A Dark Fantasy Spy

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It was a picturesque house.

The sound of crashing waves echoed as white foam bubbled up, and intense sunlight swept across the moisture-laden rocks.

On the coastal cliffs where the waves crashed, there lay a villa topped with a red roof.

The humble, red villa standing on a slight hill looked like a watercolor painting. It held even more meaning as it was based on memories of an untainted childhood.

The owner of the red villa on the coastal cliff.

Francesca gazed out the window with indifferent eyes.

“…….”

The area around the villa was packed with people.

Tall, sturdy figures clad in stylish suits. These men were unmistakably bodyguards. With a dozen or so of them surrounding the villa, one might think, “There must be some high-ranking person living in that house.”

However, if they noticed the capes draped over the men’s shoulders, onlookers would quietly slip away. The cape was a garment synonymous with wizards.

The alchemist sneered at the wizards from the Magic Tower surrounding her villa.

“Hmm….”

—

Episode 15 – Life is Beautiful

—

Basically, Francesca does not trust people.

Having been betrayed by those she trusted, her suspicion naturally grew.

Her friends whom she believed in at the Academy turned their backs on her after her family fell. The teachers at the Academy avoided her, pushed away by the glares from the Suit Man who frequently visited the main building.

The Soot Men observing her from a distance gradually approached as the years went by. First, they lingered around the Academy’s main gate, then the main building, and during festivals or open classes where many outsiders gathered, they even came into the classrooms. Although they never directly harmed her, the public security’s attention and the watchful eyes of those around her were burdens too heavy for her to bear.

So, when the time came for her to graduate from the Academy and prepare for studying abroad, she had a talk with her professor. This was the first and last personal conversation she would share with her advisor since entering the Academy.

There wasn’t any special reason for her decision to study abroad. Simply put, it didn’t seem like Patalia was a place worth living for a girl like her.

While she felt no place was left for her in her ancestors’ hometown, she thought the birthplace of wizards might be something different.

But facing the Tower of Magic was like staring into a swamp.

The descendant of the Archmage. Daughter of the Ranieri family.

The behavior of people paying attention to her lineage was not that different whether in Patalia or the Magic Tower. The people of Patalia saw her as ‘the relative of a public security criminal’ or ‘a target of special scrutiny,’ while the wizards were interested in her bloodline as ‘the grandchild of the great archmage.’

At that moment, Francesca realized.

This place is just as unsuitable for me as well.

The obsession of wizards with bloodlines was the thing she hated the most. Even if they pretended not to care in front of her, she could always hear whispers the moment they turned their backs.

Of course, she didn’t sulk in her room and cry like before. The world felt like a gigantic cage to her by now. She had grown accustomed to the unsolicited expectations and guarded glances, whether she liked it or not.

Thus, Francesca resolved to step out boldly and fight back.

She graduated from the university at the Magic Tower. The knowledge and skills she had acquired bore fruit in her thesis and research achievements, laying a robust foundation for her career.

Carrying the Ranieri blood, it was easier for her to earn the affection of the best professors than it was for her to breathe. The moment she uttered titles like mentor and teacher, professors would swoon and hand her recommendation letters.

Her prestigious diploma and letters of recommendation opened the path to Rome, and in the very year she graduated, Francesca stepped through the doors of the Secretariat.

However, that wasn’t enough.

Status? Just a civil servant. The Secretariat, assisting the Oracle, was a coveted workplace, but anyone with effort and luck could get in.

If she was going to climb, it had to be to a place that was not easily accessible.

Coincidentally, a good opportunity arose. Rumors had reached her ears that the Oracle was desperately searching for talents to manage their black funds.

Francesca put herself forward as that talent.

The Oracle, deeming the descendant of the Ranieri trustworthy, selected her and excluded other formidable applicants. The bloodline of the Archmage had become her solid guarantee, and Francesca expressed her gratitude to her ancestors who had left her with such a remarkable lineage.

As she approached power, power came into her grasp. Of course, endless gold followed suit.

But desires were like an unquenchable thirst, so Francesca was still not satisfied.

Money? Power?

Unless someone could manipulate the Empire with a mere finger or a family running the country by selling magic stones, those things held no value. The Ranieri family did not fall due to a lack of wealth or power. If she wanted to achieve revenge or anything else by herself, she needed to surpass at least her own family.

So, Francesca looked above. She promised herself that she would eventually reach that high place.

Now, several years have passed.

Very few remain standing above Francesca in the magical society.

“…….”

The civil servant of the Secretariat pondered while gazing out the window. People truly weren’t to be trusted.

In that context, the wizards guarding her villa seemed to her to be untrustworthy folks. Wizards were loyal to the Magic Tower. They were sent there by the Oracle after all.

Considering that no one except one had ever set foot inside the villa, the wizards lingering around were truly a bothersome presence. How on earth had such individuals come to my villa…?

Francesca groaned, pressing her forehead.

“…If those religious zealots had kept their mouths shut.”

If they had killed the demon, they could just boast about it; why were they claiming the heroes and their companions hunted the demon instead, gaining all the spotlight? The excessive public attention was a stumbling block for her, conducting business in the shadows.

With a deep sigh, Francesca fixed her eyes on the documents. Five months had passed since the northern issue was settled, but she still found herself busy managing businesses related to the north.

She loaded the items ordered by the Palm Tree Trade Guild onto a ship and sent them to the warehouse prepared by an orc from the Empire. The transaction fees were paid through a shell company set up in a tax haven while managing the Oracle’s black funds.

In illegal business, trust was as vital as life itself, so even minor mistakes could not be tolerated. Thankfully, she was adept at murky dealings, and her trading partners were equally sharp.

Just as she smoothly transferred funds and moved goods, she received a call one day while reviewing the numbers in the documents. It was a mobile phone equipped with a secrecy function to evade eavesdropping.

“Oh my.”

Francesca smiled faintly, recognizing the number displayed on the screen.

She had matters to discuss about work, and they hadn’t been in touch lately. Just when she was waiting for a call, the long-anticipated phone rang.

Closing the ledger, Francesca washed away her accumulated fatigue with a smile and greeted the caller with a warm voice.

“Good to hear from you, Colonel. It’s been a while. Why are you contacting me?”

—

It has already been five months since I took on the responsibility of the Mauritania Continent.

In the past five months, I have wrapped up nine businesses.

“Manager. We’ve obtained intelligence that the Kien Imperial Ministry of Defense is supporting the government army. They are said to be supplying tactics and weapons to the president’s elite guard.”

“Mark it for the person in charge. We need to gather all information, including the lodging for 24 hours, personnel on-site, and personal data.”

“Manager. There are reports of a state-owned enterprise violating the resolution and exporting magic stones to a dictatorship.”

“Find out the identities of the local executives, the representatives of partner firms, and who owns the shipping vessels involved.”

“Manager. A high-ranking official from the United People’s Party has appeared in the eastern region. The embassy has also withdrawn due to the civil war, and they say access is difficult in rebel activity areas. What should we do?”

“Air Force!”

Most of the work involved intelligence collection and analysis. Managing intelligence coming from the Mauritania Continent was my task.

Of course, sometimes there would be tasks related to monitoring and tracking rebel recruiters or political figures. These were gentlemen with names on the kill list of the Abas Information Agency.

Dealing with such people was another department’s responsibility, but occasionally, assassination missions were assigned to me as well.

In such cases, I went about resolving issues in a stylish and clean manner.

Aerial strikes.

“Manager, we have confirmed the target’s death.”

“Are you sure?”

“They were caught in that explosion. There’s no way they survived.”

“Send the pigeon back and move to the next feed.”

As the operations room operator issued commands, a pigeon monitoring the scene began to turn. The information officer waiting several kilometers away from the operation area recalled the pigeon and boarded the vehicle.

Aerial strikes from the Abas Information Agency usually unfolded like this. A beast laden with bombs circled the skies and flew toward its target, while a pigeon carrying video relay equipment gathered and returned with surveillance footage.

The kamikaze strikes by the expensive beasts bred and trained with hefty budgets would astonish even the most callous animal rights activists.

Yet, Abas Information Agency shamelessly undertook a mission that even the 8th Army of the past would never think of trying.

Having never assassinated anyone through aerial strikes in my life, it felt quite peculiar to be eliminating targets with birds instead of drones. One might even say it was an exhilarating feeling.

Though it seemed embarrassing, as long as it was effective, that was what mattered. If the success rate had plummeted, I might have found myself wallowing in self-pity, questioning, ‘Is this what I became an information officer for?’

“Ugh…”

In the operation that disregarded the sanctity of animal life or ethics, the nymph Charnoy teared up.

“Today, my cherished Sparrow No. 1 has passed away. It is truly a nymph-horrifying operation. Seeing the sacrifice of Sparrow No. 1, I, Charnoy, cannot stop my tears…”

The formal name was ‘Griffin No. 417’, which Charnoy whimsically named ‘Sparrow No. 1.’

This bird, birthed through interbreeding, was an animal lovingly cared for by Charnoy. Though employees of the responsible department took care of the griffin, Charnoy also offered a helping hand. On days when the lunch menu consisted of tasteless greens (salad), she would drop by the stable to feed it.

Charnoy’s naming sense was bewildering. Among all possible nicknames, why ‘sparrow’?

That name was far too adorable for a beast of such stature.

I paused my coffee brewing and called out to Charnoy.

“Are you that sad?”

“Of course! I am a member of the Nymph Protection Foundation. All animals are friends of the nymphs! Over the death of my cherished Sparrow No. 1, this Charnoy cannot help but weep!”

“Oh, there’s a honey candy here.”

“Honey candy…? Where is it…? Please, give honey candy to the grieving Charnoy…!”

While observing Charnoy, who had momentarily stopped crying doing a search for honey candy in the pantry, I quietly exited the situation room.

At that moment, a voice belonging to the nymph resonated from beyond the heavy iron door.

“Ah! The Black-haired Beast has tricked Charnoy again…!”

It was the cry of our office’s mascot, which had now become a celebrity.

—

In the past five months, I had performed a considerable number of missions.

It was said that I handled lucrative businesses that usually take several months to complete—two a month at most, and at least one.

Despite my body aging moment by moment, it was a remarkable achievement. Both the Military Intelligence Agency and the Royal Intelligence Department took note of the unexpectedly swift progress, and the committee expressed satisfactory responses.

Just yesterday, I assassinated a rebel recruiter and today, I eliminated a warlord. This was a fellow with the skills to exchange drugs for military funds. By the way, tomorrow I plan to liquidate an arms dealer in the black market.

What had begun as locating the whereabouts of a colleague had morphed into needing to tackle an overwhelming list of tasks before my formal deployment.

There were just too many bad guys in the world.

As someone who made a living from causing havoc, I found the best match for all the scoundrels.

I have no idea if hell actually exists, but I can genuinely hope there’s a premium seat in hell reserved specifically for those bastards.

Surveillance, tracking, gathering intelligence, and analyzing. After formulating operations based on that analyzed information, I reported the outputs to Leoni. As I processed business and time came to clock out, I picked up my ID at the security checkpoint.

“Clocking out.”

“Your ID can be retrieved in front.”

“Alright, you all take care.”

I collected my clock-out stamp and stepped out onto the street.

Now that I was free from work, it was time to set aside thoughts of work and relish in freedom.

I placed the briefcase filled with documents on my lap and stared at the view reflected in the window, pondering, ‘What shall I do today?’

Having talked to Camila last time, should I try calling Lucia today? As I settled into the backside of the bus, I recalled having spoken with Veronica recently, learning that her younger sibling had been busy with activities involving their cult. It wouldn’t do to disturb someone busy, so I decided to contact Francesca before going to bed, quietly stowing my phone.

Thoughts of inviting Pippin and Jake over for dinner crossed my mind—but I shook my head. They were in the joyous early stages of their romantic relationship; why would I want to interrupt that? Since it was Friday, they were likely enjoying dinner together already.

I couldn’t invite Charnoy either. Once a nymph got sulky, their temperament rivaled the anger of an enduring elf, and if she caught me fooling with honey candy, she’d be pulling my hair out in no time.

Calling Clevenz and Leoni felt slightly awkward as they were my supervisors, and running into your boss outside of work is one of the most tiresome experiences there is.

As I rode the bus through the city, I ultimately decided to change direction toward the Nostrim family townhouse.

“Noona, Hyung. I’m here! If you haven’t had dinner, let’s go out to eat. I’ve got ten seconds, so hurry out from under the bridge—”

“Did you arrive?”

While I was dusting myself off on the mat, the sudden greeting made me look up in surprise.

In the corridor connecting the kitchen and living room of the townhouse stood a middle-aged woman.

“You’ve come back late. Jerry and Adela are inside. Come in quickly.”

With her warm voice and face etched with wrinkles, she carried a grace that belied the passage of time.

After heartily exchanging greetings, she called out to me.

“My son.”

It was the matriarch of the Nostrim family.