A Dark Fantasy Spy

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“…I see.”

As a familiar name popped up, the tension that had been in the air disappeared.

Nasir removed the magazine and pulled back the slide, letting the live round tumble across the office floor.

“Was it someone sent by that woman? Which agency? The Royal Intelligence Department or the Military Intelligence Agency?”

“The Ministry of Defense.”

“Ah, a soldier then.”

He nodded silently.

Placing his pistol on the horizontal table, he pulled a chair towards him.

It’s been over 20 years since he’d undergone operative training, yet the habits ingrained in his aging body remained sharp.

I stood up and introduced myself formally.

“I’m Asud from the Military Intelligence Agency. Director Leoni sent me.”

Breaking the norm and revealing one’s true identity is considered taboo among intelligence officers.

However, for the sake of mutual trust, such disclosures sometimes happen.

The old man stroked his wrinkled cheek and cast a steady glance at me while holstering his pistol.

“Nice to meet you, Asud. I’m Sheikh Nasir Al Hassan.”

“I know.”

He was certainly not someone who would miss the fact that I was using a pseudonym, but Nasir didn’t inquire about my real name. He knew it was bad manners.

After making our introductions clear, I took a seat beside him.

There was no more need for hiding; it was time to get to the point. After savoring a sip of coffee and letting the aroma envelop me, I began.

“The reason I’ve come to see you, Nasir…”

Nasir waved his hand.

“If it’s not urgent, it’s getting late, so let’s have some tea and rest for today. We can talk tomorrow.”

His words were soft, but the atmosphere felt curiously coercive.

His gaze shifted from me to the window. The western sky, once bathed in fiery red, was now only allowing the very top of the sun to peek over the horizon.

Having spent time traversing the territory of the Al Bas tribe to reach Hassan’s stronghold, and with the tedious search dragging on, this was to be expected.

“It’s not urgent.”

Moments later, steam began to rise from the kettle, bubbling contentedly. Nasir pulled out tea leaves from the drawer, tossing a couple of jasmine leaves into two cups before pouring water and handing one to me.

One was placed in front of me, and the other in front of him.

He sipped his tea peacefully, and I followed suit, tasting the subtle jasmine flavor that filled my mouth.

Glancing at his watch, Nasir casually broke the silence.

“Still, there’s time, so go ahead and share your thoughts.”

—

As you make a living by conning others, you inevitably develop an eye for people.

And judging by my assessment, Nasir was definitely not a man to be trifled with.

From the moment I entered the stronghold until this very conversation, he had been flexing his authority, maintaining control over the dialogue.

Despite having called a guest, he wouldn’t spare a glance my way, and when I began to lay out my purpose, he deflected, suggesting we talk later. Yet, he still personally brewed and served tea.

In such a situation, it’s hard for a guest to refuse the host’s offer.

The control of the conversation naturally lies with the host.

The cycle of refusal and pressure, delay and permission tends to corner individuals. When someone grows impatient, they often bite the bait and let their words spill out.

At such times, people inevitably leak more information than necessary. They end up discussing matters they shouldn’t.

As a result, the conversation gradually slips into a labyrinth. The guest struggles to grasp the host’s intentions, while the host passively absorbs the guest’s words, accumulating information. The flow of dialogue always tends to favor the host.

Then, when the listener carefully poses the question they truly want to ask, the exuberant speaker begins to ramble.

Most leading interrogations play out in this manner.

It would be a hard situation for a regular guest to escape.

For a regular guest, anyway.

—

I sipped my tea and rattled off calculations in my mind.

Has he trained in information gathering too? The way he spoke was precisely the style favored by intelligence officers. Leoni must have taught him well.

In any case, he wasn’t a conversationalist who’d benefit from excessive chatter.

Let’s keep it brief.

“I came looking for assistance regarding matters with the Asen and Sanya tribes. I have a few requests, of course.”

Nasir nodded along, as if encouraging me to continue.

“I hear there’s someone from the Sanya side who’s searching for buyers for ammunition. Not long ago, a similar proposal came through our intelligence lines. If we form a deal with Sanya, it could prove disastrous for Hassan, hence I came to respect Hassan’s honor.”

I let slip some intel obtained by the Military Intelligence Agency last month. It was news shared by a weapons dealer employed by local intelligence agents concerning the activities of the two groups of warlords.

“If ammunition is supplied to Sanya, it could only harm Hassan.”

Nasir nodded, peeling back the layers of the warlord society.

“It’s well-known that Hassan and Sanya don’t share a good relationship. So, Abbas wants to propose a separate deal with Hassan, does he?”

“Exactly.”

I tossed out a new topic with a relaxed tone. The source of this intel was from the Royal Intelligence Department.

“I heard recently that the Sanya side provoked the Asen tribe. This led Asen to halt their arms exports to Sanya.”

“If it’s about the nitrate and indium mines, I’ve heard of that. The Asen forces caused some trouble in Sanya’s territory.”

“Do you have any insights on that?”

“Hmm, I know various things.”

Suddenly, a hunch clicked in. Nasir had taken the bait.

Conflicts between warlords are of primary interest to rival warlords.

Asen and Sanya are the two mightiest factions in this land, and the mines where the materials for explosives are harvested are crucial strategic points.

Thus, clashes between Group 1 and Group 2 would certainly attract the utmost attention from Group 3.

“It seems Sanya had their reasons for provoking Asen as well.”

“The very attempt to forcibly merge the explosive production sites seems like Sanya was trying to produce explosives for themselves, huh? Asen had no choice but to counter.”

“Well, that is likely their intent, but the important thing is that Sanya had justification.”

I began unwinding the details of the conflicts among warlords from that time.

“It’s said that a nephew of the Asen chief extorted money from a trader belonging to the Sanya tribe. He still hasn’t returned it. This money was a necklace, and his nephew is reportedly still wearing it.”

Nasir’s face twisted slightly.

Naturally, he knew the Asen chief well enough to understand.

“Bin’t’s nephew? There are over ten of them, isn’t that right?”

The Asen Warlord chief, Sheikh Bint Al Asen.

“Jamila Al Asen.”

“If it were another nephew, Bin’t might be deliberately provoking conflict to seize the initiative, but Jamila is…”

The leader of Hassan downed the remaining tea in one gulp and walked over to his office desk.

“Jamila is known for being a troublemaker. Even when she visited our tribe, she caused such a ruckus that ultimately Bin’t had to compensate.”

I posed a question to him out of genuine curiosity.

“Does that mean Asen didn’t intend for this incident to occur?”

It’s unknown whether this recent conflict was a calculated attempt by Asen or not. I lacked the evidence. I needed intel.

Nasir responded.

“That’s ambiguous. Jamila recently began establishing herself under Bin’t and started learning on the job. I hear she’s responsible for taxes.”

This was breaking news.

According to intel shared by foreign agencies, Jamila was one of the nieces Bin’t cherished and had likely been sent abroad for education, given Bin’t’s notoriously protective nature.

But if Jamila is now taking charge of Asen tribal matters, that renders the situation entirely different.

My mental calculator began whirring like crazy.

Jamila, who had instigated the conflict between warlords, is now involved with Asen’s affairs. It could mean that the dispute over the nitrate and indium extraction points is still a matter of warlords’ rivalry.

In other words, her actions could very well be calculated.

Just then, Nasir suddenly asked me a question.

“So, what do you intend to do?”

“I’m going to weaken the Asen and Sanya tribes. My aim is to instigate conflict between the two warlords.”

The leader of Hassan slowly turned toward me.

“…But that will also bring harm to Hassan.”

“I’m here to minimize that damage. Actually, I’m here to offer you benefits.”

At last, the smile vanished from the old man’s face.

He sat down in his chair with a solemn demeanor and quietly closed his eyes.

A while passed. Nasir remained deep in thought, his mouth pressed firmly shut.

The moment his tranquil contemplation concluded, and the tea that had been served grew cold.

Nasir’s wrinkled lips began to move.

“This is a difficult situation. Abbas’ intelligence officers certainly wouldn’t dive headfirst into dangerous provocations between Asen and Sanya… So, does that mean we’re the ones risking danger?”

“……”

“At the very least, some good faith must be shown, no?”

He implied I should bring gifts. A down payment, no less.

Well… I figured that would be a natural response. Why would Nasir trust an unfamiliar face enough to provide troops?

I turned to him with a smile on my face.

“Do you have anything you’d like to request of me?”

“I have plenty to ask of foreign intelligence agencies… but the first thing that comes to mind is weaponry and ammunition.”

That wasn’t a bad request.

Nasir listed his requirements while reclining in his chair. It was a gesture that conveyed he had nothing more to say.

“First, we’ll need time to prepare. You should wait outside for now. I will call you again later.”

It was a pleasant-sounding statement, yet it held no substance.

He was dodging a commitment.

He was saying he would decide after receiving the goods.

—

Though I didn’t get the answers I sought, the meeting proved somewhat fruitful.

I gained new intel and noted Hassan’s demands.

After all, Hassan had no choice but to accept my offer. The Asen and Sanya tribes posed a threatening competition to Hassan. It would be insane to take on both powerful warlords simultaneously.

Thus, Nasir’s remaining option would be to crush his rivals with Abbas’s support.

I just needed them to bring a satisfactory down payment.

“What kind of weapons would the warlords like?”

“Huh?”

“What is a weapon that would make African tribes and Arabs go weak in the knees?”

“Huh?”

“Ugh, can you not understand what I’m saying?”

Camila, sitting in the driver’s seat, blinked her clear eyes. One hand held a pistol, while the other grasped the steering wheel.

She opened her mouth slowly, her voice laced with confusion.

“No, the sudden question threw me off… Why are you asking such a thing?”

I summarized my conversation with Nasir to Camila.

“Oh, I see now.”

Her short hair swayed gently as Camila crossed her arms and bobbed her head. Though she had dyed her hair to mask her identity, making it hard for her to adjust, she was showing a bit more familiarity now.

“Well, the rebels definitely have various weapon cravings. They can acquire firearms through numerous routes and even produce them themselves. But for specialized equipment, you’d only find it on the black market.”

“For example?”

“Military-grade weapons. Those would be highly sought after, right? They guarantee performance and quality. If they pack a punch, that’s double the bonus.”

My thoughts aligned with hers.

I took over driving and started to roll out of Hassan’s stronghold.

The SUV tore through the pitch-black night. The vehicle jolted across the rugged terrain, swaying side to side.

Camila gripped the handle tightly, forcing her bouncing bottom to stick to the seat.

“Where are we headed?”

“To the border.”

“The border? Are you planning to cross into another country?”

I nodded.

The headlights illuminated the border area marked by the river at the edge of the horizon.

The radio crackled with high-pitched noise as numbers danced chaotically, and while I was calculating coordinates, I quickly glanced at my watch.

It pointed at 2:38 AM, an excellent time to visit the black market.

Camila asked, “What do you plan to do there?”

“Buy some goods.”

“What kind of goods? Are you seriously going to purchase firearms for the warlords?”

“Well, rifles can wait.”

I’d really like to get my hands on some missiles.