A Dark Fantasy Spy

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Around four hours after crossing the border, they arrived at a small city called Kalia Hun under the cover of darkness.

Camila raised her head and surveyed the area.

“…….”

Buildings made of layered, gray-brown bricks common in the Middle East. Pedestrians and vehicles intertwined in the streets.

Through the dusty, foggy windows lay a small town spread out before them. The sound of tires rolling over sand and gravel echoed. As they stood at the intersection where they had arrived, Camila faced the warehouses.

Amidst this, a crackling sound came from the radio in the driver’s seat. Colonel Frederick, pressing buttons on a softly glowing keypad, murmured into the radio. Although it was a foreign language he had never learned, he didn’t find it too hard to understand.

“…It’s me, Dmitri. I’ve arrived at the warehouse you introduced. Before entering, I just want to confirm—are they sure they have the goods? Hmm… In that case, there’s no problem.”

The warehouse, reached just before dawn, stood silent.

As the SUV, having passed the warehouses with its headlights off, came to a halt, people approached. Frederick turned off the engine and stepped out to meet them.

Camila suspected the people who came to greet them were soldiers. The reason she used the word “suspected” was that in this region, there were groups wearing military uniforms that were not just soldiers.

One of the local soldiers gestured, and a group of soldiers appeared from a distant warehouse.

Dressed in shabby military uniforms, the local men exchanged friendly greetings with the formally dressed foreigners, and after their greetings, Frederick casually waved to another group of soldiers.

“Hmm…”

The soldiers emerging from the warehouse were far from ordinary in Camila’s eyes.

Unlike the shabby uniforms worn by local soldiers, the military garb of these men was camouflaged and of superior quality. Above all, their ethnicity was different.

Among the tanned-skinned locals, the foreigners stood out starkly with their close-to-white skin.

While scanning the presumed foreign soldiers, a certain symbol caught her blue eyes.

A patch affixed to the right upper arm of one soldier. A yellow background adorned with an illustration of a laurel wreath. An eagle soaring into the sky.

Although it was the first time she saw this symbol, she had a rough idea of what it represented.

After all, similar organizations existed in her homeland.

Peacekeeping Forces.

The laurel wreath and eagle contained within the yellow sphere symbolized the peacekeeping forces in this area.

—

Episode 16 – The Six Million Dollar Man

The local soldiers led them to the warehouse.

What I witnessed there were mountains of weapons.

“…….”

As I raised my head to see how high the stacks reached, I saw magical lights hanging from the ceiling.

The heap of rifles was poised to touch the ceiling of the warehouse. Was it six or seven piles?

After confirming the enormous quantities, I turned to the local soldiers.

“How much exactly is this?”

The Woodland-uniformed government soldiers whispered among themselves before conveying a response through an interpreter.

“They said it’s around 2,000 pieces.”

That was enough to arm a battalion.

“Are the items I previously mentioned ready?”

“Of course.”

“Great, that’s very good.”

As I slowly examined the stacks of guns and ammunition piled in the warehouse, Camila, who had been trailing behind, spotted the staggering amount of weapons and her eyes widened in shock.

Appearing in robes and drawing everyone’s attention, she leaped over to me, startled by the sight of the weapons.

“What are all these weapons for…! Who are those soldiers over there…!?”

“What else could they be for?”

I replied with a smile.

“They’re Christmas presents for Hassan.”

—

In a civil war zone, securing weapons is easy. They’re littered everywhere, so as long as you pay, acquiring weapons isn’t difficult.

However, supplying weapons to the Third Group Warlords requires more than just the stuff lying around the market. The quantity would be lacking, the performance subpar, and most importantly, the prices high.

It wouldn’t be easy to win Sheikh Nasir Al Hassan’s favor with such shoddy goods. So what kind of merchandise should I deliver?

High-performance military weapons.

It would be great if there’s plenty and the price is low.

However, finding good quality items at a cheap price is almost impossible. Even Camila, who had no knowledge of the black market, raised her eyebrows at the idea of getting military-grade weapons for a bargain, asking, “Is that really possible?”

I found it.

“Bebout anti-tank missiles. Produced in ’68, donated to us by the Kien Empire in ’85.”

As the cloth was pulled away, dusty boxes of rugged-looking weapons revealed themselves through the haze.

The local soldiers skillfully opened the boxes. Inside were the anti-tank missiles from the Kien Empire that frequently appeared in the Military Intelligence Agency’s weapons reports.

“Missile weight: 11.5 kg. Warhead weight: 1.8 kg. Including the launcher, the total is 27.5 kg. Later models exceed 30 kg making them vehicle-mounted, but this weight can be easily handled by an infantry regiment.”

I stroked the dusty launchers while listening to the government soldiers’ explanation.

A 1968-model Bebout anti-tank missile would be an electric model. With the launcher and sight, the weight is 27.5 kg.

Since it adopted a wired guidance method, it’s significantly inferior compared to the Empire’s next-generation anti-tank missiles capable of semi-automatic mana wave guidance or those from the Abas forces, which rely on tracking magic that requires no operation.

It was a heavy, slow-moving weapon released before the advent of tracking magic or mana wave guidance systems, making it rather inconvenient.

Yet two advantages overshadowed all the previously mentioned disadvantages.

Price and power.

“With this, I obliterated the totem that the rebel shaman had been dragging around. Not just the totem, I turned the shaman who was operating it to dust as well.”

The government officer, appearing to be of considerable age, proudly recounted his tale while smirking. He gestured towards the stockpile of anti-tank missiles and proposed a deal.

“We have sights, launchers, and the main units, including anti-tank missiles. However, you’ll need to purchase the missiles separately. But if you buy six, we can throw in two as a bonus.”

I nodded and held out my money bag.

“I’ll buy them all.”

Thus, I completely acquired the government’s anti-tank missiles stored in the warehouse.

Of course, that wasn’t the only thing I purchased.

“All firearms stored in this warehouse. We also have ample parts for maintenance and replacements.”

“Let’s finalize the contract right away.”

I procured 2,000 rifles from the neighboring country’s government forces’ armory.

The massive stockpile was primarily comprised of rifles held by the local stationed army. It included both stockpiled items ordered from factories and seized goods from rebels.

As Camila stared blankly at the towering heaps of guns and ammunition, I exchanged a fervent handshake with the government officer against that backdrop.

“Wow! You’re quite the big spender!”

“Is there more stock besides what you have here? I’m talking about firearms.”

“Of course.”

“Are they military-grade?”

“Yes, they are.”

All the firearms stacked in the warehouse were either very old or cheap items. It was only natural since they were weapons designated for second-rate combat units and rebels.

Rifles of this worn-out and shabby quality flowed enough to fill Hassan’s warlord supplies. Regardless, I purchased two thousand rifles worth of that quality.

The reason was simple.

“Isn’t it true that all these items will end up in the hands of rear units or local police, or even rebels? Show me the real goods instead of these.”

“…Isn’t this enough for you?”

Most of the firearms confiscated from the government forces in a civil war are re-circulated to the black market. They can’t afford to fight rebels for chump change, so they sell weapons to the black market to earn side income.

Most of the firearms filtered into the black market subsequently re-enter the hands of rebels and warlords, and the majority of those connected to the government forces know this.

Yet, money is far more important to them, so they don’t care.

“I’ll take them, since the warlords are bound to grab them if you leave them here. But I want to see the warehouse as a condition for taking all these items.”

I bribed the neighboring country’s government officers for a route to acquire military firearms.

To get high-quality arms produced in systematic factories, not cheap rifles witnessed on the market, producing them was my aim.

The military armory housed everything: rifles, machine guns, sniper rifles, ammunition… even heavy weapons.

The neighboring country’s regular army’s military armory was filled with Kien Empire weapons.

There were items donated by the Imperial Ministry of Defense and those produced under government licenses in factories established in their own capital. The sources were diverse.

I purchased all those weapons.

“I’ll buy them all.”

“All of it?”

“Yes. All of it.”

With that one statement, a pile of money started giant operations transferring the entire inventory.

The sight of soldiers heaving heaps of rifles onto trucks and ammunition being carted away was truly a sight to behold.

While I was lost in this spectacle, Camila approached me with a dazed voice.

“How did you even know they were selling such weapons here…?”

“I didn’t come here by tracing the sellers.”

“Then…?”

I waggled the radio on my finger.

“I asked them to sell.”

—

In the global black market, you can find everything from Western-made anti-tank missiles to Soviet-made SA-7 man-portable air defense missiles, but unfortunately, acquiring missiles in this area’s black market is nearly impossible.

However, saying it’s nearly impossible means it’s not entirely impossible.

A few days ago, after communicating with Leoni, I sought methods to procure weapons.

“I need a route to acquire military weapons.”

—‘What kind of weapons?’

“Anti-tank weapons capable of countering armored vehicles and tanks. It doesn’t have to be produced in the homeland; I’d prefer sellers who have a substantial stock.”

—‘Such sellers are usually military personnel.’

Leoni promptly sent me a list of names of government officials. It was a compilation of people who were either engaged or likely involved in illegal arms trading in neighboring countries.

Having acquired the list, I sought ways to contact the government officials of the neighboring countries through my informants.

Dmitri, the social head of the Magic Tower media company.

—‘What? You’re trying to buy weapons from government troops? Are you out of your mind?’

“Yeah.”

—‘What the hell, you’re really insane. What do you even want to buy?’

“Missiles.”

—‘Are you serious? Missiles are….’

The connections of Dmitri, a former major journalist, were phenomenal.

He was the most well-connected journalist I knew, with relationships extending to war correspondents and reporters roaming Mauritania.

“Whether it’s a missile, mortar, or machine gun, I need to find someone who can sell military weapons. The higher up, the better.”

—‘Hey, do you think I’m some shady agency president? You think this is some kind of staffing agency? You just call out and they find you people?’

“So, do you know anyone? Yes or no?”

—‘…Give me an hour. My junior is in Kumana or Amshasa right now. He’s got ties with the government and UN troops. He might not be able to answer his phone since it’s early morning, so just wait a bit.’

The correspondent Dmitri introduced provided me with contacts for the officers of the UN troops.

Since they were part of the dispatched units conducting maintenance operations near the border, it made sense they would be familiar with key officers in that area.

I approached them to express my intention of purchasing weapons.

“…Weapons?”

“Yes. Weapons.”

“Oh, no! These weapons were captured from the rebels. Regulating requires that captured arms are handed over to the local government…”

Of course, it wasn’t going to be easy.

The UN personnel insisted that captured weapons ought to be submitted to local government forces.

“Government forces? You actually trust those guys?”

I smiled and persuaded the officials.

“Whatever you provide, where do you think these weapons will ultimately go?”

“Any firearms turned over to the government forces are disposed of.”

“For heaven’s sake, have you not been here for years yet still don’t grasp how things operate around here? Disposal? Those government soldiers won’t ever destroy their weapons. If they have to, they’d surely sell them back to the black market.”

That was the truth.

While the UN might seize weapons, the local starving soldiers guarding the warehouses could always sell what they stockpiled into the black market for a tidy side income, and they had indeed done so.

Eventually, the UN’s confiscated weapons reenter the hands of rebels again, after passing through the government and brokers.

Then, the UN conducts military operations against the rebel forces and seizes those weapons again, which are in turn handed back to the government… it’s an endless cycle of the civil war zone.

I capitalized on that point.

“Regardless, any firearms given to the government will return to rebels by tomorrow morning. Those government soldiers will have their cake and eat it too while you guys are left holding the bag, left to sweat from the rebels’ wrath tomorrow, huh?”

“……”

“Then, just give them to me. I’ll gather everything and toss them over the border into the desert. I’ll pay you handsomely.”

The UN officers were well aware that the weapons entrusted to starving soldiers would cause trouble. They also knew fully that weapons seized today would fall into rebel hands tomorrow.

“…They won’t end up with the rebels, though?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll ensure they’re all gathered and tossed beyond the border.”

For reference, the UN officials generally belong to the group of starving soldiers as well.

The well-fed first-world military doesn’t do peacekeeping missions or UN duties; as such, most UN peacekeepers are made up of third-world militaries.

Thus, enticing those impoverished UN officials wasn’t particularly difficult.

“I believe you will keep your promise…”

“Thank you. Good thinking.”

Judgments were prudent, and actions were swift, leading me to acquire arms confiscated from rebels from the UN’s personnel. I also leaked the news to military intelligence officers stationed in neighboring countries.

Upon hearing this, the local government officials came storming in in a fury, but

“Are you guys not concerned that weapons are going to the rebels?”

“Hmm… That is true.”

“Then, just throw them outside. Why keep a foul-smelling pile of rubbish in the home?”

Wittingly, I charmed them into revealing the government armories.

Crossing the border through the darkness, I only returned by noon to Hassan’s territory.

Carrying weapons.

“These are anti-tank missiles used by the Kien Empire’s army. We have rifles, machine guns, sniper rifles, and mortars—everything is here.”

“…….”

Weapons piled up before the main base of the Hassan Warlord.

Though too numerous and heavy for the SUV to carry, thankfully, I had a marvelous pack mule to handle this load.

“Heyek…! Heyek…!”

“Don’t pant; let’s hurry up. What kind of broom-riding sorceress is slower than a vehicle?”

“C-Can I really keep up while carrying missiles?!”

Camila flew through the skies weighted down with hefty anti-tank missiles and heavy weaponry. It was genuinely an express delivery service rivaling EMS.

Despite her slow pace, keeping up with a vehicle moving at 60 km/h was still impressive. Yet, she was panting, which reminded me of a camel I saw in the desert.

It carried loads well, plus it had two humps.

So, is Camila a camel?

“……”

It was a silly thought, but whatever. As long as the goods were delivered on time, that’s all that mattered.

What was crucial was bringing the samples of weapons.

That was my job—selling them.

“Take a look.”

I handed a document to the leader of Hassan’s Warlords, who was scrutinizing the weapons.

This was an analysis report from Senior Analyst Larry, Pippin, and Charnoy from the Royal Intelligence Department.

“I noticed that government forces settled in the border zone managed by the Al Bas Tribe. They have a mechanized unit with over 30 armored vehicles.”

“…I know that too. Do they have tanks?”

“I’m not sure about that. But is it really a big deal if they don’t have tanks?”

You guys can’t even take out their armored vehicles.

I expressed this indirectly.

Regrettably or perhaps fortunately, the Third Group Warlords lacked anti-tank weapons. This was great news for the government troops rolling their armored vehicles, but a tragedy for me, who needed to support the warlords.

I pointed to the photo of the outpost and asked Nasir.

“Can you deal with them during a fight?”

“Hmm….”

“It would be tough without anti-tank weapons. It’s an armored vehicle developed by the Empire, so even small-caliber bullets wouldn’t pierce it.”

Thus, the warlords could not fight against the government troops with their armored vehicles, no matter their effort.

This led me to propose a deal.

“If you promise to assist with this operation, I’ll hand over the rifles and anti-tank missiles. Of course, there’ll be ammunition too.”

“Where are the warehouses with the goods?”

“They’re just beyond the border. You can reach it on foot.”

Of course, merely providing weapons wouldn’t be enough to win Nasir’s favor. While anti-tank missiles were tough to come by, it certainly wouldn’t suffice for tremendous risk in the disputes between Asen and Sanya.

I understood his sentiment; thus, I tacked on an additional condition.

“What’s the use if you merely see the weapons? You need to use them for real.”

“…You mean to deploy them in actual combat.”

“Will you not try them out? A golden opportunity has come knocking.”

“A golden opportunity?”

“Take a look at this.”

I handed Nasir a photo. It depicted the face of a middle-aged local man.

The leader of the Hassan Warlords immediately recognized the man from the picture.

“It’s Hakim. An official in charge of contact for Sanya.”

Shahir bin Adnani Al Hakim—a core member of the Second Group Warlords.

Currently responsible for communication and diplomacy with external organizations, Hakim had previously caused collisions within Hassan’s territory. Thus, he made for the perfect target to win Sheikh Nasir Al Hassan’s favor.

Of course, irrespective of whether Nasir was satisfied, I was determined to eliminate him. He was connected with the Kien Empire. If I didn’t take him out now, who knew when I’d get another chance?

I indicated the photo and offered more detail.

“He’s within our territory.”

“Hakim is in our land?”

“He was hard to locate as he was operating covertly in the border region. We had merely speculated about Hakim’s whereabouts, but we were lucky to have managed to catch his trace.”

“When you say border, you mean Sanya’s territory?”

“To be precise, it’s in the triangular region where the government jurisdiction and Sanya Tribe’s territory meet with Hassan’s territory. You can dive into any area by car and hide anywhere.”

I suggested eliminating Al Hakim while also testing the launch of the anti-tank missiles.

And then,

“Bring the ammunition!”

“!!يلا,يلا,يلا (Quick, quick, quick!!)”

It was a success.

– ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ !!!!!

With a bright red flash and gray smoke trailing behind, the missile collided with the vehicle.

The vehicle struck in midair from the missile’s engagement, soared into the sky and then plummeted down onto the rocky desert road.

Having teamed up with Hasan’s combatants to ambush the Sanya warlords’ officials, I rummaged through the completely wrecked vehicle for charred corpses. The intelligence report stated that the lower molars had been patched with lead, and upon yanking the lower jaw of the rear seat corpse, I discovered molars fused with lead.

Upon confirming Al Hakim’s death, Nasir and the Hassan participants were overjoyed.

Was it due to the assured performance of the weapons or the death of a rival warlord’s official? It was likely both.

Regardless, good is good.

“You witnessed the demonstration, right?”

“I did. So, when can you start supplying the weapons?”

“Starting today, if needed. I’ll introduce you to the intermediary, and all you need to do is pick them up from the warehouse.”

“Thank you. Then it’s time to discuss compensation.”

I held the final negotiation with Sheikh Nasir Al Hassan.

In reality, it wasn’t even a matter worthy of the term negotiation. Nasir’s heart was already swayed towards me.

As such, the conversation mostly entailed just adjusting minor interests and coordinating schedules.

“As previously mentioned, I’ll receive my remuneration in the form of information and cooperation.”

“With Hassan’s honor, I shall assist you.”

In return for weapons, capital, and intelligence support, Nasir promised full backing.

I concluded the brief yet intense negotiation with a handshake.

“Thank you.”

It marked the moment a mid-operation goal was achieved.

—

I dropped off the exhausted mule (of British stock) at the accommodation and sought out the leader of the Al Bas Tribe.

“Use this for military funds.”

I handed over a money bag to the leader of the Al Bas Tribe. The bag was stuffed with foreign currency.

It was essentially a gift from the Military Intelligence Agency to the Hassan Warlords. While Hassan also had his own revenue streams to fund operations, this amount represented half of what the warlord could collect in taxes over the course of a year. Thus, it held considerable significance in terms of financing for the warlords.

“Thank you for this.”

The warlord’s accountant, Nayan Al Bas, accepted the military funds with a delighted expression.

I figured he might have caught on that I was not just a war correspondent, but an agent of a foreign intelligence agency. However, a message from Hassan instructed him to treat me with importance, given that my dear cousin and Hassan’s leader had reached out.

Deciding to let go of the fact that a foreign spy had tricked him, he seemed willing to move on from it lightly.

“I owe you again, Asud.”

“Not at all. I’m the one who should be more thankful. But you say ‘again’…?”

“I owe a debt from the last time I saved my son’s life.”

Upon hearing Nayan’s words, I nodded, realizing the “oh” moment.

What I remembered now was the robbery incident. Apparently, Nayan was aware that I had bought time for Farid to survive.

Truth be told, my priority had been helping Camila get away safely, but that was irrelevant. When a father witnesses his cherished son escape the river’s clutches, what more could he wish for?

“Rest comfortably. I’ll provide you with the best accommodation here.”

“Thank you.”

After arranging to meet Farid next time, I departed Nayan’s office.

I had to promptly submit my final report to the Military Intelligence Agency, summon reinforcements, and have checks implemented before launching the full operation.

As I briskly crossed the hallway, however.

“Excuse me.”

Someone’s alluring voice snared my attention.

I turned to confirm the identity of the speaker, a local woman standing on the terrace, silhouetted against the gray-brown city.

The backlight cast a shadow over her features, but given her garb, I quickly recognized her.

It was not an outfit that just anyone could wear, with a cloak covering her entire head and upper body.

A cape with a hood symbolizing something quite distinct.

“…Do you happen to need a shaman?”

The shaman of the Mauritania continent had spoken to me.