A Dark Fantasy Spy

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In a culture where honor is valued more than life itself, the meaning of revenge carries great weight.

Revenge taken to protect the honor of one’s tribe and family is seen as justified anger, and it is praised as a noble and honorable decision.

From that perspective, Sanya’s revenge against Asen was justified.

After all, the chief’s nephew had first dishonored them by extorting money from a merchant. For someone whose honor has been tarnished, seeking revenge is almost customary, thus Sanya’s attack to defend their honor can only be deemed legitimate.

Consequently, the residents praised Sanya’s revenge as a just and honorable decision.

In the same vein, Asen’s retaliation was no different.

Having burned down their drug cultivation facility, wouldn’t it be entirely expected for them to seek revenge to protect their honor? Upon hearing that Asen’s forces had blown up Sanya’s ammunition depot, the residents expressed their agreement.

Asen’s revenge was likewise regarded as a very just and honorable decision.

The violent feud between warlords undoubtedly provided the local community with a cathartic thrill, as whispers of this issue filled every corner.

“Have you heard the news? Sanya is gathering soldiers.”

“Not Asen?”

“Right. Asen was the last to strike. Sanya must be furious.”

“Oh dear. This is a serious matter. Could we end up in a war?”

“….”

In the bustling café, I took a drag from my cigarette, eavesdropping on the townsfolk.

They completely ignored the foreigner clad in traditional garb of the Mauritania Continent. When a man wore clothing that covered him from head to toe, it was impossible to tell him apart from a local.

I savored the tranquility while sipping tea and puffing on a cigarette, but my peaceful respite came to an end when a customer requested to join me.

A shabby-dressed local took a seat across from me. A man concealing an old pistol approached awkwardly, speaking in a broken Kien dialect.

“Asud. Looking for you. Sheikh.”

“…….”

I glanced at the warlord duo with disdain, extinguishing my cigarette in the ashtray as I looked up at the sky.

The clear desert sky devoid of any clouds.

With a thin veil of smoke painted across it, I got up from my seat.

It was time to get to work.

—

Episode 16 – The Six Million Dollar Man

—

Asen and Sanya’s cycle of revenge was about to commence.

The people under the rule of the warlords were thrilled by the news. Honorable vengeance was met with cheers, and no one condemned the conflict between warlords—except for those directly involved.

Upon hearing the news, both Asen and Sanya could not hide their bewilderment.

“What on earth is going on? How could Sanya burn down our kitchen!”

“What are you talking about? Asen suddenly blew up the ammunition depot. Does that even make sense?”

With no warning, the enemy struck. Yet, upon reflection, they realized they had sparked the chain of events themselves.

To put it bluntly, Asen and Sanya were caught off guard and felt the sting of betrayal as if they were slapped in the face by the Han River for something that transpired on Jongno.

The tension began to rise between Asen and Sanya, both left reeling from their unexpected blows.

However, every organization has its reasonable and rational advisors.

Some advisors, sensing something amiss, tried to calm the heated atmosphere.

“Let’s take a moment to think. Doesn’t something seem off?”

“There’s no reason for Asen to attack us out of the blue. The issue with Jamila happened several weeks ago.”

“It would be wise to attempt dialogue first.”

Yet, where there is light, there is darkness, and where there is cold, there is heat; where there is rigidity, there is suppleness.

The hard-liners began to scorn the softness of those advocating for dialogue.

The two arguments began to clash fiercely.

Dialogue or revenge? The dove represented peace, while the hawk bore the banner of honor. As the internal struggle among the warlords continued, the tension on the front lines escalated, and the atmosphere grew increasingly ominous.

At that moment, foreign media began to report on Asen and Sanya’s conflict.

Initially, it was a brief article penned by a war correspondent. Although the two-paragraph report didn’t create a major buzz back home, the attendance of war correspondents changed the narrative.

War correspondents flicking their camera lenses through the civil war area quickly began covering the vendetta between warlords erupting in one nation. As the war correspondents sprang into action, reporters also followed suit and continued reporting diligently.

When an article labeling them as the aggressors hit the press, the warlords started to waver.

“Look! It’s right here, in bold letters! Sanya attacked us!”

“We’re not sure if Sanya was behind the destruction of the drug fields or if it was Hassan or the government forces. But we did lose our kitchen. Shouldn’t we demand accountability from whoever it was?”

Of course, the one who published that article was neither Asen, Sanya, Hassan, nor the government forces but a foreign spy.

“A conflict brewing over the mines. Will it inevitably escalate to war…? The title is naive, who wrote this?”

—’There’s a newcomer at the press. They may not have much skill, but they are sharp.’

“Hmm. Whether sharp or not, the article is concise and well-written. They have a way with words.”

I relayed the news to Dmitri, the social department head at the Magic Tower press. A war correspondent scavenging for stories in the desert quickly came running with a passport, excitedly crafting the article.

When the aforementioned article caught the attention of other war correspondents and reporters, I didn’t intervene aside from being the initial source. I figured it was unnecessary to muddy the waters given that they’d be clamoring for a scoop.

—’Merlo. About that article—are we sure that a civil war is on the horizon? I can easily tell whose handiwork this is.’

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

—’That may be true, but if the warlords are being puppeteered by foreign intelligence agencies, it would just result in wasted resources for coverage. Would that make for a sellable article?’

Dmitri expressed concerns that the war correspondents would be kicking up dust for no reason, but I saw things differently.

“I don’t know. I view it differently.”

—’Oh? Are you viewing it in 3D?’

“No. Either way, if the warlords go at it, then that’s half of the problem solved. Isn’t that what really matters?”

What’s important is that Asen and Sanya are gearing up for war; the fact that Military Intelligence is involved isn’t significant at all.

“Keep your eyes on it. There’s going to be some spectacular fireworks.”

—’Well, if you say so, I have no choice but to believe you. By the way, do you have any other sources?’

“An article? Hmm… Just the other day, one of Sanya’s officers got hit by a missile near the borderlands between Sanya’s territory and the local government. How about that?”

—’Oh, damn. Yes, that’s exactly what we need!’

The power of the pen is indeed mightier than the sword.

But I thought to myself that even this wouldn’t be enough.

Perhaps Dmitri shared a similar thought as he posed the question to me.

—’But do you think they will actually fight?’

“They won’t have a choice but to.”

—’Why?’

“Because I’m going to make it happen.”

—’How?’

Every organization has its reasonable advisors. Among Asen’s and Sanya’s advisors, several believed it wouldn’t be too late to carefully assess the truth behind the situation and make decisions thereafter.

However, judgment ultimately lies with humans, and at times, instinct overshadows reason.

I decided to provoke that instinct.

—

Bang!

The sound of a gunshot pierced the still desert air as a warlord commander fell. Soldiers converged on the fallen officer, guns drawn in every direction.

Watching through the scope, I removed the spent casing from the sniper rifle and reported to Nasir.

“Abu Ahmed Al Asen. Just went down.”

To escalate the dispute between Asen and Sanya into a civil war would require sacrifices. From the list Hassan provided containing Asen’s key officers, I picked a target and eliminated them one by one.

A fundraiser for drug exports. A commander known for his prowess in countless battles. A liaison trusted by the tribe’s chieftain. An officer responsible for security.

Anger is the most powerful emotion one can possess; it is destructive and impulsive.

To incite Asen’s rage, I targeted the first group of executives. Then, disguised as Asen, I executed the same strike against the second group under the pretext of revenge.

Anger is like a flame— a slight gust can cause it to ignite. A spark from a lighter can engulf a building, an ember can burn down a forest, and a disfigured clown can raze a city.

Creating that gust was my goal.

In the end, I succeeded.

The initial battle and slander from foreign media. A surprise attack claiming revenge sparked fury between Asen and Sanya.

Years of grudges had built up to this point. And now, honor lay trampled in the dust.

In the Mauritania Continent, where honor was paramount, warlords, consumed by wrath, defended their fallen prestige.

The conclusion was one anyone could foresee.

—

The beginning was Asen’s surprise operation on Sanya’s marijuana cultivation site.

The mechanized unit, comprising trucks and passenger cars, broke through Sanya’s territory and attacked the fields. Asen’s forces mercilessly eliminated all of Sanya’s guards, driving away the workers tending the crops and setting fire to the fields.

Having lost their cannabis cultivation, Sanya mobilized their forces to retaliate against Asen’s military base.

A relic of a thirty-year-old armored vehicle rattled along its worn tracks, demolishing the outpost. The heavy machine gun spewed fire, and the fleeing Asen soldiers were cut down in an instant as Sanya’s troops stormed in and seized weapons and ammunition.

In the sporadic battles erupting along the borders, premeditated military operations commenced.

That evening, Nasir brought me the good news.

“Asen and Sanya have contacted us.”

“What did they say, Nasir?”

“They told us to stay out of the dispute.”

As expected, Asen and Sanya sought to curb Hassan’s involvement.

The message was clear: This dispute is their business, so keep your distance and remain silent.

“In your words. Sanya seems wary of our Hassan collaborating with Asen. They threatened us that if we sided with Asen, we couldn’t avoid a bloody retaliation. Of course, they offered a little something on the side.”

“What kind of something?”

“They handed over a few coal mines close to Hassan’s domain. Small but very high-quality coal mines.”

Worried that Hassan might team up with Asen, Sanya sent a threat alongside their generous gifts. Three mines not far from the border.

However, it wasn’t just Sanya that sent gifts. Asen, fearing the same alliance, provided Hassan with a hefty supply of special products.

Since this was fundamentally an internal matter among the warlords, Sheikh Nasir Al Hassan didn’t need to alert me about this information. Yet, he called me over to share ‘good news.’

The reason was apparent.

“You want me to help liquidate the assets.”

“Exactly.”

When preparing for war, having ample funds is always a boon. Right now, Hassan needed more capital than ever.

I facilitated the liquefaction of the slight gifts Hassan received from Asen and Sanya, specifically handing the physical goods over to agents.

“Oh, Hormuz? Long time no see. How have you been?”

Hormuz, a Dark Elf from the Palm Tree Trade Guild. An entrepreneur who, with the approval of Duke Alexandra Petrovna, ventured into the black market in the north.

Having shared the black market spoils with Francesca, he became both my source of information and collaborator.

I inquired if he could help distribute goods on the Mauritania Continent. Given that it was Hormuz’s homeland, it seemed quicker to utilize that channel compared to Francesca.

Fortunately, Hormuz happily accepted the proposition.

—’Coal and minerals, huh? Quite alluring products. A lot of regions in the Mauritania Continent still generate magic power and electricity from coal, so I can expect substantial profits.’

“When can I expect the payment?”

—’If I contact the tribe, I can prepare cash immediately. An old man with a donkey should have no trouble traversing the rugged deserts of Mauritania.’

Hormuz swiftly converted the warlords’ goods into cash. Much like goblins, dragons, and dwarves, Dark Elves can’t resist gold, so cash tends to flow abundantly. Just like those Jewish folks.

Tons of cash flowed directly into Hassan’s warlord faction. The cash infusion revitalized the third group of warlords. Some funds were used for acquiring weapons and ammunition, while others covered training expenses and activities to recruit informants from within Asen and Sanya.

I received some of the informants Hassan recruited and expanded the intelligence network. Now there were informants not just for Hassan but for Asen and Sanya as well.

Everything was running so smoothly.

Asen and Sanya were clashing fiercely. Hassan quietly expanded his faction. I oversaw the entire desert with just a finger.

It was the perfect scenario.

Yet an unforeseen event occurred.

“Hello?”

I received intel from an informant embedded within the police department. It was the intelligence chief I had smoked with previously.

—’Asud. Right now, there are foreigners we’ve never seen before arriving here.’

“Foreigners? Where are they from?”

—’Well… Their passports say Kien Empire.’

—

A machine filled to capacity with magic gave a loud rumble as it spat out paper. I snatched up the paper and shoved it into my face for inspection.

Just earlier, I had been informed by the police intel chief about the suspicious newcomers entering the jurisdiction. I requested a copy of the passport, and he secretly sent it to me.

The black-and-white image contained a foreign man’s face. The accompanying text was in Kien. The anti-counterfeit pattern on the passport featured the national flag of the Kien Empire.

Having secured a copy of the identification, I accessed the Military Intelligence database to verify its identity. The possibility of it being a forged passport was high, but due to the nature of the Empire’s intelligence units, they tend to recycle passports for minor operations, so I thought it worth checking.

A short while later, among the counterfeited passports from the Imperial Guard HQ and Reconnaissance Command, I finally found one that matched exactly with the one in the copy I had received.

“This is the Reconnaissance Command.”

Two dispatch information officers. Their affiliation was the Reconnaissance Command.

One held a passport I had never seen before, while the other’s passport was already in the Military Intelligence database.

—’So the Reconnaissance Command operatives have appeared in the operation zone?’

“Yes.”

—’Are you certain?’

“Absolutely certain.”

The news that imperial intelligence troops had arrived had Military Intelligence on high alert. They sought information sharing from the Royal Intelligence Department and friendly nations. They inquired if anyone had intel about the identity and operations of the Imperial Intelligence unit acting on the Mauritania Continent.

The results soon came through Leoni.

—’It turns out they are indeed from the intelligence unit. A captain and a sergeant from the Disruption Operations Department.’

I recalled the organizational chart of the Reconnaissance Command in my mind.

Unlike the Military Intelligence, which performs intelligence collection, counterintelligence, security, investigation, and counter-terrorism simultaneously, the Reconnaissance Command has no authority for investigations. While they are engaged in counter-terrorism, they solely handle tasks unrelated to counterintelligence or military security.

The Reconnaissance Command is a unit strictly focused on foreign intelligence operations. The Disruption Operations Department falls within that, specializing in quasi-military endeavors like terrorism, assassination, kidnapping, demolition, and psychological warfare.

They were no ordinary operatives.

—’Two intelligence officers from the Disruption Operations Department… Looks like the Reconnaissance Command has come to assist Sanya.’

“Yes, that seems to be the case.”

According to intel obtained by Hassan’s informants, Sanya had recently sought help from the Empire. They sent an SOS requesting assistance since they were about to engage in war with Asen.

In a typical scenario, the Empire would have dispatched robust personnel and support.

However, the current political situation within the Kien Empire was growing troublesome.

—’How long has it been since demons have been rampaging in the north for the intelligence unit to be dispatched?’

The military had lost much momentum following the northern conflict. Although they claimed victories, the toll had not been negligible.

It’s perfectly reasonable for foreign intelligence agencies to exploit the opportunities created by such vulnerabilities. To make matters worse, the Imperial reputation among neighboring countries was already tarnished.

The Kien Empire is nothing more than an international bully, notorious for meddling with its neighbors. Just as Russia had acted as a thug in Ukraine and the Baltic states, the Republic of Ratuan and surrounding nations are well aware of how vile the Empire has been.

That became a point of failure.

—’Lately, the bordering regions with Ratuan have been quite chaotic. The Imperial Guard HQ and the Reconnaissance Command are keeping a close eye on the eastern borders. In a situation like this, it wouldn’t be easy to support warlords across the ocean while overlooking threats from neighboring countries.’

“Then could we assume the actions of these intelligence officers are mere formalities?”

—’It’s all about saving face. According to the Royal Intelligence Department, these are not personnel dispatched from the Empire; they were extracted from a local operating team.’

“So, they are employees torn from their team.”

—’This means the Empire lacks the resources to further provide support.’

That did not mean the Empire would sit back and watch Sanya get pummeled.

According to the intel provided by our allies, a ship loaded with weapons and ammunition had recently departed from a western port of the Empire, bound for the Mauritania Continent. Leoni speculated that the shipment was military supplies from the Reconnaissance Command to Sanya.

Even without personnel, they were sending materials. It was a decision typical of the Empire. The way the Empire saves face tends to revolve around money.

However, Leoni was not the type to simply let military supplies and arms funneled to Sanya go unchecked.

She quickly issued commands.

—’Destroy the weapons and ammunition. We cannot allow the Empire’s gifts to reach Sanya. Either dismantle them before they open their present or break them before the goods are put to use.’

“Understood.”

—’The same goes for the intelligence officers. We cannot let them run loose; we don’t know what they might do. Ensure they are dealt with promptly. Do you understand my instructions?’

That was tantamount to a death warrant.

Leoni had issued her orders. Following that, Colonel Clevenz reinforced Leoni’s command.

The long-absent Clevenz reached out to support Leoni’s directive to eliminate the reconnaissance officers.

—’If the Empire Intelligence begins to make real moves, our operations will undoubtedly become problematic. It’s hard to admit, but the local intelligence-gathering abilities of the Reconnaissance Command may surpass ours.’

“That is true.”

—’If they interfere, Sanya could gain the upper hand. Of course, if Hassan’s involvement in this dispute is revealed, it could place you in jeopardy.’

“…….”

—’There’s no need to expose yourself to potential danger.’

That was an undeniable statement. In fact, there was no need to argue about it; I concurred.

Clevenz emphasized the importance of eliminating the reconnaissance officers for safety. He also took a moment to relay news from their home country.

—’Your family mentioned that you should get in touch with them now and then. I know you’re busy, but try to reach out every now and then.’

“I’ll end the call here.”

—’Let’s meet when you return.’

Click.

As communication ceased, I sat staring at my mobile phone for a considerable period.

The black screen displayed a foreigner dressed in the traditional attire of the Middle East—or rather, of the Mauritania Continent.

I detached the alchemical card, which stored the battery and communication data, and shoved it into the flames. The flammable substance quickly went up in smoke and vanished into the sky.

As I watched the dissipating smoke, I pulled out a cigarette. Despite the particularly harsh flavor of Mauritanian tobacco, today I found myself smoking far more than usual.

I quickly finished half a pack while making my way back to my lodgings, where the elderly patrons sitting on the street smoking hookah cast glances my way, only to lose interest and return to puffing their smoke.

“Back already?”

Upon entering my lodgings, I was cheerfully greeted by Camila.

Wearing an apron of unknown origin, she smiled brightly while gesturing to the table.

“Welcome back! It’s late; we should eat dinner.”

“…Camila.”

I called out her name as she walked towards the stove.

Then, I added in a low voice.

“Can we have a little chat?”