A Dark Fantasy Spy

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A strange noise echoed inside the hideout. It was the cry of a Cat Beastman.

Charnoy paced around the box, holding a handful of grass plucked from the roadside in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Nymph shined the flashlight at the box while talking to the Beastman.

“Look this way…!”

Bright light swept past the front of the box, but the Beastman did not react.

“Kair! Why are you just sitting there…! Hurry and chase the light…!”

Despite Nymph’s urging, the reaction was lackluster. Kair, curled up in the box, merely looked at his friend with a disappointed expression.

At that moment, a Royal Intelligence Department Employee casually stepped between Nymph and the Beastman. He confidently announced, “Let me show you my expert skills,” and shone a laser pointer he had somehow procured onto the front of the box.

The moment a small dot appeared before them, the Beastman sprang into action. Kair leapt out of the box, battering the moving dot with his paws.

“Meow…!”

A Cat Beastman mistaking a laser for a toy, and the Information Officers playing around with an expensive laser pointer. Charnoy, along with Pippin and Jake, couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

This is what the intelligence agency employs? The country has truly gone downhill.

Sighing inwardly, I rubbed my neck and trudged inside.

“Matt. Can we start now?”

“Sure.”

—

Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

—

“What’s the situation on site?”

“Couldn’t be better. Everything’s going smoothly.”

“Is that so?”

In a safe house piled high with equipment, I sat around a table, chatting with Matt.

“Can you specify exactly what’s going smoothly?”

The conflict between Asen and Sanya. The Abas Information Agency incited the fight between the two Warlords, taking advantage of Nasir, who was supported by Hassan.

The operation’s goal was to weaken the forces of Asen and Sanya.

By attacking Sanya, who was cooperating with the Kien Empire, we aimed to diminish the Empire Information Agency’s activities in the Mauritania region and forge partnerships with cooperative factions to promote regional stability.

This was a project contemplated by Leoni, which I put into action, and it is now being continued by the Royal Intelligence Department’s operations team.

“You’re aware that the relationship between Sanya and the Empire’s Reconnaissance Command has deteriorated, right?”

I nodded.

“How could I not know something I had a hand in?”

“After the breakdown of relations with the Reconnaissance Command, the civil war situation changed drastically. It’s had a negative impact on Sanya.”

Matt stated in a calm tone.

Shortly after two information officers dispatched to the squad were killed, the Reconnaissance Command ceased aid to Sanya.

Instead of providing the various heavy weapons and armored vehicle repair parts that had been destroyed in the explosion, they began supplying just consumables such as rifles, ammunitions, and military gear.

“If Sanya had received the heavy weapons and repair parts they were previously granted, they could have overwhelmed Asen’s army. But with the warehouse burned down, they lost their means to advance the front. Unable to secure financing, they have no way to procure alternatives in the black market.”

“Is there no news on additional support from the Reconnaissance Command?”

“There isn’t.”

The Empire Information Department ended its aid after providing a small amount of supplies. They deemed that the possibility of a pro-Empire Warlord overpowering a rival Warlord was low.

Consequently, the Reconnaissance Command only supplied a meager amount of consumables to Sanya. With their ammunition production facilities damaged by Asen’s assaults and losing their drug-growing sites and trading partners, they were left unable to secure munitions for a while; so this minimal supply was all they could offer as a stopgap.

Of course, as no further support would be provided, this small supply of ammunition was hardly better than urinating in the cold. Sanya was surely sensing that the Empire had lost interest in them.

Cut off from foreign government support, Sanya pivoted toward self-reliance.

“Sanya’s financial backers are moving in the capital.”

Matt shared the intelligence.

This was the Royal Intelligence Department’s insight into Sanya’s activities.

“It looks like they’re searching for new sponsors.”

“What’s new about a warlord trying to secure funding? It’s pointless.”

I scoffed at Sanya, who was provoking local leaders for financial support.

“Most of those who would sponsor a Warlord on the Mauritania continent have centralist tendencies. They don’t take kindly to foreign influence here.”

In short, it’s about Mauritania centralism. This is also why wealthy Middle Eastern figures with Wahhabism tendencies support Al-Qaeda; to safeguard their interests in their region.

Though they might mockingly refer to it as licking the boots of the rich by the Quran, the assistance from local rich men was crucial in allowing extremist terror organizations in the Middle East to operate for over 20 years. Such support often occurred under government auspices; a prime example is the Iranian Islamic Revolutionary Guard supporting Hezbollah and Hamas.

It seems paradoxical for Iran, a Shiite nation, to support Hamas, a Sunni terrorist organization, but the reason Iran unabashedly backs Hamas is due to a common enemy: Israel.

Seated in Jerusalem, waging war against Islamic nations in the Middle East, Israel was a thorn in the side of the Iranian government, one they likely wished to eliminate at any cost.

However, unlike the Middle East, there’s no public enemy on the Mauritania continent. All nations worship Al-Yabd as their state religion, and the cult hasn’t infiltrated here, meaning aside from sectarian conflicts, there aren’t any substantial religious disputes.

In this context, Sanya’s decision to borrow money from wealthy sponsors supporting Mauritania centralism can be seen as completely foolish. Sanya had been a group fervently engaging in the act they despised most: receiving foreign aid.

Moreover, the Asen Warlord, who fights against Sanya, aims for Mauritania centralism.

Who would sponsor a Warlord attacking a fellow faction? The very idea of asking local sponsors for help was inherently idiotic.

I analyzed the frontlines based on Sanya’s decisions.

“It looks like Sanya is pretty desperate. They must be in dire straits if they’re resorting to actions they wouldn’t normally take.”

“With ammunition and drug production halted. If they can’t find funding, they need to take a loan or something.”

Matt handed over a list of Sanya’s financial backers operating in the capital. As I reviewed the documents, he shifted to another topic.

“Sanya is precarious, but I don’t think Asen will necessarily win. They lost many troops in the very early battles where Sanya led with shamans and armored divisions.”

“A Mauritania centralism Warlord can replenish forces more easily than expected. Sure, it may require significant money to recruit and train soldiers, but Asen still has the capacity to manage increased troop numbers. Sanya lost access to marijuana plantations; Asen didn’t.”

If anything, the 2nd group Warlord was weaker.

I also planned to contact the 1st group Warlord through the communication network I maintain with the Hassan Warlord. Leoni hopes that both the 1st and 2nd groups, if the conditions allow, can come under Abas’s control.

I’m looking into enticing the 2nd group to join our side as well, but without a communication network or the information system I manage directly, negotiating with them is quite the challenge.

“Asen seems to be holding up fairly well on the front lines. Although Sanya has lost many shamans, they still maintain a large-scale force.”

“If Sanya’s elite guard is intact, if elite units clash, Sanya will have the upper hand. Losing their largest force, the shamans, is a painful loss, but they still have armored units left.”

Matt shared another piece of intelligence as it related to Sanya.

“By the way, it seems that Sanya has found success with shamans, as they are now recruiting them in a new way.”

“Shamans? They can’t afford to hire a lot of shamans with limited finances, can they?”

“It looks like they’re shifting to using small elite groups.”

“I see.”

Nodding, I spoke up.

“If we can get our hands on the recruiters, we may find something out. Information on other recruiters’ identities, operational areas, and the locations where those shamans gather.”

“Exactly.”

“So, kidnapping them, right?”

“Would I not do it?”

“Is this even a question?”

Of course, we have to.

Matt unfurled a map on the table and marked a specific spot.

He looked at me while punctuating the map with a red pen.

“Sanya’s recruiters are currently enlisting shamans in the local area. They are operating centrally around the refugee camp. And two days ago, one of Sanya’s intermediaries showed up here.”

I checked the refugee camp Marc marked. I naturally became enraged.

“Oh, hell….”

“What’s wrong?”

“This camp. It’s the place my colleagues are planning to visit.”

The refugee camp was indeed the same place Camila, Lucia, and Francesca had scheduled to visit.

Sanya’s recruiter was active right there.

Explaining the circumstances, Matt put down his pen and shot me a serious look.

“The Saint is operating in this camp?”

“Humanitarian efforts. The healing priests from the capital council are coming too. And of course, the Knights accompanying them will provide security.”

“When do they arrive?”

“Hmmm….”

I glanced at the clock.

“They left before us, so they should arrive at the camp no later than dawn tomorrow. The actual humanitarian activities will kick off two days from now.”

“We need to act first.”

Matt turned to the operations team.

“Everyone focus. Gather the equipment and prepare the vehicles. We’ll be moving soon.”

—

A convoy of vehicles exited the hideout and merged onto busy roads. They were minivans with heavily tinted windows.

Divided among three minivans, we crossed the border, dodging checkpoints, and headed straight for the refugee camp.

Matt in the trailing vehicle began briefing over the radio.

“Yunus Abdulla Mohammed. He’s a senior member of the Sanya Warlord currently recruiting soldiers in the camp. Today’s objective is to abduct him and transfer him to the hideout.”

He instructed anyone with questions to ask them now. Then, from the radio, Sub Team Leader Bill’s voice rang through.

-“We need to put a tail on the officer. Who do you want to send?”

“Mojo and Sadiq will go, plus I’ll send Zahid.”

Matt dispatched the three officers from the operations team to the scene. They were Abas-born staff with parents from Mauritania.

“Jake, you go too. The more people, the better.”

“Sure!”

I decided to send Jake. He was an Abasian with Mauritanian ancestry, and due to inheriting significant local blood, he possessed a remarkably similar appearance to locals.

The officers quickly changed into traditional attire purchased at a nearby clothing store near the border. They looked practically indistinguishable from the locals just by switching clothes.

“Do you know the Mauritania language?”

“Of course! What do you take me for?”

Jake grinned as he answered. I wanted to check if he could really speak Mauritania’s common tongue, so I gave him a simple test.

Surprisingly, Jake passed the test without a hitch. He even conversed with the officers in a local dialect that wasn’t the common language, and when I asked where he learned it from, he casually said his grandmother taught him when he was young.

Staring at Jake with my eyes wide open, the bleached-haired punk flashed a toothy grin.

“In the Special Forces, there wasn’t anyone who could match my Mauritanian skills; I was the first to get selected because I can also speak the dialect.”

“Quit bragging… Just hurry up and get dressed.”

The information officers fluent in both Mauritania’s common language and local dialect completed their gear up. Since they would be operating inside the refugee camp, they were limited to sidearms and knives for self-defense.

The four disguised officers disembarked about 7 km west of the refugee camp.

Just before getting out, Matt explained the situation to the officers.

“If anything goes wrong, Frederick will extract you from the site.”

“Understood.”

“Can you disable the surveillance of the Peacekeeping Force in the camp?”

“That may be tough. Entering the security facilities is no easy task.”

“Then let’s just make sure we leave no traces.”

The four officers blended into the crowd of refugees as they entered the camp.

The van that let them off began to circle the camp’s perimeter, and I also used my identity as Camila’s colleague to gain entry.

“Show your identification, please.”

“Colonel Frederick Nostrim.”

“Oh, Colonel! We received notice of your arrival. What brings you here?”

“I just have some things to check before the Saint arrives. It’s just a formality.”

“Please come in.”

Guided by the Peacekeeping Force, the moment I passed through the checkpoint, I met Jake’s eyes.

I nodded, and Jake averted his gaze, disappearing into the camp.

—

Finding Sanya’s recruiter in the refugee camp proved to be a simple task. Two intelligence agencies were concurrently combing through the area.

Thanks to that, the surveillance was as easy as pie.

“I see Yunus.”

The watcher, his face half-covered with a scarf, said while gesturing with his sleeve. The target lay at the edge of the view of the Royal Intelligence Department’s observer.

Sanya’s Warlord had been seen conversing with a local man over cups of tea at what could barely be called a café.

The two of them sat at a table laid out on the pavement, engaging in discreet conversation. I seized the binoculars to gather info on the recruiter and the local.

“Yunus Abdulla Mohammed. Confirmed. Who’s the person he’s talking to?”

—’A man with black hair and brown eyes. He looks like a recruiting target.’

To ensure the Saint’s safety under the guise of inspecting camp security, I climbed up to the observation tower, binoculars and radio in hand.

The Royal Intelligence Department officer trailing closely was lurking near the tent, clad in a hood that concealed his face. Another officer standing by exchanged places with him.

The officer stationed close to the recruitment table discreetly hid a listening device under his hat. Meanwhile, technicians waiting in the van began to swiftly translate the conversation between the two locals.

—’The target is getting up. It looks like they’re going to move.’

From outside the camp, Matt grabbed the radio.

“What direction are they heading?”

—’Looks like they’re heading outside. A handler presumed to be with the Sanya Warlord is accompanying the local man toward the checkpoint.’

“I can see him too. The guy in the dark brown dervish robes and a white coat is now passing through the north checkpoint.”

“I’ll follow.”

The van that had been circling the camp began to trail behind the Warlord figure and the local man now exiting the camp.

The recruiter heading for the city led the man into a house. Kair skillfully jumped onto the roof to snap photos with the Magic Imaging Equipment, allowing us to discover that 14 men were gathered in that house.

Even as they headed to the city, the target stayed put. He leisurely drank tea while idling, and before long, another local man entered to join him.

As I observed the spectacle through the binoculars, I reached a conclusion.

“Yunus has made contact with someone new. Another male of conscription age has arrived too. The local who brought him seems like another recruiter. Probably at the junior level.”

As expected, Yunus was indeed middle management. Settled on the outskirts of the refugee camp, he continuously interacted with locals.

I gleaned insight into Sanya’s recruitment strategies here. Lower-tier recruiters seemed to roam the camp gathering refugees, after which Yunus would check if the refugees were useful enough to employ before bribing them a bit and sending them outside the camp.

The entire process was conducted through strict division of labor. The initial recruiters who brought in people, managers who vetted them, and the carriers who took them out of the camp to nearby cities, all operated like clockwork.

Approximately six personnel from the Sanya Warlord were active in the camp. The person overseeing the recruitment was Yunus.

I lowered the binoculars and muttered.

“Yunus is definitely the mastermind here.”

—’Not the real mastermind. There’s a higher-up managing shaman recruitment separately.’

Sub Team Leader Bill interjected from the radio. He emphasized the necessity of securing Yunus even if he wasn’t a top-tier officer.

—’Though he’s in middle management, he possesses more information than the lower-tier recruiters. If we interrogate Yunus, it paves the way to reach higher ranks.’

Hearing Bill’s words, I silently nodded.

While the Royal Intelligence Department staff viewed the recruitment of forces from Sanya at the refugee camp as innovative, I thought it was just a typical move of any warlord. Al-Qaeda or the Taliban also typically start looking for suicide bombers at refugee camps.

Indeed, the idea of recruiting soldiers from within a refugee camp could be seen as innovative, considering Sanya was the first to come up with it here.

—’Men of conscription age are currently walking with warlord recruiters. They’re heading north.’

Confirming the presence of lower-tier recruiters and refugees leaving the camp, the Royal Intelligence Department operator broadcasted.

—’It seems the north checkpoint is a favored route for Sanya’s recruiters. Shall we attempt to abduct the target there?’

—’Let’s think it over. But what’s Yunus doing?’

I responded to the radio.

“He’s still drinking tea.”

The Sanya middle recruiter hadn’t left his seat once. Whenever his tea grew cold, he would call a waiter to warm it up, ordering fresh tea, never leaving the spot.

The nonchalance he displayed indicated this wasn’t his first rodeo.

Five watchers, consisting of four information officers masquerading as refugees and one officer overlooking from the observation tower, kept a close watch on Yunus.

Then, after over ten hours of sipping tea, Yunus finally began to rise from his seat.

Finally, he’s moving.

I fixed my gaze on the radio without losing sight of him.

“Yunus is on the move. All staff waiting on the scene, follow closely.”

—’Confirmed. We’re on our way.’

As the target stepped out from the teahouse, the Royal Intelligence Department staff began to chase after him.

The chase adhered to protocol.

The officers trailed cautiously, maintaining a safe distance. Whenever the target rounded a corner, the preceding officer would move forward, exiting the scene while a new officer took over the sleuthing task.

The four intelligence officers communicated through their radios to maintain the surveillance. The chatter from several staff members intermingled on the frequency, creating a cacophony.

—’Yunus is moving to the east section 42-2.’

—’Zahid is positioned. Keep moving straight and exit.’

—’Turning left at section 18-6.’

—’He’s starting to descend the stairs, but there’s someone down there?’

—’It’s me.’

Jake’s voice rang from the radio. I raised the binoculars to keep an eye on section 18.

Disguised as a Taj and hiding his blond hair, Jake was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. As he exchanged glances with the Royal Intelligence Department officer passing above him, Jake immediately followed Yunus.

I marked the recruiter’s movement on the unfolded map. After finishing his recruitment near the north gate, Yunus was heading southeast.

Matt and Bill analyzed that Sanya’s hideout existed in the southeast of the refugee camp.

—’Considering Yunus’s activity radius, there should be a safe house within the camp. Let’s trail him to find out.’

—’Are we going to abduct him there? If someone is kidnapped from the refugee camp, it’ll cause quite a stir.’

—’We’ve done abductions in the heart of a city, what’s the problem? If we don’t have a means to draw him out of the camp, we’ll need to bring him in ourselves.’

“Yes.”

As I listened to the radio, I spoke up, engaged in conversation with Matt and Bill.

—’What’s going on?’

“What’s the target doing right now?”

My attention turned back to section 18.

Through the binoculars, I spotted Yunus and Jake, but suddenly Jake made an unexpected move. Despite it not being time to switch, he deviated from the trail.

I snatched the radio and called out urgently.

“Jake. Respond.”

—’……’

“What the hell are you doing? Why did you suddenly bail on the mission—”

At that moment, a response came through the radio.

—’I’ve been discovered.’

“…What?”

—’I’ve been spotted. Stopping the operation and will head to the rendezvous point.’

I stared blankly at the radio.

—

Following the communication, the operation was called off.

The deployed intelligence officers entered radio silence to prevent eavesdropping.

The officers, who had each taken a different route out of the camp, regrouped at the previously designated point, climbing into the waiting minivan to return to the hideout.

Back at the safe house, I faced Jake.

“What happened?”

I asked, probing with a question.

“Why did you pull out of the scene without saying anything? What do you mean you’ve been discovered?”

“…….”

Jake silenced himself at the table. Matt and Bill, with serious faces, were conferring with the intrepid officers who had been dispatched, while Pippin cast a worried glance.

“…It was just as I said. I was spotted. Our eyes met.”

After a moment of silence, Jake finally spoke up. Sitting back in my chair, I gazed at him in disbelief.

“You made eye contact with the target? You stopped the mission over that?”

From a watcher’s perspective, there are many different situations that can send chills down one’s spine.

The target could suddenly quicken their pace upon noticing they’re being observed, or the path could intersect, causing one to lose them. There are even moments when a target’s eyes meet yours.

However, just because such an unexpected situation occurs doesn’t mean the surveillance must be ceased. It’s possible the observer may have misjudged the situation out of fear. Hence, every intelligence agency advises adhering to the judgment of field commanders.

I concluded that this incident stemmed from Jake’s mistaken assessment.

But…

Something felt off.

“No, that’s not it. The target didn’t meet my gaze. He had no clue he was being followed.”

“…Then?”

“Someone else made eye contact with me.”

“…….”

“It was someone I know.”

Jake, tensing his jaw, added.

“It was Ibrahim. A soldier I’ve worked with before.”

“You mean that guy? A soldier from the Patalia or Lushan side?”

“Not from those, but from the cult.”

“The cult?”

Jake nodded. He spoke softly.

“I remember he was part of the Order of the Holy Knights, Unit 92541.”

“…92541, you say?”

At that moment, my attention turned to the voice behind me. Matt was staring at us, looking quite serious.

“Hey. Are you saying the person you met is serving in Unit 92541? Are you sure about that?”

“I’m certain. We were deployed together during the mobilization, so I can’t forget. We even took photos.”

“Wait.”

I interjected into their conversation.

“What’s so important about this so-called Unit 92541 that’s causing such a stir?”

The answer to my question came from the Royal Intelligence Department’s Quasi-Military Operative.

“Unit 92541 is a special operations force under the Order of the Holy Knights.”

“Special operations, you say?”

“Not just any special ops.”

Matt added.

“They’re an assassination squad that hunts down cultists.”