A Dark Fantasy Spy

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Olive oil poured onto my forehead just moments ago. Raphael sat on the sacred chair prepared at Medius Cathedral.

Once under intense surveillance from global intelligence agencies, the Inquisition Director, famously known as the conservative hardliner leader of the Nicene faction, had become the Pope.

At the end of winter, the gateway to spring.

The season of budding life brought with it new developments.

Five months had passed since then.

—

Episode 15 – Life is Beautiful

People are less interested in others than you’d think.

Unless they have a close relationship, like being relatives or having known each other for a long time, there’s no need to pay much attention to others.

Also, people surprisingly love formality more than you might imagine.

Even when someone opens their heart, their inner self remains unseen, only countless vessels and muscles that make up their body are visible. People tend to focus first on the outwardly visible rather than probing the innermost thoughts of others.

Status, educational background, profession, etc. These outwardly apparent symbols represent human identity. Although they are rigid formalities, aren’t they rather intuitive?

For those living in the bustling forest of buildings, such intuitive concepts without any particular concern are truly precious.

Thus, people at work always call me by name.

“Manager.”

“What’s up?”

“The documents sent from the branch office have arrived.”

One employee peeked over the partition, handing me a file. I wrapped up our brief encounter with a clichéd response, “Thank you. Please leave it on my desk.”

I opened the folder on the metal desk to check the documents. It was a report sent by the information officer stationed at the embassy abroad.

The white was paper, and the black was text, but the large letters inscribed at the top caught my eye first.

“Report on the trends of the United People’s Party and the Independent National Alliance… This is an intelligence report.”

Peeking over the partition, I called out to my subordinate.

“Pippin.”

“Yes?”

“Work has come in. Take it and analyze it quickly.”

“What report is it?”

“Trends of the rebel forces on the Mauritania Continent. Supplemental materials related to the United People’s Party.”

Five months had passed since the coronation ceremony.

A lot had happened during that time. The biggest change was Raphael’s ascension to the papacy.

The fact that a conservative figure from the Inquisition was now in full control of the sect caused quite a stir, but there wasn’t as much backlash as one would have expected. Everyone had seen Raphael becoming Pope the moment Cardinal Raul, Lucia’s guardian, passed away.

Diplomatic officials well-versed in the political landscape were not the least bit flustered. They merely waited for Raphael’s coronation while calmly pondering the future of their countries and the sect. If it was an unstoppable tide, shouldn’t they at least avoid being swept away by it?

However, the situation for the intelligence agencies was different.

Those with some experience vividly remembered the actions of Director Petrus’s successor (this was Petrus’s second term) when Raphael was still Inquisition Director, and upon hearing the news that “that bastard” was designated as Pope, intelligence officials felt the urgency. They couldn’t stay calm with a lunatic wielding a weapon.

And in every organization, when superiors have a meltdown, it’s the subordinates who pay the price.

Thus, the past five months lingered in my memory as a beautiful (a euphemism for “sucky”) recollection.

Even now, it was the same.

While sitting in my chair tapping on the terminal, news reached my ears.

“Manager! I heard from the people in the adjacent department on my way back that the Inquisition has stirred up trouble again.”

Jake, who returned to the office, didn’t offer a greeting but instead blurted this out.

He held an ice cream in one hand and gripped a plastic bag in the other. The pale, translucent bag was filled to the brim with snacks from the military intelligence agency headquarters’ convenience store.

Jake laid the snacks on Pippin’s desk. They were the jelly she had asked for before going to the convenience store (with bizarre phrases like “Explodes in your mouth!” and “Wiggly, wiggly living texture worm jelly” on the packaging).

That blonde tanning punk, shamelessly putting the bag in front of me as if to say, “Go ahead and take it.”

“Impudent little brat. You’re prioritizing your girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“Oh come on, why are you like this? It’s not like it’s the first time.”

Jake laughed while eating his ice cream. By now, it seemed he should have adapted.

I chuckled and grabbed some snacks from the bag.

“So what happened this time?”

“I heard a warlord recruiting agent active in Kumirak was assassinated in a hotel.”

“And?”

“The assassin caught at the scene is a cult believer. From an underground church.”

“Can’t believe this.”

—

The season of blossoming life had returned, but peace was nowhere to be found.

The new Pope touted the values of peace, harmony, and love.

With the coronation ceremony just completed, he set forth as a figure advocating peace and harmony to the outside world, leading many to think, “That guy who used to tear apart heretics has finally calmed down.”

But it was not the case.

Raphael’s temper, notorious for being hardline, was untarnished by the erosion of time known as ‘years.’

With the facade of a religious leader, one would expect him to temper his temperament and lay low for a while. Yet, from the very first day of his term, he showcased his true colors by filling the Inquisition’s directorate with hardliners in a shocking appointment.

The results soon manifested visibly.

[The sect’s Ministry of Justice announced it would restrict the use of religious facilities within the country. Worship at places like Al-Yabd and Nirvana has been halted, while services at the cathedral were exceptionally permitted. This has led countries on the Mauritania Continent to collectively demand an end to religious oppression… ]

[The sect authorities arrested three women for fraud early yesterday morning. Despite no reports from victims, their past involvement with organizations of other religions has sparked significant controversy. The Inquisition’s spokesperson emphasized that the arrests were lawful, confirming that the women illegally embezzled funds from their workplaces and sent them to foreign religious organizations… ]

[A man surrounded by citizens urgently flees the scene. Around midnight on the 3rd local time, the man, a professor at Magriya State University, was attacked by a thug in front of his home. He was known for giving lectures criticizing the sect.]

The hardline factions with control over the Inquisition literally began to run amok.

They were already notorious for their antics, but these days, they were rampaging like a wild horse without reins.

Hence, intelligence officials commonly muttered in response to the Inquisition’s disturbances.

“This is all Raphael’s fault.”

“Sigh. Manager is acting up again.”

Of course, the Inquisition’s rampages had nothing to do with me at all.

I didn’t deal with the sect. And since most of the Inquisition’s blunders were related to religion, unless it conflicted with my responsibilities at the Royal Intelligence Department overseeing the Mauritania Continent, I had no reason to cross paths with them.

In fact, I had a cordial relationship with the Inquisition. After spending several months in the Magic Tower and the Empire, along with my companion and saint chosen by the Oracle, having cleared out demons in the North, there was no reason for the Inquisition to despise me.

The problem was.

“Why are they offloading this to me?”

Those bastards had passed the buck.

—

I lamented as I gazed at the documents concerning the Mauritania Continent delivered to my office. The source was the Inquisition.

How could they, who collect salaries from the sect, offload their work onto public servants from other nations? They were nothing but tax thieves.

“Ah, I want a vacation.”

Just as I voiced that an unattainable desire, Charnoy, sipping chocolate milk through a straw, placed a hand on her hip and spoke as if it were the most natural thing.

“Colonel Frederick is Luciano’s colleague… Since we need to find a new friend, we must grasp the local situation in the Mauritania Continent as soon as possible!”

Right after the major events of the canonization ceremony and the coronation, the sect passed on information concerning Abbas and the newly appointed comrade predetermined by the Oracle.

‘The new friend is from a foreign land.

This individual is presumed to be a robust male.

He has been identified to be in the Mauritania Continent.’

The fragmented information was abstract and vague.

It was hard to believe such slipshod details were gathered over several months by the Inquisition, yet they insisted even this was a remarkable achievement.

Unless divine beings directly intervene, no one, not even the Pope, could fathom divine intent. Thus, revelations perceived by humans would inevitably appear vague like a cryptic prophecy.

The content of the Oracle was said to have been painstakingly deciphered by a collaboration of archaeologists, clergy, scholars of other religions, and magicians.

Their claims of capturing little clues and gathering as much information as possible quickly devolved into the truth that they knew nothing.

For the Inquisition, tasked with scouring the globe with limited information, this situation must have been maddening. But their misfortune did nothing to comfort me.

If the Inquisition couldn’t find him, that meant we had to search for our comrade ourselves. And with a team comprised of three civilians and one spy, information gathering would naturally fall entirely on the spy’s shoulders.

With this situation, the Military Intelligence Agency dragged me out of my poised routine and placed me in a new department. Since I was bound for the Mauritania Continent anyway, they probably meant for me to start preparations rather than lounging around.

However, there existed a very grave issue with this decision.

The Mauritania Continent, where the Oracle listed a comrade, was a landmass much larger than Africa.

And we had no clue as to which specific country this comrade was residing in.

Information officials from Abbas’s intelligence agency fell into serious deep thought. The committee pressed them for solutions, and as the days went by, the hairlines of the intelligence officers assembled in the office dwindled like a parched field.

If a clueless major hadn’t spouted, “Why don’t we just monitor the whole Mauritania Continent?” some of those intelligence officers might have been frantically purchasing hair dye.

I remember the moment those words tumbled out—an oppressive silence enveloped the office.

The intelligentsia from the intelligence agencies stared blankly, and the head of the Royal Intelligence Department overseeing the Mauritania Continent tightly held my hand. The same man previously lamenting that he might get killed by his wife if he returned home late on their wedding anniversary.

The head of department held my hand and even shed a tear. How could someone come to such a decision? He trusted me completely, knowing I was well-acquainted with the rampant Inquisition and Imperial Guard in the Mauritania Continent.

Moreover, he added, “I never imagined there would be such a self-sacrificing talent in this nation.”

This was all too obvious.

The foolish major who uttered that ridiculous statement, was none other than me.

“Damn it…”

I sighed as I looked at the piles of documents stacked around the office.

“I just want to retire.”

The subordinates watching me quietly whispered while pausing their snacks.

“The manager just mentioned retirement again. Who bet that it wouldn’t come up today?”

“Yikes…! Charnoy’s reverse betting has failed!”

“Quick, hand it over. I’ll buy dinner with today’s winnings.”

Hearing those whispers made me pull the blanket over my head and lay my head down on the desk.

I can hear you guys…