the bottle and handed it over to Pereyti.

As the sweet aroma of alcohol wafted on the winter breeze, Pereyti gazed at the contents laid in his hand for a long time before suddenly turning on his heels.

Walking far from him, Pereyti approached me quickly.

“Why is that? It’s wild raspberry wine, but you’re not buying it?”

“That’s not raspberry! It’s brambleberry.”

Brambleberry. At first glance, it is indistinguishable from wild raspberries, but upon closer inspection, the differences do become noticeable, just like azaleas and rhododendrons.

And similar to azaleas, brambleberries are notorious for being toxic.

Like someone mistakenly consuming rhododendron after thinking it was azalea. Many people in these parts have died thinking that brambleberries were wild raspberries and consuming them.

If someone were caught selling such a drink commercially in the empire, they would face the police, but here in the black market—

State authority does not reach here, and anything can happen. Most of the items circulating here were likely produced in such ways. If the Empire’s Food and Drug Association found out, there would be wailing.

“I can’t buy a drink that is made by someone who can’t even tell the difference between wild raspberries and poisonous brambleberries.”

“…Wouldn’t it be better not to buy any booze at all?”

In any case, Pereyti instinctively realized that procuring alcohol today was a lost cause. He moved on to look for a merchant dealing in tobacco.

But even acquiring cigarettes was no easy feat.

“Tobacco? How on earth can you find something like that in the north?”

The old merchant pointed to the items scattered on the ground. Spread out in a worn-out bundle, there were crudely made hand-rolled cigarettes lying around.

“The only thing I have for you is this. Factory-made cigarettes have completely dried out, and these hand-rolled ones are the only ones that can be found.”

“Factory-made cigarettes have dried out? What does that mean?”

“Tch… it means exactly that. In this barren land, where is there a tobacco factory? Huh? And the central government doesn’t send any either. With bullets filling the place instead of tobacco, it’s ridiculous…”

According to the merchant, obtaining quality factory-made cigarettes in the north is as difficult as plucking stars from the sky.

The military requires supplies to wage war, so the imperial government controls resources for the northern army. Cigarettes cannot escape this control either. So how could they be found privately?

That’s why now, in the black market of the north, one could only find a handful of government-issued cigarettes or rudimentary hand-rolled ones.

“So is there no way to get factory-made cigarettes?”

“The only option is to get a job with the Military Government Headquarters where you might sometimes score cigarettes from the ration. But still, this is pretty decent. Want to give it a try?”

Of course, even those hand-rolled cigarettes weren’t really proper items.

I slowly examined the cigarette offered by the merchant. When I eyed the contents, I was uncertain, but the moment I sniffed it, my brow instinctively furrowed.

“This doesn’t even seem like tobacco leaves. What did you put in it?”

“Tea leaves.”

“Tea leaves…?”

What was hidden inside that roll wasn’t tobacco leaves but tea leaves.

“It’s called tsars, you see. It’s bitter and tasteless, but it feels like you’re smoking something.”

“…”

This was no item that could even be called a cigarette. In the end, Pereyti had to turn around without acquiring either booze or smokes.

Given the situation, obtaining cigars was impossible. We had felt the harsh reality of the northern empire on our skin, and we turned back to join Camila and Francesca, who were waiting around.

“I can tell from your faces that things didn’t go well for you, Sir Pereyti.”

“…Yeah. It seems today isn’t our day.”

“Don’t be disheartened.”

Francesca, wearing a cape, smiled gently.

“Then is it my turn now?”

Francesca leaned against a quiet alley and revealed the information she had managed to gather.

“I think there’s a money exchanger in this black market.”

Francesca’s information was about the money exchanger.

According to imperial law, foreigners visiting the Kien Empire must report the amount of currency they hold to the authorities. In other words, if you bring in money in a legitimate manner from another country, the imperial government can easily ascertain Francesca’s financial situation.

That is why Francesca had planned to exchange the alchemical gems she brought from the Magic Tower to the empire’s takron, and the purpose of visiting the black market was also to secure funds.

Looking at Francesca leaning against the wall, I asked her a question.

“Did you find the money exchanger?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

Francesca, who had worn a smile full of laughter, shook her head with a hint of disappointment in her eyes.

“Unfortunately, I don’t know the location. People wouldn’t disclose that information. Given the tense atmosphere, it was awkward to ask anyone.”

“Hmm…”

I could understand the hesitation to approach a muddy-looking woman. While Francesca’s beauty would not diminish even if she rolled in the mud, first impressions matter to everyone. No one would willingly approach Francesca if she looked like a beggar as she did now.

Yet gathering information was my job, regardless of the circumstance.

Francesca pointed out people who had provided her with intelligence, and I approached them to start a conversation.

I offered them a cigarette.

“Why are you offering me this rare item all of a sudden…?”

“Just wondering if I could ask a question. How about a quick smoke?”

“Uh, well, okay.”

From my recent wanderings with Pereyti, I felt acutely aware of how poor the northern situation was. Finding even factory-made cigarettes in the black market was a challenging task.

Meaning, even a single cigarette was a precious item in the north.

People were on guard at first when I suddenly struck up a conversation, but upon offering them a cigarette in fluent imperial language, they quickly opened up and started spilling out all the information they knew.

“There are money exchangers in every black market. They can exchange valuable items for takron or can help you acquire good items for takron. Of course, the prices are astronomical, so not many people make use of them. I’ve never seen anyone actually buy something from that guy.”

“They charge exorbitant prices?”

“Before the demonfolk descended, I could get a can for three takron at the store, but that money exchanger charges at least twenty times that. I guess it’s around sixty takron he’s asking. He’s worse than the demonfolk!”

At first glance, this seemed to be useless whining.

“Where on earth would that much money go? Is there anywhere to spend in the north?”

“I don’t really know, but I’ve heard rumors they send money abroad. They take the money they earn here and send it overseas. Whether that’s true or not, I can’t tell.”

“What’s that guy’s name?”

“I wouldn’t know. To be honest, I’ve never even seen his face or heard his voice. Everyone only talks about the green-skins who work for him. Nobody’s ever met the exchanger in person.”

—

That was some valuable information.

While not reliable, the influx of considerable data was reassuring. I continued to roam the black market, interacting with a few more individuals, and when I gathered enough information, I rejoined my companions.

And so—

“…Is this the right place?”

“If what the people say is correct.”

“…”

We arrived at the building where the money exchanger was said to be.

—

A shabby building, located a ten-minute walk from the black market. Perhaps due to the bombardments, one wall was completely collapsed, but there was clearly someone’s presence inside.

We stood in front of the crumbling gray building.

The sooty, crumbling exterior was mercilessly dismal. It was hard to tell the original purpose of the building, but the peeling paint, along with the magic lines and framework, precariously showed that this had once been a hotel.

Pereyti, head of the Knights Order, surveyed the area with a chilling look.

“It doesn’t seem dangerous.”

“….”

I pulled out my pistol from my mud-stained overcoat.

Click! The slide drew back, and a brass-colored bullet lodged in the chamber. Camila, who watched from the side, gulped nervously.

In the dilapidated structure of the city, the cold northern wind whooshed through the open door, yet none of us felt the chill due to the warmth wrapping around us.

“…Hmm?”

A small figure with pointy ears, green skin, and a wrinkled face.

The goblin sitting at the reception desk looked up as we entered through the door.

As the goblin slowly appraised our appearances, he flashed a toothy grin.

“Guests have arrived.”