A Dark Fantasy Spy

---

The gaze of the Shaman, who was bound to the Beastman, swept the surroundings.

‘Where is Salim?’

The Wind Shaman, Salim.

His companion, who manipulated the wind, was hidden behind debris, clutching his own arm. The arm revealed through the charred sleeve twisted grotesquely, oozing pus.

Tsk, caught by magic, huh.

“The Fire Mage and the Wind Shaman aren’t a good match. Fire spreads with the wind.”

Both the mage and the shaman in combat must appropriately respond considering the enemy’s attributes.

When wind and fire meet as allies, they boast the best synergy; when faced as enemies, however, it becomes the worst matchup. Even a slight difference in one’s ability can lead to fatal attacks using magic and sorcery in reverse.

It’s better to not participate in battle at all rather than become entangled.

Patima, having completed her calculations, fixed her gaze on the enemy. Flame and earth. In terms of both combination and synergy, she held the advantage.

Moreover…

“The power is dwindling. The spell-casting speed is also decreasing. Signs of magic depletion are beginning to show.”

Her sharp lips formed a curve. In contrast, Camila tightly sealed her parched lips.

Maybe it was because she inhaled sand during the fierce battle, but her mouth felt gritty. Her lips were dry, and her throat was scorched.

“…”

Taking a small breath, Camila stared into the air with murky eyes.

Her consciousness felt detached from reality, floating. Time, which had been flowing in parallel with space, began to creep along as if it had taken a detour.

Separated from the battlefield, Camila maintained her silence. And she thought.

‘What is it that I fear?’

In response to her question.

—-

Episode 16 – The Six Million Dollar Man

—-

Learning without questions is mere blind faith, and a life without contemplation cannot think.

No matter how much one says it’s a waste to expend energy on things that cannot be done, it’s good to continually think and ponder about everything, whether trivial or significant, to make decisions.

Camila pondered.

What is it that she fears?

The beginning of her contemplation stemmed from a question posed by a great archmage who had lived over a hundred years. Alexandra Petrovna, the Duchess. The one who had slain demons in the Northern Regions and saved her life, who also taught her magic.

Since she was more accustomed to addressing her as a professor rather than a mentor, Camila treated the Duchess as a professor; however, she was keenly aware that their relationship was not that of an ordinary professor and disciple.

People interpreted the Duchess’s decision to educate the hero as involving some political resolution, but at least in Camila’s mind, Alexandra Petrovna harbored no ulterior motives.

To the Duchess, Camila was simply a mage, not the hero who would save the world.

As the Saint burdened with the Cross met death, human beings embraced a new flow of time, while mages had trained apprentices for thousands of years to inherit magic. Therefore, magic could be viewed as a kind of legacy.

From that perspective, the Duchess’s teachings were not merely about nurturing a young girl into a respectable mage.

The legacy she passed to the young mage was tantamount to the inheritance from a great archmage who had lived for a hundred years.

But why did the Duchess entrust her legacy to Camila, especially to a complete stranger?

Camila was well aware of the complex legal procedures involved in legacy inheritance. She also understood the significance of the archmage’s knowledge within the magical society.

Perhaps the Duchess was not unaware of this either. She had led the Golden Age of the Magic Tower and was one of the two existing great mages.

Yet, for some reason, the Duchess wished to bequeath her legacy to Camila.

Why?

Camila struggled to unravel the true meaning behind the legacy. She sought to understand the intent behind her question left for her before departing for the Mauritania Continent.

Then, a sudden thought came to her.

‘……’

If, hypothetically, she had not suddenly fallen into this world she had never seen before, what would she have been doing?

In a world devoid of magic, divinity, and mysteries—a place where reality and fantasy coexisted, where magic was dismissed as mere fiction—if she had lived her life normally…

She might have graduated from university.

Amidst the bridge built by a great scholar who revealed the existence of gravity, she would have continued her studies while gazing at gothic architecture, the most splendid heritage of English architecture.

She would have attended fervent lectures given by professors since the early morning and sipped drinks with friends at social clubs, clinking glasses with seniors working in “companies” when vacation came.

Perhaps she would have participated in medical volunteering like her older sister or worked briefly at a media agency with the help of her brother, who graduated from the London School of Economics. Maybe she might have applied once more to that intelligence agency internship she longed for.

All these moments from a past that she was no longer sure she could return to repeatedly surfaced in Camila’s mind. And she pondered deeply.

Was she truly happy?

Graduating, tossing her cap high. Entering the dream job she longed for. Living an ordinary life like everyone else, perhaps attending the London School of Economics as her parents wished and succeeding them in their business.

But at least it seemed challenging to find true happiness in that life.

‘……’

The contemplation continued. The first to surface was her father’s face, filled with fervent opposition when he saw the acceptance letter from Cambridge.

Her father scolded her for entering the Department of Conflict Studies. Why walk a treacherous path, leaving behind a comfortable life? He urged her to give up, yet she stubbornly held her ground.

Why was that?

Looking back, her father wasn’t an angry person.

The only moment she recalled him getting angry was when she applied to the Department of Conflict Studies against his opposition and when she accompanied her sister for medical volunteer work in Afghanistan.

She hadn’t understood that back then, but she could comprehend now. Why her father had gotten so angry—it was born from a parent’s concern for their child’s safety and the hope that their child could live a better life.

However, the only thing she couldn’t understand was her past self, who had stubbornly upheld her position.

In her life, she had never opposed her parents’ decisions. To be precise, she had no subjective opinion.

She enrolled in a private school because there was no school she particularly wanted to go to, and when given an assignment to explore career paths, she pondered two options: soldier and lawyer, simply investigating her parents’ professions because she had no clear dream.

A life devoid of concerns about the future and career paths.

So why did she want to join the intelligence agency so desperately?

Was it because she fell for the appealing image of a spy reflected on the screen? Or did she decide to consider her career for the first time when she watched a spy movie before heading to university?

As her sister had once said, perhaps her decision to roam war-torn regions was a decision made while captivated by the illusions presented by screens, stemming from her lack of dreams.

It’s possible that her choice to apply to the Department of Conflict Studies was also an impulsive decision inspired by a movie.

‘……’

Why a spy movie? Why apply as an intern? Camila sought to uncover the reasons by sifting through her memories.

While doing so, a vivid memory surfaced.

Was it Afghanistan or Iraq? Given that it was a region where ISIS was rampant, it was likely Iraq. The area was Mosul.

On her first overseas trip with friends from her department, she encountered a refugee for the first time. A newborn wrapped in a bundle. An elderly woman handed the tear-soaked fabric to the volunteers.

Was it her grandchild who had been caught in a bomb terror attack? Unable to comprehend the woman’s words due to her ignorance of Arabic, she still understood the plea. Camila rushed with the newborn to the hospital, grabbing a passing doctor and pleading desperately to save the baby.

She could still vividly remember the doctor shaking his head. He told her it was already too late to save him. There was no capacity to accept patients due to a shortage of beds.

As her vision narrowed like a tunnel, it suddenly widened, bringing the hospital’s scene into view. A police officer with a torn head entered the emergency room, assisted by colleagues, while people wept over bodies covered with white cloth.

The scenery she saw while exiting the hospital was also unforgettable. A young boy, no older than ten, was dragging a cart loaded with a corpse—the lifeless body of his father, killed in an indiscriminate shooting by terrorists.

That evening, when Camila returned to her lodgings, she saw on the TV hanging on the wall news covering the civil war in Iraq. The Al Jazeera announcer reported that a senior ISIS commander had been killed in an allied airstrike.

Reaching this point in her thoughts, she could finally be honest with herself.

Did she want to save people? Did she want to eradicate terrorists? Or did she wish to change the world?

No.

If she had truly wanted to save lives, she would have become a doctor. She would have joined Médecins Sans Frontières, forsaking a guaranteed salary, just like her sister. If she wanted to wipe out terrorist organizations, she would have become a soldier like her father, volunteering for Afghanistan and Iraq.

Changing the world would be no different. If she dreamed of change, she would have followed her brother who worked in a media agency or her mother who worked in the courts. She would have reported the truth through articles, defended innocent victims, and imprisoned criminals.

But she didn’t.

She entered Cambridge, turning her back on the London School of Economics and medical school. She headed to conflict zones as a volunteer and even tried her hand as an intern in an intelligence agency.

Now, she felt she was beginning to understand the reason why she had chosen a path that everyone advised against.

What she had wanted to change wasn’t the world.

It was herself, who could do nothing in front of the dying child.

At that moment, everything clicked into place.

Her decision to head into the war zone against her father’s opposition, her endeavor to volunteer with her sister, and her secret application to SIS—all of it was not an effort to change the world but rather an attempt to escape her past. Helplessness, skepticism, despair—whatever one might call it.

She wanted to become someone who relentlessly pushed forward toward a bright future amidst despair and loneliness. Like the spies in the movies. That was why she likely aimed to enter the intelligence agency, for there was hope that something could change.

That was it. In a world she had never seen before, reaching out to the information officer was because…

She thought she could change. No, she believed he could change her. Wanting to break free from her helplessness and become a new person. If there was already someone who had changed themselves, she was willing to borrow their hand to do so.

That judgment was correct. He had transformed her. She discovered a world she had never known and learned even more. Traveling to previously unknown realms with him felt exhilarating.

However.

When asked to return to the Empire in the face of crisis, she found it hard to hide her disappointment. First disheartened by his distrust in her, she was again let down by her own inability to instill confidence. And she was again disappointed by the reality that she couldn’t change anything alone.

A deep sense of skepticism enveloped her. Even after leaving the safe house, and on the way up to the capital, it was the same.

He had suggested going to the Imperial Embassy, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. If she withdrew like this, it would only mean fleeing.

Camila was holed up in the hotel she had chosen, staring blankly at the ceiling as she pondered.

And now, facing the Shaman…

Finally, being honest with her emotions, she discovered the answer to the questions that had tormented her for decades and the Duchess’s inquiry.

What is it that she fears?

A life that doesn’t change.

The past where she could do nothing in front of dying children, and the fear of remaining a powerless version of herself forever.

A life without contemplation cannot think, and nothing changes if one does not act. If something must change, one must at least attempt it.

Right from this moment.

“……”

With her thoughts interrupted, Camila opened her eyes. The sand-covered eyelids lifted, revealing a pair of bright blue eyes shining brightly.

Before her lay the omnipresent death. The scene of Mosul, reduced to rubble by the battle between ISIS and the allied forces, overlapped with reality.

She outstretched her arms. Her straightened arms aimed at the Shaman. The figure standing above death smirked at her.

Her fingers stretched forward. The perfectly straightened index finger remained unyielding, targeting the mark. Three fingers from the middle to the pinky bent, while the thumb pulled back. Camila, shaping her hand like one holding a pistol, spoke in a serious voice.

“…The most foolish people are those who think they are the most righteous in the world.”

Patima answered.

“Are you talking to me?”

The Shaman scoffed at the Magician.

“Just talking big, huh? Look at you. Your magic is depleted, and your stance is faltering. You think running your mouth will change your unfavorable situation?”

“……”

“Still, those eyes are alive, huh? They were all cloudy just a moment ago.”

As her thumbs touched, intricate symbols were drawn in the air. Having finally completed the most potent sorcery after a long time of fusion between the Beastman and the incantation.

Once the sorcery is cast, no one shall leave alive. Not the magician nor the war correspondent.

As the attack approached, Patima opened her mouth, wearing a smile laced with the confidence of a victor.

“Yeah. That gaze. I don’t like it.”

“……”

“All foreign magicians wear such gazes. As if they’re something special. They look down on us.”

She didn’t like that gaze. It had always been the same.

“When you die, I’ll scoop out your eyeballs from your corpse. A magician’s organs fetch a decent price. If I hand them to a broker, it’ll be quite the haul.”

Patima grinned sinisterly.

The Shaman, seized by madness, unleashed indiscriminate gunfire and bomb terror, sharing a surprising resemblance to the extremist who had slaughtered dozens and turned the city into ruins.

Against such a Shaman, Camila aimed her magic-imbued hand.

There was no hesitation in her target. Gathered at a point smaller than a glass bead, her magic. Red energy enveloped her as she gazed at the Shaman with a serious soul.

“…I don’t think it’s going to work.”

Her fingers were drawn tight, and every muscle in her body tensed.

Pure magic expelled the air and sand that filled her abdomen. She could feel the magic wrapping around her, spreading along the invisible paths that connected her like blood vessels.

Camila closed her eyelids and focused her mind.

Pure magic converged into a singular point. Like a bullet loaded into a chamber, a bead sprouted at her fingertips. Patima’s fingers intertwined, and when her thumbs met, a sinister color burst forth.

A spell brimming with power that had never been seen before. Even an ordinary person without the ability to sense magic could feel the murderous intent emanating from the sorcery.

Even as the sorcery cascaded down, Camila kept her eyes shut. Until the attack landed, she merely focused her consciousness.

As the red-tinged sphere began to mix with an alien light.

It was a blue hue.

Like paint stirred by a brush, the blue aura seeped into the red sphere. Rotating clockwise, the sphere transformed from red to blue.

Just before the spell launched to kill the magician reached its target…

At that moment, a confident smile lit up Patima’s face.

Camila’s eyes opened.

—

– ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶!!!

—

In that instant, climbing over the debris with a pistol in hand, I witnessed.

The fiery shot penetrating the vast desert.

Camila’s magic shattered Patima’s sorcery and struck its target. One being engulfed in flames writhed in agony as it plummeted to the ground.

A starry night over the desert.

Fiery embers rained down from the sky like rain.

The flames that swept away the darkness and arched across the night sky were,
colored in blue.