A Dark Fantasy Spy

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The key point running through this negotiation is the black market.

It’s the core interest of Hormoz and something Francesca desperately wants to grasp.

From the perspective of a ‘diplomat’, the best option is to accept Hormoz’s demands.

By making Francesca pull her hands away from the black market, it would be more beneficial to continuously receive information from Hormoz. Especially when considering the diplomatic damage that may come when Francesca’s activities are exposed.

However, from the viewpoint of an ‘information officer’, Hormoz’s proposal isn’t exactly appealing.

First off, there’s the issue of trust.

It would be appreciated if Hormoz, who has been running a business in the North for years, were to share information, but the credibility and validity of the intelligence he provides are entirely different matters.

If Hormoz’s information turns out to be nothing but empty statements, we’d end up with nothing.

Then there’s the relationship with Francesca.

Francesca is hungry for the black market. While I did connect her with Victor, the supplies and means of transportation were mostly set up by Francesca herself. Using her experience as the administrator of the Economic Management Department within the Magic Tower Secretariat, she arranged smuggled goods and prepared vessels and forged documents to evade law enforcement.

She planned to reroute shipments to different destinations and replace shipping permits every time they stopped, regardless of the transport costs it took to keep the crew and customs officers quiet.

My friend Victor did provide some funding, but most of the costs came straight out of Francesca’s pocket.

What would happen if she were forced to close her business before recovering her investment?

For an information officer working in the field, maintaining relationships with sources is crucial.

From the perspective of an information officer, Francesca making money isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The income from an approved side job can either go into the information officer’s pocket or help with operational funds. If I can squeeze even a little profit through Francesca, I’d have no reason to stand in her way.

Thus, information and money. Capturing both rabbits would be the optimal choice for me.

The only question that lingers is whether a way to satisfy both Hormoz and Francesca exists.

I’ll probably find out soon.

“Deputy Guild Master, I wish to meet Mr. Hormoz.”

I stepped into the desert tent.

—

Episode 12 – The Most Powerful Magician Ever

The desert, made up of spatial transformation magic, is vast beyond imagination.

Wavy sands flowing like rivers. A beach stretching to the horizon where the sky meets the earth. The Milky Way adorning the deep-blue night sky is gently illuminated by a crackling bonfire. The remains of exquisitely crafted yet empty buildings amidst shattered ruins don’t even seem believable.

At the center of a world constructed with magic symbolizing the glorious past of the Magic Tower lies a large, grand, cream-colored tent.

Hormoz was waiting for me there.

“Welcome, General.”

Hormoz, resting, gestured invitingly with a polite hand. I settled onto a seat made comfortable with cushions prepared for guests.

“Meow.”

Suddenly, a cat appeared out of nowhere.

With shiny white fur and sapphire-like blue eyes, if it were a person, it could just as easily pass for a noble. It strolled gracefully across the carpet.

I recognized it as the same cat I saw during my first meeting with Hormoz.

With a tiny mewl, the cat flicked its tail, claiming a spot in the middle of the tent. It curled up, licking its paws, basking in the warmth of the bonfire.

“What a lovely cat.”

As I gazed at the cat, Hormoz turned to me, preparing teacups for both of us, and asked about my well-being.

“Did you get a good rest?”

“Thanks to you, I rested well.”

Sitting on the cushion, I lightly broached the main topic.

“I came to mediate the situation before we begin our serious discussion. Hence, I came alone, without the administrator.”

“Mediation?”

Hormoz raised an eyebrow in a mix of surprise and curiosity.

I nodded.

“Given the stark opposition between both parties, mediating seems necessary for a smooth resolution. The administrator agrees as well.”

“…Mediation, huh.”

A groan-like murmur escaped Hormoz’s lips as he set down the teapot.

“Neither the administrator nor I have any intention of backing down, so how can mediation even be possible?”

It was a peculiar question, mixing worry and skepticism. It implied he would never concede and questioned how I might mediate the conflict between two competing parties in the black market.

In response, I waved my finger lightly toward Hormoz.

“Disputes aren’t good for business, Mr. Hormoz. They are as close as a hair’s breadth from war.”

Disputes aren’t beneficial for business.

A certain level of competition can genuinely help in business. By mimicking the strengths of successful rivals and improving one’s own flaws.

Constant competition, polishing oneself to show improvement over the previous day and demonstrate better traits than others, becomes fuel for growth.

However, once competition turns into conflict, that narrative changes.

Excessive competition leads to bleeding—it goes beyond undermining the opponent and can even cause harm. Especially in a limited market, such tendencies become more pronounced.

The owner of the Palm Tree Trade Guild nodded in agreement.

“I concur. Fighting is always harmful.”

Using my words, Hormoz nodded.

Borrowing someone’s expressions like this is a timeless rhetoric to reduce psychological distance between the speaker and listener. It induces a positive impression, aiding rapport formation, commonly employed by information officers.

I smiled warmly and nodded lightly.

“Thank you for understanding, Mr. Hormoz.”

Hormoz lifted the teapot to fill his cup. Just as he was about to pour tea into my waiting cup.

“Oh, wait a moment.”

I halted Hormoz’s actions.

“Do you have milk instead of tea?”

“Milk?”

“From sheep’s milk.”

Hormoz is a Dark Elf from the Saria Tribe. Like the Bedouins, the nomadic Dark Elves possess many livestock, including sheep.

The yogurt sent from the Saria Tribe is made from sheep’s milk. Freshly squeezed milk is gathered in a leather container and shaken for half a day in traditional ways.

I ordered the original form of the milk, and Hormoz happily obliged.

“Mm.”

The milk from the Mauritania Continent was incredibly fresh.

I downed the generous portion of milk in one go, exclaiming in admiration.

“The taste of the milk is delightful. Without even seeing, I can tell how healthy the sheep from Saria are.”

After setting down the empty milk cup and wiping my mouth with a handkerchief.

“Now, Mr. Hormoz. In this splendid tent you’ve provided, I’ve had a discussion with the administrator about the minor skirmishes surrounding the black market. Like you, the administrator doesn’t wish for this conflict to continue either.”

“That’s welcome news.”

“Because war doesn’t aid commerce. No one likes war, do they?”

Hearing this, Hormoz smiled, seeming pleased with the unexpected words.

“Unless it’s about money. Dark Elves love money more than anything. To be precise, they love gold.”

“I love money too. And I’m sure the administrator loves it as well.”

We all share a common trait of loving money, including Francesca who isn’t present here.

No one in the world dislikes money.

Even for an information officer, it’s the same.

Patriotism? Of course, it’s an important virtue for an information officer. But the costs of clothing, food, drink, and sleeping during operations aren’t free. The operational funds come from the information agency, disbursed from the special activity funds allocated by the legislative information committee every year.

So if external revenue supports operational funds, both the intelligence agency and legislature welcome it. Notable examples include the CIA busted for dealing drugs, Russian intelligence agencies caught selling arms in the Middle East, and North Korean operatives who got their accounts frozen after being caught with slush funds for both operational funds and the intelligence agency heads.

The examples are a bit weird, but well, let’s move on.

What’s important is from now on.

“If we could both concede a little, all issues surrounding the black market could be swiftly resolved. So, Mr. Hormoz.”

“……”

“Could you possibly concede a bit of the stake in the Northern black market?”

—

Inside the tent in the desert, only Hormoz and I remained.

With Francesca and the Deputy Guild Master absent, the only ones participating in the conversation were us, allowing us to concentrate on each other without interference.

Maybe that’s why the silence felt particularly profound today.

“……”

A request to concede the stake in the Northern black market brought silence with it. Hormoz fell into deep contemplation, and I gazed at him silently.

It was easier than I thought to gauge each other’s intentions with just us two, but when the other party shut their mouth, uncomfortable silence naturally ensued. In this awkward silence, I waited for Hormoz’s response, along with the cat wagging its tail.

About seven minutes later, the Dark Elf finally opened his mouth.

“…Concede.”

After a significant pause, Hormoz murmured softly.

“I wonder why I should concede.”

I chuckled in disbelief, returning his thought.

“I’m curious about your purpose in asking, when you likely already know the reasons.”

Hormoz’s reluctance to sell information and his decision to arrange this meeting stemmed from one key fact.

“Aren’t you afraid of the Military Government Headquarters?”

“……”

Hormoz had been silent about selling information until now. At that time, he may not have had any intel yet or was uncertain whether the information would harm the Guild, but nonetheless, he maintained his silence.

The timing is critical. The moment he broke his silence mattered.

He informed us as soon as the Military Government Headquarters finished their cleanup operations.

I placed a hand on my chest, pretending to understand.

“Of course, I fully understand your position, Mr. Hormoz. The military police that hadn’t cracked down for nearly five years suddenly began hunting down criminals to execute. It must have caused you considerable distress.”

“They were no ordinary criminals.”

“Indeed, they were smugglers. Connected to the black market, no less.”

From Hormoz’s perspective, it must have been chilling.

Criminal organizations linked to the black market, just like his own, were completely wiped out.

What matters is that the military police are directed by the Military Government Headquarters and that Francesca and I are associated with it.

Hormoz likely suspects that Francesca or I requested the Military Government Headquarters to eliminate them. Given his behavior and comments, this suspicion is credible.

It may look like the military police’s cleanup operations are a show of force, but Hormoz seems to possess more foresight than I assumed.

He responded with an unshakeable confidence.

“I’m not afraid of the Imperial Army’s enforcement.”

Though it could seem like a boast, Hormoz’s demeanor was far too steadfast to dismiss as mere bluster or groundless self-assurance.

He appeared utterly confident he could evade capture.

True to form, Hormoz shared a rather intriguing fact with me:

“The deployment of Northern troops is not concentrated on the front lines. A considerable number of internal troops are stationed along the Naroda Mountain defense line. I believe the military police alone would struggle to maintain law and order.”

“….Oh, you know more than expected.”

I pretended to think deeply, shifting comfortably in my seat.

“It seems someone backing you is close to the military.”

“……”

I briefly reviewed the relationship between the Military Government Headquarters and the Empire’s Ministry of Defense.

The Military Government Headquarters handles judicial and administrative activities, including military operations in the northern regions. Established under martial law, it’s headed by Commander Mikhail.

The Ministry of Defense is the superior body overseeing the Military Government Headquarters, responsible for personnel movements of military officers, approving major operations, and deploying and supervising troops. The Military Government Headquarters operates based on orders from the Ministry of Defense while being granted some autonomy.

Why? Because the military can’t be forever fixated on martial law areas.

The Kien Empire consists of vast territories, rivaling Russia in size, and the Ministry of Defense in Petrogard commands troops from the eastern, western, southern, northern, and central military districts. Even if one desires to focus solely on the North, that’s simply not possible.

Thus, while the Ministry of Defense stays informed, they seldom grasp intricate details. To clarify, a department specializing in the North compiles reports from the Military Government Headquarters, relaying them to the General Staff and the Minister of Defense.

I know this from having frequented the Ministry of Defense for over a week. The general staff officers informed me that they, too, aren’t privy to everything.

So, Hormoz’s backing must come not from the Military Government Headquarters but from the military.

More precisely, it likely remains connected to the central Ministry of Defense and the General Staff.

If he had ties to the Military Government Headquarters, he wouldn’t have even informed us. If Commander Mikhail never intended to carry out cleanup operations, there’s no way Hormoz wouldn’t know if he had a straw in that authority.

“Hence, it seems clear that his backing isn’t from the military but higher up. A high-ranking official who is not a soldier but has connections to generals. Perhaps it’s someone from the political circles or aristocracy. Maybe one of the nobles who managed to escape before the martial law was enforced.”

“……”

“Let’s see….”

I began to slowly tally the number of northern nobles.

“In the North, there are the leading Marquis and Count families, and several Baron families too. The Marquis family is a military general family, making them a top candidate, but they passed away from health issues a few years ago, leaving behind only children in their early twenties.”

The Marquis family is out of the question.

“There are also a couple of Count families, but those came from civilian backgrounds, not military. They were former regional government officials and council members, so they likely have no connection to the central. The troops in the North have been stationed here since the martial law was enforced.”

Count families aren’t worth considering either.

“Then perhaps the Barons? Though that seems unlikely. Much like the Count families, they are locals and it would be tough for any connections to the central to help them. While there might be some kinship with central nobility, merging them would leave Hormoz and the Palm Tree Trade Guild without any support.”

Smuggling is never a simple crime. It often appears in dramas or movies, but in reality, smuggling is more complicated than it looks.

You need trustworthy contacts abroad to acquire goods cheaply, networks to avoid customs and police crackdowns, and bribes to maintain those connections.

Also, the goods Hormoz deals with can mostly be found within the Empire, but some are sourced from across the sea in the Far East or the Mauritania Continent. While Hormoz can handle those suppliers, bringing them into the Empire, especially the northern regions, isn’t easy.

That’s why I had to involve Francesca and Victor. They weren’t enough, so I had to dive in myself.

So to be Hormoz’s backing, a noble or high-ranking official must be significantly influential. In the Empire, high-ranking nobles often wield both political and bureaucratic power, which means they tend to get entangled in the same circles.

For instance, similar to the nobles that collaborated with the Imperial Guard HQ’s insurgents, leading to their complete purge.

I reflexively shook my head, recalling a rather unpleasant time in the past.

“Of course, the Empire has plenty of diverse riffraff due to its long history, but let’s skip that. You wouldn’t want to prolong this discussion either, would you, Mr. Hormoz?”

I smiled slightly while correcting my posture.

From the moment I began speaking, Hormoz’s gaze had grown icy. The smile that often graced his lips disappeared, replaced by an impassive face. He might have lost his composure. I thought that could very well be the case.

With a firm posture, I fixed my chilling golden gaze directly on him.

Then I threw him a question.

“Mr. Hormoz. You understand the customs of hospitality, don’t you?”

Hormoz nodded somberly.

I explained the customs to the nomadic merchant from whence I came.

“As a nomad, you likely know better than I do, but in hospitality customs, what’s important is the consideration between the host and guest.”

The host must protect their guest at all costs.

The guest must respect the host and refrain from actions that could harm them.

This hospitality custom was a principle that nomads had adhered to for millennia to protect their honor, which is even more vital than life. I posed a question to Hormoz, the nomadic tribesman.

“According to this long tradition, as your guest, I cannot harm you, Mr. Hormoz, nor can I do anything to jeopardize your well-being.”

“That is indeed true.”

“Then let me ask. Are my current actions detrimental to you, Mr. Hormoz?”

“They could potentially harm me, depending on how one interprets it.”

“Mr. Hormoz.”

I maintained eye contact.

“I’m not asking about future events or scenarios. I am inquiring whether my present actions harm your life or honor.”

“……”

“Of course, should I go around hijacking your business or seek out someone to support you, I would indeed violate the customs. Yet, I have no such intentions. Do you know why?”

Hormoz echoed what I said earlier.

“Because disputes harm businesses.”

“Exactly!”

I settled comfortably back into my seat, smiling.

“In fact, I’ve met many people like you—nomads who value their honor more than their lives.”

Vast desert. A bumpy van crossing unpaved paths, the raucous chatter of a radio. A warlord checkpoint armed with Soviet military gear and rifles. The commander leading that warlord—I remember meeting them vividly.

It’s been over 28 years, yet those memories are as clear as yesterday. The years spent in the Middle East were unlike any other postings I’ve had, from Russia to China and even Central and Southeast Asia.

Truth be told, the Middle East is where I spent most of my time.

After graduating from a foreign language university in Korea, I dabbed into Arabic and attempted a desk job, only to be abruptly posted to North Africa. Back then, I thought I’d lost my mind.

I recalled those memories vividly.

“While it’s true that honor is paramount for survival in the desert—tribal honor, a father’s honor, one’s own honor. That’s why when a fight breaks out, men usually choose to battle honorably instead of resorting to assassination, right? Don’t you agree?”

“Exactly.”

“But I don’t want that.”

I opened my arms wide to indicate the comfort of the tent.

“There’s no need for me to hurl myself into the flames, risking everything. If money is spent, it will be spent; fighting to the death won’t bring in revenue.”

Returning to the main point.

“To get to the crux of the matter, disputes are not beneficial to businesses. If you and the administrator start fighting, many things will undoubtedly change. The Palm Tree Trade Guild might emerge victorious, or the Magic Tower might triumph, but the important point is that something will change.”

“……”

For example:

“What if the administrator defeats you and claims victory? The black market will fall into her hands, and she’ll begin raking in the money.”

“That would indeed be the case.”

“But she won’t be able to earn instant money right now. The administrator will have incurred plenty of losses battling you.”

Even if she were to overtake Hormoz and seize the Northern black market, there would be no immediate money coming in.

Even disregarding the loss Francesca would suffer or how merchants with strong ties to Hormoz might turn against her, no one would be selling items in the black market the moment a war begins.

The crux of smuggling is in inventory management. Unsold smuggled products are merely clutter fueling the police’s performance metrics.

From Francesca’s perspective, who had poured extensive investment into this business, she would not want to see goods decaying away in Victor’s warehouse.

Hormoz, who has operated in the North for years, shares that sentiment as well.

“Let’s assume the conflict drags on for around three months. What happens then?”

“……”

“People will die, and a few warehouses will go up in flames. The opposing side will do whatever it takes to seize commodities. Beasts express loyalty to their masters, but goods can belong to everyone, right? They would likely steal and sell those products.”

Pausing for a moment to draw attention.

Then,

“Would the Military Government Headquarters stand idly by?”

“……”

Commander Mikhail may not intend to conduct cleanup operations, but that story changes amidst unrest.

The Military Government Headquarters would inevitably engage in quelling crime—aggressively subduing those committing murder, arson, and theft—using heightened force in the process.

One way or another, the first time is always the hardest.

And the Military Government Headquarters has perfected that arduous task—a ruthlessly efficient manner.

“So inevitably, casualties would occur on both sides, and there would be far more work for the priests. They’d need more than just a single day to pray for the deceased.”

“So what should we do?”

“Concede.”

I tapped my fingers on the ground lightly.

“If we negotiate and each concede a bit, it presents no issues. Setting zones, limiting items, or agreeing upon prices would resolve any potential conflicts, wouldn’t it?”

“If we did that, our guild’s profits would diminish.”

Hormoz shook his head, demonstrating a typical unyielding attitude characteristic of the Dark Elves.

“It’s not feasible for two suns to coexist in the sky, nor can two guilds coexist within the black market. I am, of course, forced to compete for interests as the administrator and I share the market.”

“……”

“This is merely a stopgap solution.”

The owner of the Palm Tree Trade Guild declared.

“If I accept your proposal today, it will undoubtedly lead to complications down the line.”

“The black market will continue to exist even after the conflict with the Magic Tower ends. Once infrastructure is rebuilt, national projects initiated, and numerous enterprises settle in, many people will flood in. The black market will only grow larger. Naturally, it should solve itself.”

“However, if the black market expands, other organizations will flock to it. Should you maintain no control over the current black market, the outsider guild—like the Palm Tree Trade Guild—would inevitably lose in the competition against local organizations.”

“Aha.”

It was a long-term perspective, indeed.

It became clear that Hormoz is currently managing his guild with a long-range vision, ensuring that post the Empire-Magic Tower dispute, he still reigns king over the Northern black market.

That was likely a pre-arranged agreement with the noble or influential backing him. His backers probably granted Hormoz the leniency or support to dominate the black market in this region.

Thus, his backers are likely to be local nobles. I just need to find one that fits the regal profile among the Northern elite.

“….Hmm.”

I feigned deep concentration, allowing silence to hang for about 12 seconds before finally nodding and opening my mouth.

“Then how about this?”

I presented Hormoz with an irresistible proposition.

“We strike a deal.”

“….A deal?”

“Yes. The administrator and Mr. Hormoz will write up a formal contract, whereby the administrator would supply goods to Hormoz for the Northern black market, and he will sell them.”

“And you mean…?”

“What could a Magic Tower person sell?”

Due to its geographical constraints, the Magic Tower lacks for survival.

Geographically, it finds itself isolated in the middle of the Southern Kien Empire city of Nastastasy, disconnected via both land and sea, and because it’s an artificially created environment, it can neither sell minerals nor agricultural products.

Thus the Magic Tower entirely operates based on a manufacturing economy model.

And as the Magic Tower’s name suggests, it crafts and markets a wealth of magical items more than any other nation.

“Hmm.”

It seemed the mention of Magic Tower goods piqued Hormoz’s interest as he began to contemplate.

Hormoz’s uniquely pointed ears twitched repeatedly, and he stroked his smooth chin that bore no beard.

“It’s an enticing offer, but this would require consultation with my superiors…”

“Consultation? For what?”

I interrupted Hormoz.

“This is merely an agreement between you and Miss Francesca. Separate from any contracts you have with whoever assists you in the Northern market.”

“……”

Hormoz began to deeply digest the proposal with an intense gaze.

Essentially, this represents the last barrier I could propose, and one that Francesca might concede. Beyond this threshold would prevent Francesca from recovering her investments, while I would end up getting a tongue-lashing from Leoni.

Some of the goods Francesca plans to sell are part of the aide supplies the Abas government is sending to the Empire. While paperwork has been prepared to secretly siphon goods during transit, this would inevitably waste funding from the Military Intelligence Agency.

So, this is a matter entangling not just Francesca and Hormoz, but extending to myself.

Hormoz may not understand that extent, yet it appears he sees no alternative. He scrutinized my proposal more earnestly than usual.

“…Meow.”

A cat’s meow shattered the silence of the tent.

The feline that made the exclamation rose and sauntered toward the entrance, its tail swaying side to side. The Deputy Guild Master slightly opened the tent curtain, allowing the cat to bound outside.

“……”

Hormoz gazed intently at the now ajar tent entrance for a considerable time.

I turned to him.

“You have no reason to hesitate. This offer is something a guest extends.”

“……”

“I was treated to this delightful milk, so I will uphold the duties of a guest. I will never cause harm to you, Mr. Hormoz.”

But.

“When I step out of this tent, whether we shake hands or merely engage in conventional formality will undoubtedly affect many things to come.”

“……”

“The choice is yours, Mr. Hormoz.”

I extended my empty cup towards him.

“So here, make your decision now.”

And at last, I proposed:

“Is it silver? Or is it lead?”

—

The negotiations concluded successfully.

There were complications that defy expression with mere words, but all in all, everything wrapped up nicely.

“Thank you for accepting the offer, Guild Master.”

“I should be the one thanking you, Administrator.”

Francesca and Hormoz formalized their agreement.

To summarize simply, for a predetermined duration, Francesca would supply goods to Hormoz, while he would sell these in the Northern black market.

Not limited to basic consumables and medical supplies.

“Dealing with the Alchemist of the Ivory Tower is a rare event for the Saria Tribe, but engaging in trade with a magician from the Magic Tower is unexpectedly wonderful. The Elders will surely express their gratification. Wouldn’t it be remiss not to express my gratitude?”

“First impressions matter, but the impression we leave upon departure is crucial too.”

“In the end, all that remains are the people.”

Francesca smiled faintly.

“People, huh….”

Francesca left a smirk that seemed like ridicule, clutching the contract inscribed with magical signatures as she exited the tent.

Outside, employees of the Palm Tree Trade Guild busily transported food and drinks, preparing for a celebration in honor of the signing, and Francesca took a seat in the prime location.

I shared a light-hearted handshake with Hormoz, trading pleasantries.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Hormoz.”

“Just following the ancient tradition of welcoming guests. Feel free to enjoy yourself.”

As I grasped his outstretched hand, I threw in a casual remark.

“You didn’t engage in any foolish transactions.”

No one makes a loss.

That’s a phrase Hormoz often uses.

I don’t know if it’s terminology used exclusively within the Palm Tree Trade Guild, or if it’s common among Dark Elves, or even restricted to just the Saria Tribe, but irrespective, it’s his favorite expression.

While he merely smiled at my joke, Hormoz stepped out of the tent.

I received a piece of paper from the Deputy Guild Master.

“Here’s the information you requested.”

Written on the paper was one short sentence in the language of the Mauritania Continent.

I hurried out of the tent, exiting the building where spatial transformation magic operated, and called my subordinates.

Though it was the late deep of night, they quickly answered my call—it was only natural since they were on standby.

-‘Communications secured. This is Pippin, Military Attaché Office at the Abas Embassy in the Kien Empire.’

“Pippin. Go and relay this to the Priest.”

-‘I’ll convey it through Charnoy. What should I say?’

I recited the phrase written on the paper verbatim.

“In the deep of night, seek out the Inquisitor wandering in desolation.”

Now, it’s time to catch the terrorists.