A Dark Fantasy Spy

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The wind began to stir ominously as the sun dipped toward the west, and soon enough, thunder and lightning erupted.

Fortunately, the meteorological report indicated that it wouldn’t rain tonight.

Despite the ferocious winds, the local meteorological agency’s forecast pointed to clear skies.

As the deep indigo sky wrapped around like a blanket, the scarlet sunset sprawled across the earth in early evening.

The guest came to us alongside a crackling lightning strike.

—

Episode 16 – The Six Million Dollar Man

—

If you were to ask an information officer living abroad when the most precarious moment is, most would say it’s the first meeting with an information agent after completing a mission.

However, if you twist the question slightly and ask what the most common danger is, people would respond like this: the moment you encounter local civilians.

This might seem like a puzzling answer to folks living in this age of travel vloggers booming and skyrocketing average income levels, where access to information and travel has overwhelmingly increased. They might say, “What’s so dangerous about chatting with, dining with, and sharing a place to stay with locals you randomly meet while traveling?”

But crossing borders for an information agency is a public duty somewhat removed from mere travel, and because of the nature of my identity, the majority of foreigners I encounter locally are deemed connected to intelligence agencies.

So, the overwhelming majority of information officers regard contact with civilians as a hazard.

My thoughts were hardly different.

During my time in the Information Agency, my first posting in China was infamous for its high-level counter-intelligence, and the same could be said for Russia, the successor of the KGB, the pioneer of socialist counter-intelligence.

In the dozen years of experience I’ve had in the Information Agency, the countries I visited mostly had socialist regimes or were experiencing them, and outside of allied nations, black-haired foreigners weren’t too warmly welcomed.

Thus, many of the civilians I encountered were actually information agents linked to counter-intelligence agencies. There were times when not just subcontractors but the prime employees directly approached me too, with China being one such instance.

In that context, regions like Africa and the Middle East were somewhat better off. They were areas where state-led surveillance systems hadn’t taken root.

Interestingly, armed groups that tightened their grip over areas were far more frightening than counter-intelligence agencies supported by the government.

Such experiences were still relevant as I worked in the Military Intelligence Agency.

It was the case in the Kien Empire and even the Mauritania Continent. Especially in this place, where the locals were predominantly swindlers or scoundrels, the lessons learned in the third world of the globe rang true once again.

Perhaps because of that…

“…….”

When I faced a local knocking on my accommodation’s door in the early evening, I couldn’t muster a cheerful expression.

—

As I checked the SUV, I casually threw a question to the resident who had come to visit me.

“Were we meeting for the first time?”

“Yes.”

The local man replied in a deep voice. Though he was a skinny fellow, there was a sense of vigor in his voice and gaze.

I didn’t know his name as he had never introduced himself before. However, I did remember the role he had in the village.

“Vigilante Leader, am I right?”

The man nodded his head once.

Given the nature of the local country, which had over four major tribes coexisting, it was necessary to learn at least five languages to communicate effectively with all its citizens.

However, individuals who had received a certain level of education could manage conversations using Mauritania’s official language.

I was someone who could speak that language decently. My experiences in the Middle East had allowed me to pick up Fus-ha (Modern Standard Arabic) and master various regional dialects.

Thus, I threw out a question with quite decent pronunciation, and the man answered in the official language with a strong rural accent.

“It seems you are well-educated. You can speak the official language.”

Upon expressing my curiosity, the man opened up.

“When I was young, missionaries who visited the village taught us. They were people who taught the illiterate kids how to read.”

“Ah, I see.”

The term missionary likely refers to the Cleric of the Cult.

It’s common knowledge even among those indifferent to religion that the Cult sends clergymen and monks around the world for missionary work.

I didn’t know where those missionaries operated or what activities they engaged in, but I was aware that they were captured and executed by the government forces—a high-profile piece of news that made headlines in the global media about three years ago.

As with any country that has a designated state religion, religions other than Al-Yabd are despised here.

It wasn’t hard to imagine what kind of fate awaited the missionaries in regions where the death penalty is often imposed on apostates and heretical clergymen.

Of course, the death of the missionaries didn’t hold any significance for me.

What mattered was that both I and the Vigilante Leader possessed communication skills that allowed us to converse without needing a translator.

And he was the third guest to visit us today.

I tossed the wrench into the toolbox and finally spoke up.

“You came because of the Magician, didn’t you?”

“…….”

“Earlier, the Elder and the Village Chief also visited. Both proposed the same thing.”

It was expected that the purpose of this man’s visit would align with those of the two previous guests.

My guess turned out to be correct.

The Vigilante Leader, who had been matching my gaze as if reading my thoughts, solemnly nodded his head and finally spoke.

“I heard from the Village Chief that you’re leaving the village tomorrow.”

“That’s right.”

“Could you not stay longer in the village?”

The third guest had come with the same request as the previous two. And my reply was identical to the answers I had given them.

“It’s impossible.”

Before the Vigilante Leader could say anything, I cut him off, providing a plausible reason.

“I still have places to cover for my research.”

I rejected the guest’s request due to the abundance of areas needing exploration, a reason fitting my identity as a war correspondent.

However, the real reason to leave the village was far too simple—I had already gathered the information I sought.

Despite the warlords’ attempts to dissuade me, I had come all the way to the rural outskirts to scout a government army outpost stationed near the border.

The government outpost was so threatening that Nayan Al Bas, a senior executive of the three-group warlords, described it as a ‘blade dangling over his throat.’

I was assessing the level of armament in the government army to determine how it might affect their ‘business,’ as well as how to support the three-group warlords so they could contend with the mechanized divisions of the government army.

And that intelligence had already been relayed to the Military Intelligence Agency.

“I’m sorry, but I have no further inquiries to make while I’m here.”

Since I had acquired the desired material, there was no longer any reason to linger. This was something the warlords also understood.

But it seemed the residents had a somewhat different view.

“Please think about it just once more.”

The Vigilante Leader earnestly requested that I stay in the village longer.

Seeing a man older than me bowing down to this extent gave me a strange feeling.

However, my stance remained unchanged.

“You witnessed it firsthand yesterday, didn’t you? The locusts that devoured human flesh and feasted on crops. Last time we were fortunate, but this time it’ll be hard to endure….”

“I’m sorry, but I genuinely can’t offer any assistance.”

I firmly drew the line. There was no way I could help.

Perhaps displeased with my answer, the Vigilante Leader’s expression subtly shifted, but that didn’t sway my resolve.

“Why not seek help from the Al Bas Tribe instead? The honorable leader of the Hassan Tribe has close ties to their chief; I’m sure he doesn’t lack in honor either. They would be willing to help you.”

“Why don’t you just go to the warlords? This was the third suggestion I made.”

“Isn’t this area originally the territory of the Al Bas Tribe?”

“They won’t help us.”

“Because you are immigrants from another tribe?”

“Yes.”

This was already the third time I was hearing this today.

The residents who established roots here were not the natives of this area.

Originally, they belonged to a tribe other than Hassan. When the goblins, bearing the banner of the Red Revolution, clashed in a bloody civil war with the local government, they left their homeland and moved here—a tale from over twenty years ago.

People migrating to escape civil wars are a common sight on the streets, so it wasn’t particularly problematic. But it was the affair of stealing supplies seized from foreign relief organizations before fleeing just prior to leaving that created the root of the issue.

In a land where honor is valued as highly as life, dishonorable actions become the target of social condemnation. It could even put one’s life in jeopardy.

Fights to preserve tribal honor often lead to murders, and it’s not unusual for a father to kill a son who brings shame to the family by troubling guests, a sight often seen in the Middle East.

But fleeing by stealing other people’s belongings? That’s a choice so dishonorable one would have no justification even if killed.

Thus, the Al Bas Tribe shunned the residents who had settled near the border. They might spare their lives, but they left them to fend for themselves amidst the desert.

In other words, the villagers had no hill to lean on, even if their lives were at stake.

Their original tribe was bent on revenge, while the tribe that took them in wouldn’t even look at those who had lost their honor.

In the end, they have no choice but to beg a foreigner they have never even met for assistance.

“If this keeps up, we will all die. Please help us just this once.”

“…….”

The Vigilante Leader persistently requested I reconsider my stance.

“The monsters aren’t the only problem. The border raiders are starting to come out in full force.”

“I’ve heard that too. The orcs who have tamed the native creatures are raiding the village, right?”

“The goblins are a problem too. The remnants who survived the civil war still remain in the unreachable wilderness, untouched by government forces. The warlords have not dared touch them either.”

“Yes, I know that too. And I hear there are armed robbers active near the village lately?”

“…….”

The Vigilante Leader, who had been chattering nonstop, suddenly fell silent.

I turned to him and asked again.

“Is that not the case?”

“…What you heard is probably right.”

His answer was a stark contrast to the confidence he had displayed earlier. I nodded silently, deciding to keep my thoughts to myself.

“You seem to have a lot on your mind, as you’re leading the vigilante group.”

The Vigilante Leader simply nodded in response without speaking. Although his complexion wasn’t bright, he was a man who rarely gave up.

The persuasion directed at me continued.

Initially, he appealed to emotions, followed by proposing a deal.

“While you’re staying in the village, we will provide lavish hospitality. I promise you that.”

“I’m sorry, but I feel like I’ve already received more than enough hospitality.”

“What about money?”

The man subtly suggested a deal.

He guided me past the huts where the residents lived, leading me to a warehouse. Inside was a bag containing quite a bit of cash.

The Vigilante Leader claimed this was the wealth gathered by the villagers over the years.

Next to that bag, muddled with old local currency and foreign currencies from across the globe, were similar bags piled up. As I peeked into one that hadn’t been properly closed, crisp bills were stuffed inside.

It looked like a considerable amount.

“I’ll give you this. In exchange, please stay in the village.”

“…….”

“I don’t expect you to stay here for long either. As a journalist, you likely have errands elsewhere. I’ll give you all this money. Instead….”

He carefully opened the zipper and lowered his voice. Then he presented a discreet request.

“I hope the Magician will remain here.”

This was the crux of what all three guests had come to convey.

They wished for Camila to stay in the village.

The reasons behind that were easily discernible, even without deep thinking.

—

Flick!

The sound of a lighter echoed in the shabby warehouse.

With a lit cigarette pinched between my fingers, I inhaled deeply and savored the smoke.

“…….”

The response came when the dying ember of the cigarette crumbled beneath the toe of my boot.

This was already the third time I was spewing out my answer for today.

—

When I returned to my lodging, a deep darkness had settled in the surroundings.

The dry thunder and lightning shook the heavens, and Camila, wrapped in a blanket, lay quietly facing away.

I sat on the floor and checked my equipment.

With a little pressure from my fingers, the dust cover peeled away, and a mere flick of my wrist sent a cluster of triggers clattering to the ground.

Applying oil to the mechanism and pulling the trigger a few times, the sound of metal clanging melded together smoothly, like the sharp teeth of a beast interlocking.

I propped the rifle aside and began examining my pistol.

The pistol modeled after the Kien Empire’s design was heavier and cruder than the original. Still, it was a firearm and operated decently.

“…….”

While I was laying out the magazine and loading the ammunition, I fell into quiet contemplation. With a click, a round chambered, and the clunky body reflected the dim light.

In a town where honor was held in greater regard than life itself, how did those who lost their honor survive?

I would soon learn the answer to that question.

With a clink, I slid a live round into the chamber and moved closer to the window.

“…….”

As dry thunder and lightning howled through the skies above.

The twilight settled down across the border began to writhe.