A Dark Fantasy Spy

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Entering the territory claimed by the local government as ‘rebel’ occupied land was no walk in the park. Whispers of a potential state of emergency sent shivers down people’s spines.

The Ministry of Defense had yet to release an official statement, but the increased number of checkpoints along the roads leading to rebel areas gave credibility to the rumors swirling around.

However, the government military’s barricades were mere hurdles in my path.

“Thanks for your hard work.”

The soldiers stationed at the checkpoint easily waved my vehicle through. A few bills, some shifty beer, and maybe a smoke did the trick.

The bribed soldiers barely paid attention, just giving the SUV a cursory glance before letting us pass. They even ignored the routine identity checks that were supposed to apply to both citizens and foreigners. I handed them the documents and they skimmed over the papers before ushering me through.

It was evident that the government military’s regulations and controls had long since degraded into annoying formalities rather than actual obstacles.

Of course, this only applied to those who were on the receiving end of the bribes, but it gave me a palpable sense of just how chaotic the military behavior was.

“All clear.”

I drove my SUV into the Al Bas Tribe territory.

I crossed the checkpoint without a hitch, but my mind was still restless.

So much so that even Camila, still groggy from some dreamland, raised an eyebrow and asked, “Is something going on today?”

“Are you okay?”

“Why? Do I look weird to you?”

“Yes. Your expression looks like half-eaten eel jelly….”

Of course, it was a joke. She, more than anyone else, knew why my mind was so troubled.

The SUV roared forward with a thunderous exhaust.

As the aroma of cooking rice wafted from the chimneys, we approached the parking lot of the interrogation building, marking our third visit today.

There, I could finally confront the root cause of my unease.

—

Episode 16 – The Six Million Dollar Man

I made contact with Farid Al Bas, the guide assigned by the tribe chief.

“Welcome to the land of the Al Bas Tribe. I’m Farid, son of Nayan Al Bas.”

The man introducing himself as the chief’s son bore a familiar face to us all.

A young local in his mid-thirties. Compared to the dark-skinned warlord combatants, his skin was much fairer. He was a picture of health, far more vibrant than many I had encountered locally, and was also the heir of the Hassan warlord.

He spoke Kien fluently, a testament to his studies abroad in a country like the Ratouan Republic where Kien is also prevalent.

We shook hands formally and introduced ourselves.

“I’m the war correspondent, Asud.”

“Glad to meet you, Asud. Just call me Farid.”

After our initial meeting, my impressions of Farid began to sour, and I couldn’t help but feel it was no flattery.

“From today, I’ll assist you with your coverage. Well, I may not be of much help, though.”

Without even rummaging through the Military Intelligence database, I could tell that Farid was an easy person to assess.

Firstly, it was his attire.

He wore expensive designer clothing—a tailored suit, leather shoes, a cowhide belt, sunglasses made from buffalo horns, and so forth.

As I took in his appearance, I recalled what kind of person he was.

A graduate from a private university’s journalism department. His grades were average, and he had a mediocre attitude in class. He had been active in the sports club but never really played a full game. His hobby was shopping, especially buying things at department stores with his girlfriend.

For the record, he was quite the ladies’ man. In less than a month, he had two girlfriends in succession. He often contacted his father at month’s end, asking for more money as he spent lavishly every day.

In other words, Farid was just a slacker living off his family’s allowance, spending his days leisurely between study and enjoyment.

I couldn’t care less about Farid’s lifestyle; my only concern was that his extravagant way with women was enough to raise my distaste for him.

Was it due to prejudice? Or perhaps his eye-catching, bizarre fashion sense?

From the very moment we met, I couldn’t help but harbor negative feelings towards him.

And those negative feelings soon became reality.

“Ah…”

Farid retracted his hand and stretched widely, yawning.

An inappropriate behavior in front of a complete stranger, yet he did this brazenly in front of a guest his father had introduced.

The moment I saw that, it clicked.

Oh, this guy is a piece of work.

“…….”

As the tribesmen shot him disapproving glares, Farid didn’t seem to care in the slightest. Apparently, being Nayan’s favorite child was indeed true.

This uneasy feeling wasn’t pleasant. Trying to shake this uncanny premonition, I swiftly initiated a work-related conversation.

“I’ll be staying here from today, covering the villages. Where should we start?”

“Villages? Oh, well, you can go wherever you’d like, Mr. Journalist.”

His response was lackluster, devoid of enthusiasm. It was a rather troubling sign. As our guide and the de facto head of the tribe, his noncommittal attitude towards the coverage was far from favorable for me, as a journalist or as an information officer.

But the bad vibes didn’t stop there. Farid took his antics a step beyond my expectations.

“Well then, I’ll be off. You all discuss among yourselves and let me know what you decide.”

“Yes, Farid.”

He casually excused himself, seemingly disinterested in the coverage, told his subordinates to consult me, and left the scene. When we spoke, he appeared fine, but as soon as he spotted the tribesmen, he grimaced.

He strutted over to the vehicle the warlords had prepared, swung the door wide open, and flopped into the back seat. He then took out rolled-up earphones as if he’d found some treasure.

What a weirdo! I thought inwardly at that moment.

“…….”

I unexpectedly locked eyes with the warlord duo, who had become the tribe’s officials I was now countering as a war correspondent—a humorous connection we had from the interrogation room.

The tribesmen averted their gaze, giving awkward smiles. Clearly, they were used to this sort of scenario.

Noticing this, Camila cautiously chimed in.

“It doesn’t seem like it’ll go smoothly.”

“I know.”

I let out a deep internal sigh.

This operation was likely to prove more complicated than anticipated.

—

Despite a small disturbance, coverage proceeded as planned.

We were guided by the Al Bas Tribe members, represented by the warlord duo, to nearby villages.

My first task there was to obtain permission for coverage.

“Hello! I’m Asud, here to cover the village. May I have your permission?”

Suddenly barging into a reclusive rural neighborhood with a camera is quite a faux pas. The residents, being people too, are hesitant to have their privacy exposed and prefer to avoid the commotion that a visit could bring.

The locals were wary of the foreign intruder, but once the tribesmen explained our purpose, they welcomed us as guests.

“Village chief. Permission granted. Very quickly.”

The warlord duo, having overheard a whisper from the tribesmen, approached me to relay the good news that our coverage had been approved. The clumsy Kien they spoke with still felt a bit foreign to me, but I had no trouble understanding the meaning.

The area where we were allowed to cover was close to the border (a term for the line between government jurisdiction and tribal territory). Given that a mechanized division of the government forces was stationed nearby, I had expected to face hurdles, but contrary to my expectations, Nayan approved our requests.

It seemed they genuinely wanted to inform the world about the unjust realities they were facing through me, the war correspondent. Though I had only exchanged words with Nayan once, deciphering his intentions was not all that hard.

“I heard the army is quite close by. Is the village safe?”

“Army. Very bad people. Residents. Uncertain. Scared to sleep.”

The warlord duo that accompanied me on this expedition served as translators.

When I posed questions in Kien, they would translate into the local dialect for the villagers.

“I’ve heard that the army that occupied this village has wronged the residents severely. Would you mind sharing what you experienced?”

I meticulously recorded every testimony from the villagers. The main subject of my inquiries was the atrocities committed by the government forces within the village. Nayan, who granted the permission to cover, was indeed keen on this topic.

Though it was an obvious ploy, I was willing to fulfill his request. My main goal was the leader of the Hassan warlords, and I needed Nayan’s assistance for contact.

Of course, I didn’t solely conduct interviews that would benefit the warlord.

“I hear there’s a mine near the village?”

“A huge mine. Lots of coal. Very rich.”

I gathered intelligence about the facilities within the Al Bas Tribe’s territory through the villagers’ accounts. These testimonies would serve as intel backing up information the Military Intelligence hadn’t managed to grasp.

“The army is aiming for the coal mine, is that true?”

“Yes. The mine has plenty of coal. The army wants coal. There’s a shortage of electricity.”

“And you don’t mine magic stones?”

“Magic stones? Impossible. The mine dried up long ago and is very dangerous. Anyone who enters becomes ill. My father also died because of it.”

During the ongoing coverage, I discovered that some villagers were proficient in Kien.

Though their skills were limited, at least they could communicate back and forth fluently.

These villagers were predominantly elderly, having immigrated from the Sanya Tribe to the land of Hassan. They recalled their childhood, recounting visits from “soldiers from the Kien Empire in uniforms”.

Were they from reconnaissance command? Or from the special forces? It didn’t matter which. Special units from the empire were all overseen by military intelligence.

The sporadic Kien-speaking elders appeared to be fascinated by the young foreigner visiting their village. In conversation, they would often ask me if I was from the empire.

“No, I’m not from Kien. I’m from Ratouan.”

“Ratouan? Where’s that? What country is that?”

“It’s a nation to the east of the empire.”

Of course, that was nonsense. I had never set foot in Ratouan in my life.

Yet, the elders didn’t seem too concerned about my origins. If anything, the warlord duo, particularly the male member, was the one observing me intently.

To be more precise, he was keenly watching my movements.

“Why are you staring so hard?”

“…Nothing.”

His shy demeanor showed he was embarrassed about his Kien skills. As he found it hard to directly communicate with the elders without translation, he resorted to peeling fruits to offer to the elder, making a small mess instead.

The village residents stared at me, the outsider, with keen curiosity.

Many had likely never left the village in their lives, as they clung to the entrance and windows of the house where the interview was taking place, eager to catch a glimpse of the white foreigner.

One odd thing was that the focus of the villagers’ attention was solely on me. I puzzled over why they were so indifferent to Camila, another foreigner, but seeing her in action helped clarify the situation.

“Hello, kids?”

“Wow! You can speak our language!”

“Of course.”

Camila was engaging with the village children. Enthralled by a foreigner speaking their native language fluently, the kids were in high spirits.

We decided to abandon our annoying magician persona and go for a more approachable image. Camila donned a gentle smile and used her vocal chords, akin to a built-in translation device, to interact with the kids. She had also come thoroughly prepared, as per my advice.

The sharp metal rod sticking out from beneath her robe was easily recognizable as an automatic rifle even from afar. It was an automatic rifle of the Kien Empire purchased from Victor.

In a neighborhood where bolt-action rifles from the world wars were still considered current, the prestige of possessing an automatic rifle was nothing short of monumental. Just seeing the villagers instinctively step back at the sight of a frail foreign woman carrying an automatic rifle showed how potent it was.

Normally, one would avoid anyone in robes in this area, but when that person is clad in a robe while also carrying an automatic rifle, it sent a clear message. Camila was attracting both suspicion and fear, being regarded visibly as an occupying colonial force. One could only imagine how her distant predecessors (colonialists) might have wept at this sight.

Of course, kids wouldn’t know or care about such things. Hence, they approached Camila with pure curiosity devoid of any suspicion.

Nice work.

Meanwhile, as the warlord duo was serving fruits, a villager murmured something that caught my attention.

“They’re very curious. The residents. A white person. First time seeing one.”

“Ah….”

Well, I was more or less accustomed to this sort of treatment. Back in my intelligence days, when I boggled around Africa and the Middle East, I faced similar surprises.

Some would ask if I was from Korea, while others would mention China or Japan, and one even unexpectedly brought up India, but the locals often gazed at an east Asian speaker of their own language with curiosity. Of course, some also offered less-than-warm glances.

Like being mistaken for a Chinese person once. In an area where a Chinese company had left a mess, I received a barrage of insults from residents who assumed I was Chinese. I was subjected to everything, from someone squinting their eyes at me to people hurling stuff while shouting to go back to their country.

That time I was tremendously frustrated, yet I couldn’t even claim I wasn’t Chinese, as my counterfeit passport just happened to be a Chinese one. Hence, after that incident, I refrained from utilizing the Chinese passport altogether.

“Thank you for participating in the coverage.”

“Thank you for letting us share our story. Welcome, foreigner.”

After visiting a few more villages, it appeared that the local folks were generally welcoming toward me.

It was partly due to the fact that I was a foreign journalist with no ties to the government, but also because the Al Bas Tribe members had enthusiastically introduced me.

Perhaps Nayan Al Bas had ordered them to cooperate actively with the media. Certainly, Farid’s mess would prompt an urgent need to restore the tribe’s reputation.

While the tribesmen busied themselves making contact with the locals, Farid seemed content to watch from a distance.

“…….”

He perched himself atop the trunk of the vehicle we came in, his gaze fixed on the vast desert rather than the village. I had no way of knowing what he was staring at, but it seemed he was gazing out at the horizon.

Is there something out there?

I brought out my binoculars to check the horizon, but couldn’t see anything noteworthy.

“Where are you looking?”

“Ah, Camila.”

“Must be some fun thing you’re looking at.”

“Nope. Just taking in the scenery for a bit.”

Camila, who had crept up carrying her rifle, borrowed my binoculars to join in the viewing.

I passed the binoculars over to her, recalling my need to gather more information, so I proceeded to enter a different house with the tribesmen.

Just then, a problem arose.

While I was deeply engaged in collecting intel from local villagers about the government forces and the Hassan warlords, a tribesman burst in, wildly shouting at the warlord duo.

The duo, who had been listening to the residents’ accounts, exchanged hurried words with the breathless tribesman before turning to look at me, their expressions unmistakably anxious.

“What’s going on?”

“Asud. It’s….”

“Has the government military barged in?”

The man shook his head.

“Problem. Has arisen.”

Ah, what problem, exactly?

Just as I was about to ask, the warlord man spoke first.

“Your bodyguard.”

—

Camila seems to be in trouble. At hearing that, a whirlwind of theories flashed through my mind.

The foremost thought was of course robbery or thievery. The Mauritania Continent’s safety had never been stellar, and being a rural area, the influence of the government was diminished. The long-standing drought coupled with civil wars had depleted resources, paving the way for rampant armed robbery.

Just yesterday, they had issued a notice in the Kien Empire’s embassy about the threats posed by armed robbers. The note included brief news of an imperial tourist receiving police protection after an attack.

I grabbed my notebook and recalled the hidden location of my knife as I hurried to the scene.

If it were robbers, they’d surely be armed, but as long as they weren’t packing heat, I was confident in my ability to restrain them.

With my hands feeling over my pockets, I headed in the direction where Camila had been situated. And I was taken aback.

“…What? Why are you perfectly fine?”

The Camila I had encountered again appeared to be in perfectly good shape.

She peered at me with sparkling eyes. The binoculars I had handed her were still in her hands, and her automatic rifle was snugly fitted on her body, having likely adjusted the straps.

“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

“Ah, no. Not that….”

I stammered in disbelief at her stunningly untroubled demeanor, recalling if she had kicked up any trouble, and thankfully, it seemed she hadn’t caused any chaos.

Instead, it appeared someone else had gotten into trouble.

Surrounded by tribesmen, Farid was loudly objecting to something. A middle-aged local man, older than him, advanced toward him, his face flushed, gesturing wildly as he reprimanded Farid.

This made no sense.

I inquired with Camila about what had transpired, soon discerning the shreds of the incident’s truth.

“Oh, he just started talking to me.”

Camila replied, all nonchalant.

Started talking? Taken aback, I re-asked her.

She nodded.

At that moment, I mused inwardly: that loony has finally made a mistake.

“How did he start talking to you?”

“Well, I was just here checking out the desert when he approached me, asking if looking at the desert was enjoyable. I said it was honestly boring. Then he started asking all sorts of questions like where I was from and my name.”

“Oh.”

After hearing her explanation, I finally pieced together how events unfolded.

With the cultural norms here, unmarried men and women typically don’t engage in casual conversation. Depending on the village, family members might not even eat at the same table.

Hence, when we first visited here, the warlord duo had been subjected to questioning because of the mixed-gender presence. Even for foreigners, it was customary to send in a duo to avoid any potential entanglements with the opposite gender.

Though, such practices aren’t strictly enforced. Many people have moved past those supposed customs, and even in rural areas, you could witness young men and women carefully conversing away from the watchful eyes of elders, as time tends to erode traditions.

But it appeared a tribesman had witnessed Farid trying to speak with Camila, who recollected her version of the events.

“Suddenly, that middle-aged man approached angrily.”

“Angry at you?”

“No, at Farid. He utterly unhinged, grabbing Farid’s hand and dragging him a few paces away as he shouted at him.”

“What did he say?”

“He scolded him for showing disrespect to the tribe’s guests and yelled at him for speaking thoughtlessly to a woman.”

Seems the tribesmen had mistakenly interpreted Farid’s behavior as flirtation. Given their concerns over etiquette, it was no wonder they were riled up.

However, I still suspected Farid was up to something. When I asked Camila if he had made any advances, she explained that there was certainly no overture from him.

“Flirt? I didn’t get that vibe at all! He just asked my name and where I was from, then started complaining about how dull the place was.”

“Complaining?”

“It sounded a bit disenchanted, claiming it was a boring town, I reckon.”

So he was complaining about local conditions. But why on earth would he pick Camila to vent about this?

I ruminated over Farid’s character. I recalled a short report about him having a degree in journalism and a brief visit to a professor. He had seemed to express interest in attending graduate school.

Was he academically ambitious, or did he just want to prolong his stay in a foreign country? I couldn’t be sure, but I did remember that his return seemed more ambitious under his father’s will.

“Seems like he’s nostalgic for his foreign experience.”

Yet, whatever thoughts the warlord’s youngest son had was not worth my concern.

I sought out the tribesman who had quarreled with Farid to express that it was merely a misunderstanding, hoping to mediate.

While this incident wouldn’t jeopardize my ties with Nayan Al Bas, I aimed to prevent any tense atmosphere from arising. Of course, if the situation escalated, I’d be ready to claim offense and push back hard. After all, opportunities and crises are always a fine line.

Once the dispute was settled, we clambered back into the vehicles to move on to another region. Even though Farid’s blunder had cast a shadow over the atmosphere, each party took different vehicles, reducing the likelihood of any further disputes.

But the issue came from another source.

“…You’re saying we can’t go there?”

I shot a look of disbelief at the warlord duo, pointing at the map laid out on the hood.

“This village. You’re saying I can’t go there? Did I hear that right?”

“Correct. We can’t go to this place. Very dangerous. Might die.”

The warlord duo answered with an unusually clear enunciation, each word pronounced deliberately. A hint of anxiety laced their voices.

I found the whole affair utterly absurd, glancing back at the map again. The village I pointed to was closest to the border.

Though I had gained considerable intel from the villages I visited today, this final destination was the crux of my information-gathering mission. The government’s station was nearby.

The tribe chief had referred to the government forces as “the sword hanging over our necks,” emphasizing their threatening presence. While from the perspective of the Abas Army, the mechanized forces might be relatively weak, they could unexpectedly pivot the course of this operation.

The government military base was situated at a significant distance from the village, but good visibility on clear days could make the base visible to the naked eye. If I could capture high-quality images of the base using the magic imaging equipment disguised as broadcasting gear, I could potentially gather crucial insights regarding their deployments, equipment, and troop strength.

And according to forecasts from the local weather bureau, today and tomorrow were the only days in this week promising decent weather.

If I missed this chance, it would be a full two weeks before I could return to the site again.

“No way. Nayan himself granted us permission to cover this area, didn’t he? All of a sudden, changing your stance is absurd.”

I summoned up a measure of authority from Nayan Al Bas, pushing forward as firmly as possible. Shunning an order from a superior in a military hierarchy like theirs was no small feat.

Yet the tribesmen stood resolute in their refusal. They were adamant that they could not guide us to that village.

“It’s absolutely forbidden.”

Even the warlord duo explicitly expressed their disapproval.

“…….”

Frustrated, I gazed around the desert.

Worrying about dehydration, Camila offered me water and I gulped it down, wetting my headscarf. I turned to the tribesmen again.

“Why on earth can’t we go there? Huh? You have to at least tell me why.”

Just then, a voice came from somewhere that wasn’t the warlord duo or any tribesman.

“Monsters.”

Farid, sitting in the warlord’s vehicle, leaned out, shaking his head.

“There are monsters living over there.”