A Dark Fantasy Spy

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It had been a while since I returned to my homeland, yet it was just another ordinary day.

It wasn’t fully spring, but the slightly warm weather felt nice.

The midday sun tickled my skin, and the clear wind blew gently.

The crunching sound of crumbling snowflakes and the bustling noise of the city filled the air.

“Ah, I can’t remember the last time I had to return and debrief. Want to grab a drink after work?”

“Sounds good to us. Are you paying, manager?”

“Use the corporate card.”

“Sounds like something the finance department won’t like.”

I started my day by leaving my identification at the main gate and getting my pass.

“However, this debriefing might be a bit tough.”

“The northern region of Kien has been an unknown territory for the last five years. The investigators were working really hard. If they mention even the slightest thing they don’t remember, they’ll start barking orders at you.”

“Still, I’m sure you’ll get out early, manager. Unless you want to be trapped in the office for a week.”

Though I had arrived at an ambiguous time, there were many people coming and going.

A team heading out for lunch, an investigator returning from fieldwork, an analyst on a call with earphones plugged in, an information officer lightly sighing under the weight of thick document binders and take-out coffee, and a security guard standing vigilant with a pistol on his hip and a rifle propped up….

I hopped into the elevator and pressed the button to my destination.

I was heading to a small multipurpose meeting room in the Military Intelligence Agency building.

There, I was to undergo a brief investigation involving high-ranking information officers and some analysts from the overseas department.

“I heard from my seniors that this collected information will be forwarded through the Joint Chiefs of Staff to other agencies.”

“Where is it going?”

“Ministry of Defense, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Information Ministry, Office of the Prime Minister, upper and lower house intelligence committees, Defense Committee, Foreign Affairs Committee….”

“What a mess.”

“Once you visit a conflict area, you’ll be pulled in every direction. It was the same when I was in Special Forces. But, manager, have you really never met a Duke? I’m dying to know how pretty she is.”

“Jake, can you please shut up?”

“Why, Pippin? Logically speaking, wouldn’t you be curious if a grandmother who’s over 120 years old maintained the looks and figure of her prime?”

“I can’t freely discuss matters related to the Duke. They told me to keep my mouth shut about it.”

“Of course. This is a place that even treats the canteen lunch menu as classified.”

Honestly, I wasn’t that worried. The debriefing was just one of the paperwork processes that usually followed a return from a business trip.

It’s not like I was being called into the Inspection Office; the debriefing would probably wrap up in a few days. After that, I would take a vacation. I could guess I’d be lounging in a military hotel managed by the Ministry of Defense of Abas about a week later.

That prediction was spot on.

I left the meeting room in less than half a day.

The investigators who had compiled the results of the intelligence operations conducted over the past month said, “That should be enough. Go in and take a break,” and sent me off, and then, in place of Leoni, who had ducked out, I was summoned by my former superior, Clavenz, to receive my vacation orders.

However, there was one thing I hadn’t anticipated.

“…Where am I supposed to go?”

“To the Republic of Patalia.”

It was the fact that my vacation spot was in a foreign land.

—

Episode 13 – A Land for Magicians

After a bit of confusion, it took me about 15 seconds to calm down my flustered heart.

“…Wait a second. Patalia? Did I hear that right…? You’re telling me to go to Patalia?”

“Yes, you heard correctly.”

Clavenz nodded.

“The Republic of Patalia. Our ally and friend.”

As Clavenz said, the Republic of Patalia was indeed a friend and ally to Abas.

From the absurd naming skills of game developers (just look at how they’ve thrown the Islamic Empire of Abas into a position akin to Western Europe and North America), it’s clear that Patalia draws its motif and name from Italy.

“Known for its wine and cuisine, as well as being a tourist destination with beautiful places to visit.”

“I know. Didn’t you go there last year?”

The annual exchange event between the Military Intelligence Agency of Abas and the Military of Patalia. The mutual exchange between the military intelligence agencies of both countries was always popular within the company.

Clavenz had previously visited Patalia in an official capacity during the exchange event, representing the domestic part of the Military Intelligence Agency.

At that time, I couldn’t go due to family issues, but I remember we successfully pulled off the event by putting in a substitute who was fluent in Patalian.

“I heard that there’s nothing to eat at a renowned banquet. But when I actually went there, that saying proved wrong. I wish you had been there to interpret; I’d have felt more at ease.”

“My Patalian isn’t that great. You know that?”

“True, your Kien language skills definitely overshadow your Patalian. But if we fired all the ones with talent less than yours, the Patalian branch would collapse.”

“But why are you sending me there?”

Clavenz smiled, shrugging his shoulders.

“I mentioned earlier, it’s a vacation.”

“…You’re giving me a vacation overseas? From a company that brushes aside requests for supplies due to lack of funds?”

When I asked if he was serious, he looked at me as if to say, “What kind of question is that?”

“You know as well as I do that the company doesn’t send employees abroad that often.”

Like all professions, once you have a job, there are things you slowly start to forfeit, but very few jobs require as many sacrifices as intelligence agencies.

One of the sacrifices you must make is the freedom to travel abroad.

“Once you enter an intelligence agency, going abroad for travel becomes tough. The company doesn’t easily grant permission, nor is the schedule loose enough to take vacation.”

“Even the lieutenant colonels only get to leave the office two or three times a week, so requesting a vacation can feel a bit awkward.”

“Even if you somehow manage to get a day off, there’s still a problem. You can’t relax with a clear mind….”

“From the standpoint of an intelligence agency, they can’t tell if you’re on vacation or out on a mission. Of course, the local spies will be on high alert.”

“It would be one thing if only the intelligence officer got targeted, but if they go after your family too, that becomes an issue. Just imagine bringing your kid along, only to find investigators lurking around your hotel room. Would you be able to sleep soundly?”

Therefore, intelligence agencies tend to provide their employees with many opportunities for exchange events, external training, and study abroad programs.

The surface reason is that they “offer the chance to develop the necessary skills for the job through acquiring degrees and new experiences abroad,” but it also serves to give a reward for the hardships endured.

Of course, there are many employees who go abroad, but that’s typically due to “work” too.

If we were to make a metaphor, there’s a world of difference between “playing with allies’ intelligence operatives at a beautiful beach popular with tourists” and “touring a Russian military base often frequented by nuclear submarines carrying warheads alongside guides and watchdogs.”

Anyway, to put it simply:

“The company has ordered you on vacation. They’ve approved your overseas trip to allow you to relax for a few days as a reward for your hard work.”

Though it’s called a vacation ‘order’, it’s practically the same as telling me to go play.

Even better, it’s for free.

“They have already booked your accommodation at the resort. Security checks have been completed, so you shouldn’t have to worry about trespassing or eavesdropping issues. The costs are already paid in advance, so don’t worry.”

“Can I order room service?”

“Of course, if your wallet allows it.”

That’s not free.

I nodded in agreement while pondering this, and suddenly a thought struck me, prompting a question.

“By the way, is it okay for me to take this vacation so soon? I have no idea when I’ll have to go back to the north, and I’ve heard that the incidents up north are still unsettled.”

“Ah, that’s true.”

Clavenz acknowledged that matter without hesitation.

“The Rift attack, the killings involving Inquisition Officers and Imperial military magicians, the emergence of necromancers, undead, demons, and battles that took place in major cities, along with the reappearance of a Duke after several years…. There’s too much to worry about, and none of the materials have been organized. Although the personnel in charge seemed fine at first, when the demon stories emerged, things really started to go downhill. It felt like reading a long novel, didn’t it?”

Sure, honestly speaking, I felt like I could write a whole Chronicles of Narnia with the stories from the past month.

But,

“However, this isn’t something you need to worry about.”

Clavenz lightly rose from his chair, grabbing the envelope of money and the ticket on the desk. With a calm voice unchanged from usual, he said,

“Work can be dealt with at any time, but the opportunity for a vacation is scarce. What you need right now is not overtime, but rest.”

“…….”

“Prepare well, for the coming months will be incredibly busy.”

He tucked the envelope into my inner pocket and handed me the ticket. Watching quietly, I took the ticket from him.

Patting my shoulder, Clavenz returned to his desk, flipping through papers as he concluded,

“Go check into the hotel, then sleep for three to four hours, and contact me. After you’ve rested and had a meal and explored the resort, then we can discuss the northern issue when you’re feeling clear-headed.”

—

Three hours later, I stood in front of the Warp Gate heading from the Republic of Patalia to the Kingdom of Abas.

In front of me was sign text printed in multiple languages at the Patalian entry checkpoint, and there sat an immigration officer inside a neatly dressed booth.

The officer, whose personality seemed strict from first glance, greeted me with a simple salutation and requested my passport. Though she slightly concealed her chapped lips with makeup, I could sense her fatigue from her voice.

“Welcome to the Republic of Patalia, Signor. Could you please submit your passport?”

Slightly nervous, I placed my passport on the tray.

The officer took the tray under the transparent partition, unfolded the passport, and quickly skimmed through my personal information and entry records, along with documents including a visa issued by the Patalian Embassy in Abas.

While the officer was typing away on her computer as she went through the documents, I heard the sound of military boots from behind.

Without reflexively turning my head, I glanced back at the reflection in the nearby glass and noticed two armed guards with firearms passing by, leading a security dog.

“…….”

As always, the entry inspection felt tense.

Whether for business or a foreign posting, it’s always nerve-wracking to risk being denied entry before stepping foot on foreign soil.

While it’s uncommon for intelligence officers to get kicked out at entry checkpoints during overseas trips, it happens often enough to be memorable. We jokingly referred to it as ‘entry cut’ or ‘airport cut.’

“Signor?”

While I was distracted watching the security squad, I heard the immigration officer call me.

“…Yes, yes?”

“You didn’t respond when I asked.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought… Could you please repeat that?”

“What is the purpose of your visit?”

I replied that it was tourism.

The officer examined the tourist visa issued from the Patalian Embassy, located a few blocks from the Prime Minister’s Residence in the capital of Abas.

After a moment, confirming that there were no issues with the visa, she set the documents down and continued questioning.

“Are you traveling alone?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any travel plans?”

“Not really. I did come for tourism, but aside from the reserved hotel, I haven’t prepared anything.”

The officer seemed momentarily taken aback as I suddenly spoke in Patalian. But soon, her face lit up with a smile.

“Oh, you speak Patalian?”

“A bit.”

The officer’s entire demeanor brightened, her voice transforming from tired to lively.

“You’re here alone, you say?”

“Yes, it’s a solo trip.”

“Without any plans?”

“Unplanned is the plan. Ah, here’s my hotel reservation and 5,000 ducats in cash.”

“Meraviglia hotel accommodation proof and 5,000 ducats exchanged in Abas. Everything checks out.”

The officer began to scribble something down on her notepad with a gentle smile.

Meanwhile, I scanned the surroundings.

A draft age man sitting at a cafe near the immigration desk sipping coffee, couples in their 20s and 30s posing for photos as tourists on the second floor, and a middle-aged man slightly obscured by sunglasses, as well as a woman feigning a phone call while glancing at a newspaper thrown onto a van.

Finishing her notes, the officer raised her head to glance behind me, smiling as she spoke.

“I often see people speaking Patalian, but it’s been a long time since I met someone who speaks as fluently as you do.”

“There are many who are better than me.”

“Still, it’s impressive. Where did you learn? An academy? Or university?”

“I have a friend from Patalia.”

“A friend? Is she a woman or a man?”

“A woman.”

“What does she do?”

“She works for a regular company; I don’t know any more details.”

“Sounds like you came to visit your friend during this vacation?”

“Ah… not really. She probably doesn’t even know I’m here. This vacation was also arranged by my workplace.”

“Your workplace? Which company sends you off on an overseas trip?”

Prompted by the officer’s question, I hesitated briefly before eventually responding.

“Just a good old civil service, you know.”

The officer shook her head slightly as she regarded me, a smile still lingering on her lips.

Tearing off her notepad page, the officer tapped her keyboard a few times to initiate the processing.

“Well, I’m also a civil servant, but unlike you, my workplace doesn’t send people abroad. If I knew this was the case, I might have applied to work in a tourism agency.”

“Tourism agency, huh? That doesn’t sound like a bad job. Though I can’t say it’s great.”

“Have you ever worked in a tourism agency?”

I had done a year of work in a tourism agency once. It was a British tourism company with an office in China.

Officially licensed by the Chinese government, the tourism agency was merely a front—one of the desks for the Information Command’s Shanghai branch.

Of course, I couldn’t mention that experience, so I just glossed over it with a tale I pieced together.

My entry inspection went quite leisurely.

As other arriving passengers from either side started to pass through, my dedicated immigration officer took her time before letting me go.

Seeing my worried expression, she assured me that there was no need for concern, explaining,

“Oh, it’s nothing serious. It’s just that new regulations have been implemented due to many suspicious individuals entering.”

“Suspicious individuals?”

“Illegal immigrants. You’ve probably seen them on the news, right? They enter on tourist visas and then go down to rural areas to make money. The increase in such clandestine residents has complicated our work.”

“Ah… so it’s about the refugees from the Mauritania Continent? I heard they were trying to cross to Lushan Federation by boat and are now heading over to Patalia as the sea routes have been blocked.”

“Exactly. It’s caused us quite a headache. But you seem to be well-informed about Patalian affairs. You must watch the news often.”

“That’s part of the job.”

I shrugged in reply.

“So, in your view, how do I come off? Do I look like an illegal immigrant?”

The strict-looking immigration officer regarded me with a suspicious gaze. Though she was wearing a questioning expression, her face was full of playfulness.

“Let’s summarize. You’re a civil servant, you received vacation from your job at a time when everyone is busy this season, and you’re being sent to Patalia.”

“Yes.”

“You’re staying at a foreign hotel frequented more by businesspeople rather than tourists, and you’re carrying a whopping 5,000 ducats in cash, plus you’re fluent in Patalian. And of course, you have a girlfriend here.”

Not a girlfriend. If we dated, we’d both be unemployed.

Honestly, when I spoke earnestly, that was the case, but since it was playful banter, I decided to let it go.

After looking at me with a face full of laughter for a moment, the officer quipped,

“If someone like you is an illegal immigrant, I suppose we’d have to let it happen.”

With a bang! The stamp showing the date of entry and exit was pressed onto my passport.

As the immigration officer lowered the stamp, she pronounced my entry approved.

“There should be plenty for you to enjoy around Meraviglia Hotel. There’s a beach nearby, so foreign tourist culture has developed, and it’s warm year-round in the southern region with decent food. If the flavors suit your palate, you’ll have a great time while you’re here.”

“Thank you for the advice. I’ll keep that in mind.”

After smoothly returning my visa documents, hotel proof, cash, and passport, the cheerful officer waved goodbye with a bright smile.

“Enjoy your travels.”

—

January in Patalia is known for being the coldest and windiest time of the year.

Perhaps due to being off-peak, most of Patalia’s hotels appeared to have plenty of available rooms.

The afternoon sights didn’t feel overly crowded nor desolate—it was just right. It was a tourist attraction, yet locals outnumbered foreign visitors.

“…Hah.”

After stepping out of the immigration office, I closed my eyes for a while and tilted my head back to soak in the warm Patalian sunlight.

Even though January in Patalia felt chilly due to the strong winds, it was nothing compared to the freezing northern regions of the Kien Empire, where your engine would fail shortly if you turned it off.

While relishing the sunlight, I first checked my passport to ensure the exit date was correct. But when I opened it, I found a note tucked inside.

The neat note, as if drawn with a ruler, plainly stated that if I was interested, I should get in touch, along with a phone number.

I stared silently at the note for a moment before quietly slipping it between the pages of my passport.

The next thing I did was report in. I promptly took out my secure mobile phone and called the Embassy of the Kingdom of Abas in Patalia.

“Hello? This is Frederick. I heard the official document regarding my departure today was sent from the homeland—did you receive it? Yes, I’m out of the immigration office now. It took a while. Yes. Pick you up? Oh no, you don’t need to come. Seems there are plenty of people out to greet me. I’ll head there myself. Yes. Oh, no worries. Take care.”

I ended the call, powered off the device, and tucked it away in my inner pocket.

I took out my shades from their case, putting them on disguised as I surveyed the surroundings through the reflective glass in the street.

A draft-age man with coffee in hand, couples in their 20s and 30s hurrying by with cameras, a middle-aged man slightly hiding his face with a fedora while a woman threw a newspaper into the glove box of a van.

“Hmm….”

Just 43 minutes after my entry to Patalia, I already had someone on my tail.

“Things are in disarray from the start.”

I tossed my backpack over my shoulder and hopped into a taxi lined up in front of the immigration office.

The taxi driver, sporting bronzed skin and a mustache, flashed a bright white smile reminiscent of rice noodles as he asked,

“Where to, sir?”

“To the Embassy of the Kingdom of Abas, please.”

As the heavily tinted van and an old car slowly emerged from the parking lot, the bright yellow taxi sped off down the asphalt road.