A Dark Fantasy Spy

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World Union Refugee Protection Agency.

The refugee camp established by the international community was finally bustling with activity.

“The special envoy from the Gabiria Union has arrived.”

“Prime Minister Jalal, President Marham will be arriving soon. Expected time of arrival is in 10 minutes.”

“Check the barricades and confirm the deployment status of security personnel inside the venue.”

With piercing gazes, the Peacekeeping Force kept watch while the local president’s security detail roamed the camp.

Amid heightened security that left no room for leaks, refugees gathered with tense expressions surrounding the soldiers.

For the first time in a long while, the camp buzzed, with civilians, soldiers, and journalists all gathered in one place. The expressions of the refugees reflected a newfound vitality, captured by the Magic Imaging Equipment.

“……”

As I gazed down at the chaotic camp from the watchtower, Pippin ascended the stairs to report to me.

“Manager, the event is about to start.”

“What about the security personnel in the venue?”

“All deployed. The operations team has taken their positions as well.”

“……”

“Let’s go.”

“Just let me finish this.”

Pippin checked his radio and disappeared down the stairs. After brushing away the ash, I took a drag of my cigarette and looked up at the sky.

A clear blue sky without a cloud in sight.

Behind the barbed wire stretched a breathtaking desert that extended to the horizon.

A vehicle carrying the Saint approached, cutting through the rising sandstorm.

Episode 17 – The Tree that Drinks Blood

Immediately following the deal with Ibrahim, I parted ways with the operations team and sought out Francesca.

“What brings you here at this late hour, Colonel?”

“I have a favor to ask.”

“Of course. Speak.”

While I was meeting with Francesca, the Royal Intelligence Department’s operations team deployed to the field.

-Creeeak!

“What the hell are you! What is this—Ugh…!”

“If you make a sound, you’re dead.”

The Royal Intelligence Department employees stormed the hideout of the Sanya warlord located in the southeastern area of the refugee camp.

We had paused the tailing, but with information shared from foreign governments, locating their hideout was straightforward.

The operations team successfully secured Yunus after breaking down the door.

“The perimeter team waits outside; the rest will enter. Gather anything that could be useful.”

“Just let me take him along, Yunus.”

As they placed a hood over Yunus’s head and shoved him into the vehicle, the interior team gathered documents and stored media related to pensions into bags.

Having secured a mid-level executive of Sanya along with substantial materials, the operations team left the refugee camp in a vehicle. The operation—from abduction to extraction—took less than ten minutes.

By the time I returned to the Royal Intelligence Department’s safe house, the operations team had already analyzed Yunus’s testimony and the materials from Sanya.

“Did you find out anything, Bill?”

“Yes, quite a bit. First, we’ve determined the number of cultists Sanya sent into this country.”

The Sanya recruitment officer who had undergone interrogation by the Royal Intelligence Department spilled some of the information he knew.

Cross-referencing the materials obtained from the hideout with Yunus’s testimony, we confirmed that there were four cultists who had entered the camp.

“Have you uncovered their attack plans and schedule?”

“Not yet. According to Yunus, he was only paid to help people cross the border; he claims he doesn’t know their identities or intentions.”

Of course, no one believed him.

“I’ll ask again, Yunus.”

“Huh…”

“What’s the plan? Who are they targeting in the camp?”

“…Just kill me, you bastards!”

“It seems talking won’t work. Fill the kettle and bring the car battery.”

Matt pressured Yunus into revealing information by torturing him. Once a cloth covered his face, the water gushed out, and the electricity coursed through his system.

Through the slightly ajar door, I caught a glimpse of Yunus suffering from electric torture. With the power on, the guy strapped to the chair would spring up repeatedly like a bow being drawn back.

I watched the scene alongside Matt.

“I heard Yunus is still holding out.”

“He’ll crack soon.”

“Director Leoni wants us to extract information by sunrise, no matter what.”

“Let’s give it a shot. Go check on Larry. He might have uncovered something.”

Matt closed the door as he spoke. Beyond the slowly closing gap, I spotted Yunus hanging limply from the chair after the electrocution had ended.

While the scent of roasting meat and rising steam lingered at the door, I eventually met Larry upstairs. The senior analyst at the Royal Intelligence Department was busy cracking the pension storage media related to the Sanya warlord with his analysts.

“Matt asked me to have a word with you, Larry.”

“Matt? Where is he?”

“In the basement. It’s better not to know the details. So, what was in the gift box?”

Larry, leaning on his staff, grinned as he adjusted his glasses.

“Heh heh. Just see for yourself, my friend.”

Letting me into the analysis room, Larry walked over to his monitor. With some difficulty, he settled into the chair and tapped on the screen.

“Can you see this?”

“That’s a photo.”

It was indeed a photo.

In the monitor’s image were soldiers from Sanya with their faces covered in black cloth. The white text that seemed to serve as propaganda took up the edges, indicating it was some sort of campaign material.

Larry zoomed in on the photo and pointed to a corner. From that spot, I could detect a faint noise.

“Do you see that noise here?”

“Yes.”

Larry began to explain.

“That’s a trace of steganography.”

Steganography.

A technique to hide codes in an image. The unnatural noise in the corner was a typical feature of steganography.

“It seems the Sanya warlords weren’t just pocketing money from the Empire’s intelligence unit. The steganography applied photo was found from the pension storage card we secured at the hideout.”

“Hmm… It likely wasn’t officially taught by the Empire’s intelligence services; it seems they picked it up from somewhere or learned it on the fly. Can it be cracked?”

“Are you serious? Of course, it can be cracked!”

His fingers danced over the keyboard.

The senior analyst at the Royal Intelligence Department began inputting the photo into the decoding software, starting to unravel the code.

“Let’s see… First, the photo’s signature appears intact.”

Larry dismantled the photo piece by piece and continued analyzing. He checked where the file ended and examined the signature.

The warlords’ shoddy encryption scheme was suddenly breached.

Larry realized that something was contained in the locked document number 16 through the numbers and strings found in the file, after combining the digits and letters of the password.

“It’s open. How long did it take?”

“Three minutes.”

“Did you see? This is who I am!”

The senior analyst at the Royal Intelligence Department shrugged. He looked like a person who had successfully solved a complex puzzle.

But even by my time in the Information Command, or the current standards of the Military Intelligence Agency, the level of encryption was laughably crude.

I shot a glance at the childish analyst, and once Larry seemed to regain focus, he returned to work.

“Anyway, let’s see what information those warlord bastards have cached away.”

I leaned back on the chair, scrutinizing the screen.

And shortly after, I bumped into Matt coming out of the torture room in the basement.

“Gather the team, Matt.”

“Did you find out anything?”

“A little.”

“Good.”

Wiping the sweat from his face, the operations team leader began.

“Let’s hear the plan.”

The southern gate, viewed from the watchtower, was teeming with people.

The president, leaning out through the sunroof, waved both arms. The Prime Minister exchanged greetings with the Union’s diplomats.

As a convoy crossed the gate, reports from the Peacekeeping Force Executive came across the radio.

-“The Saint is entering.”

Switching to the secure channel, I transmitted the news over the radio.

“The Heart Queen has arrived. Repeat, the Heart Queen is here.”

-“Confirmed.”

As the operations team members blended into the crowd, they caught sight of the vehicle.

While the team members identified the vehicle and dispersed to their positions, Matt’s gaze met mine as he glanced towards the watchtower.

I contacted him via radio.

“Do you see the Handler, Matt?”

-“No, not yet.”

I scanned the crowd from the watchtower. As Matt said, I couldn’t spot anyone particularly suspicious.

“Everyone, stay sharp. If you see anyone with suspicious behaviors, mark them immediately. Anyone who hovers around the event or makes frequent eye contact with the security team. Especially look out for anyone sweating profusely.”

-“Keep your eyes wide open and examine everything. We must catch whoever it is today.”

“Sniper team, report your positions.”

A brief crackle of static echoed through the radio before a bizarre whining sound emitted.

-“Currently on the 4th floor of the eastern building. The building with the green sign.”

“Any unusual findings?”

-“Nothing special reported yet… The water from the first floor tastes a bit metallic.”

“Pinch your nose and drink it.”

-“Mooow…!”

-“The sound of Kair’s wailing is echoing up to the roof…! Someone bring me some treat immediately…!”

Hastily putting away the radio that had been filled with the cries of Beastmen and Nymphs, I hurried down from the watchtower.

Unlike the southern gate, the area around the watchtower was under strict surveillance. It was a secure zone where refugees and journalists were not allowed. Only soldiers could come and go from here.

When I descended to the first floor, a soldier nearby followed me. Dressed differently from the Peacekeeping Force, clad in civilian clothing and armed with a rifle, he was someone I recognized.

“Have you found the cultists, Colonel?”

“No.”

Ibrahim.

From the Utland Order, Commander of the Holy Knights, Unit 92541.

Dressed as a civilian, the cult’s special operatives kept watch while engaging with me.

“Bad news.”

Ibrahım, glancing at me, posed a question.

“Our side is actively searching as well. What about your end?”

“Our members have disguised themselves as Knights and are positioned with Saint Lucia’s security team. As you can see, I’m disguised as a mercenary.”

While he claimed to be a mercenary, he looked more like a private security employee.

Yet, calling oneself a mercenary wasn’t necessarily wrong. In this town, a mercenary was essentially synonymous with an adventurer. Thus, mercenaries often preferred to be referred to as adventurers.

Mercenaries have a strong connotation of fighting for money, which is not unlike what an adventurer does in a way.

Ibrahim and I strolled between the barbed wire, exchanging information.

“We have Yunus in our custody. Did you receive any information this morning?”

“Yes. I got the number of cultists who infiltrated the camp.”

The soldier from the cult continued speaking.

“They’re after the blood of Saint Lucia. Precisely, they want to secure her blood.”

That was right.

After torturing the abducted Yunus and analyzing the materials secured by the operations team, the analysts at the Royal Intelligence Department discovered that the cultists aim to obtain Lucia’s blood.

So the message left by the murdered informant, “I want the Saint’s blood,” was not a mere euphemism for assassination but a literal intent to obtain her blood.

I ventured a question.

“Why do the cultists want Saint Lucia’s blood?”

“Well, the principle behind it is something our Inquisition scholars would know better, but… based on my experience, I’d guess the following.”

The soldier from the Holy Knights began explaining the cult’s motives.

Unlike the established religions, including Al-Yabd, that refer one another as infidels, some religious sects are officially labeled as cults.

“Cults refer to wrong religions that have harmful effects on society. While mainstream foreign religions, including Al-Yabd, although they do not share opinions with the cult, do beneficial work for society, the same cannot be said for cults.”

Human sacrifices, suicides, sexual offerings, and exorbitant cash… These groups glamorize their criminal acts as beliefs and faith, while continuing their self-contradictions and madness.

Essentially, they represent hodgepodges of delusional thinking.

“Cults usually move in ways that benefit their organizations. Often, it is the leaders or cult ‘gods’ requesting that followers respond to their whims. It’s likely that this current incident was instigated by the cult leader as well.”

I organized the materials regarding the cults received from Ibrahim in my mind. As the cold grip of the pistol I concealed in my pocket sank into my palm, I asked him.

“Why do they want the blood of Saint Lucia?”

“They’re likely going to use it as a sacrifice.”

The commander of the special unit from the Holy Knights. His speculations, being an expert on cultists, came next.

“Blood from a clergy member is the perfect material for sacrifice. When divinity manifests, the remnants of holiness blend into the blood, serving as a potent medium. Cultists are precisely fixated on this aspect.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of that. They say that something akin to divinity can be crafted from a priest’s blood?”

“To be precise, it’s mysticism.”

The way cultists utilize the blood of clergy is akin to how wizards handle magic. Offering certain materials to invoke miracles—it’s primitive sorcery in essence.

Ibrahim viewed the cult’s objective as lying exactly within that context.

“If it’s the blood of Saint Lucia, it would serve as an unparalleled medium compared to any priest. Similarly to how the blood of a renowned wizard fetches a high price on the black market.”

“What do the cultists plan to do with that blood?”

“I, too, cannot fathom that part. Not all cultists think alike. But whatever it may be, it surely isn’t anything pleasant.”

I concurred with that.

As we moved toward the southern gate, Ibrahım focused on explaining what he’d learned from experience while I followed with the information I’d gleaned from the reports.

By the way, the documents I’d seen came from Abas’s domestic intelligence agencies, the Cabinet Security Office and Special Investigation Bureau, in addition to the Magic Department. Compared to the military’s security and counterintelligence focus, it was much easier to source cult-related documents from domestic intelligence agencies—the quality and expertise differed significantly.

Particularly, due to the mystic aspect of cults, materials from the Magic Department proved very helpful, as exploring mysticism is within the realm of wizards or clergy.

Likewise, there was Ibrahim, who had once acted on behalf of the Holy See, being on the ground in Mauritania to eliminate cultists and secure mystical artifacts.

I turned to my companion overseeing the mystic matters.

“I believe you have dealt with these matters involving the mystical domain. You acted on the Holy See’s instructions, right?”

“I’ve mostly acted per the Pope’s directives, but I have acted on Al-Yabd’s requests periodically. Mysticism is an area of interest for them as well.”

“Oh, I recall hearing that Al-Yabd has an organization that specializes in acquiring and studying mystic elements.”

“The Relics Management Committee. A division responsible for the recovery and excavation of artifacts of Al-Yabd. Mysticism also falls under their purview.”

I inquired if he had received any information from Al-Yabd regarding this cult issue since it was something they might take seriously.

However, it seemed Ibrahim had not received any word from them; he shook his head dispassionately.

“The exchange with Al-Yabd has been suspended since early this year.”

“Why is that?”

“Because the Pope changed.”

“Oh.”

It struck me that the present leader of the cult was Raphael. A hardliner who made his name known as the former Inquisition Director.

Raphael was notoriously known as a hardliner during his time at the Inquisition, and his reputation was widely recognized beyond just intelligence circles, even among other religious organizations.

With such a person being elected Pope, Al-Yabd would have little interest in maintaining relations with the cult. It’s quite common in international diplomacy for relations to sour when a leader with differing ideologies comes to power.

“That makes sense.”

I nodded, acknowledging the situation. Still, Ibrahim seemed less concerned about it.

“In any case, we’ve learned the cult’s intentions, but now we must discover their methods. How exactly will they try to obtain the blood of Saint Lucia? Do you have any expectations?”

“If they can’t find a way to do it inconspicuously, they’ll likely resort to violence. If they do manage to obtain blood, they will probably ambush Saint Lucia with weapons.”

“What about syringes? There have been cases where cultists harvested blood using syringes.”

“That would be one way, but the likelihood of that happening is low. Unless Saint Lucia remains passive, they surely won’t let a syringe come at them. The needle will likely get stuck or break.”

That suggested a high probability of failure.

Then they’d likely resort to an ambush.

As I walked along the barbed-wire barricade, I realized we had reached our destination. We agreed to scatter here.

Before moving to our positions in anticipation of a cultist attack, I pooled my final information with Ibrahim.

“If the cult succeeds in their ambush, they will attempt to escape to the Necropolis.”

“The Necropolis? Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

I nodded.

“I’ve prepared to send people in case they attempt to flee to the Necropolis, but it’s vital to intercept them before they leave the camp.”

“I’ll make sure to stop them. Well then, I must be off.”

“Take care.”

“Be cautious of the cultists, brother.”

Drawing his scarf up to his nose, Ibrahim saluted before disappearing.

I watched him blend into the crowd.

As the soldier in civilian clothing vanished, I turned and began to walk away.

*

The once dim and gloomy refugee camp felt lively now, as an important guest had arrived.

“The 59th Saint of the Cult, Saint Lucia, is entering!”

Crowds flooded around the reporters continuing the live broadcast from in front of the Magic Imaging Equipment. Among the tightly packed crowd, a woman with flowing platinum hair emerged.

“Greetings. Thank you for your warm welcome.”

Lucia placed her hand over her heart and gave a slight bow.

A tanned businessman in a suit beamed at her and bowed in return.

“It’s an honor, Saint! We genuinely welcome you to our country!”

Despite the fact that 97% of the religious population were followers of Al-Yabd, and the nation recognized Al-Yabd as its state religion, the authority of the saint was widely acknowledged even in countries hostile to the cult.

Lucia’s visit had been officially sanctioned by a government that recognized Al-Yabd as its state religion, and with the international community focusing its attention, the president welcomed Lucia with a bright smile.

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

Lucia bowed her head slightly, her kind smile directed at the president. The odd pairing of a fervent follower of Al-Yabd and a saint of the cult was striking, but the vibe was amiable.

After all, within just two weeks of her arrival, Lucia had treated over 8,000 patients—free of charge.

The economic crisis caused by natural disasters, civil wars, border breaches from monsters, and the riots led by Sirens had compounded the existing turmoil. The president, beleaguered by threats from military coups, began to lighten up as his long-standing dilemma of the refugee situation found a hero to resolve it.

In truth, if a mere individual could treat over 8,000 of his people for free, anyone would do their utmost to welcome her. The president, a devout follower of Al-Yabd, was no exception.

Even as relations between the cult and Al-Yabd entered a crisis point, the warmth in the president’s gaze toward Lucia was boundless. Like a lifeline, he tightly grasped the saint’s hand.

“Truly, you have arrived splendidly. Your presence in this country must surely be a blessing from the God.”

“Ah, yes. Truly a blessing from the Divine.”

Naturally, the God believed by the president and the God worshipped by Lucia were entirely different, but who cared.

The two laughed joyfully in the warm atmosphere.

“I would like to see the refugees.”

“That speaks to your noble heart. Of course! This way, I’ll show you the headquarters.”

The president led Lucia to the headquarters building located inside the refugee camp. Unlike his earlier show of affection, the one actually guiding her was an international relief worker stationed at the camp.

Having staged the welcoming scene for about 10 seconds, the president soon found the journalists along with government officials, starting a lengthy speech. Perhaps the upcoming presidential election had prompted his eagerness.

Of course, it’s an open secret that the voter turnout in this country’s elections often exceeds 100%.

“The campaigning begins already…”

I evaded the journalists and walked past the president and security detail towards Lucia.

“Oh, there you are.”

“Good to see you, Lucia.”

Surrounded by relief workers as she moved, Lucia beamed brightly at me upon recognizing me, a smile radiant beyond what she’d shared with the president.

I matched my footsteps with hers and walked at a leisurely pace, offering an apology.

“I apologize for delaying the schedule without notice. I had to coordinate with the Peacekeeping Force regarding security concerns.”

Originally, Lucia was supposed to arrive here early yesterday, but the Security Knights under the Inquisition’s orders delayed her visit by a day, citing security inspections.

Although her plan to arrive at the refugee camp a day earlier and start her relief efforts fell through, Lucia seemed unfazed. In fact, she appeared relieved that she arrived even at this point.

“That’s alright. It’s better that you came at all.”

“That’s unexpected. During our last meeting, you emphasized it was critical not to be late.”

“Did I really say that?”

Lucia tilted her head, and with a sly smile, she suddenly exclaimed.

“Oh, I just remembered saying that. But there’s no need for you to feel sorry.”

“Why not?”

“After all, it’s because you worried about me, isn’t it?”

With a gentle smile, Lucia stepped a little closer, tiptoeing to peck me on the cheek.

With a soft sound, her gentle touch lingered on my skin.

Now back on her heels, Lucia flashed me a bashful smile.

“Thank you for caring for me.”

In the wake of this unexpected kiss, I momentarily lost my composure, brushing my cheek with my fingers.

But whatever the case, Lucia smiled and left me with a reminder to see her later before stepping inside.

“…What was that?”

I quickly glanced around to check if anyone had seen. Thankfully, there was no one around us.

After giving one last look at the door Lucia had just entered, I swiftly exited the building, returning to the scene.

*

With the saint visiting, the atmosphere within the refugee camp resembled a festival.

Cheers and applause rang out, deafeningly filling the air. The swirling excitement set off a mild headache as I began to feel dizzy.

The sounds from the radio mirrored the chaos too, with conversations from the operations team spilling through the secure channel.

-“Everyone’s so excited. Can you believe that all these people are believers of Al-Yabd?”

-“They came to help, so they’re welcoming her. She’s a saint, so that’s obvious.”

-“Check for explosives. I remember seeing some insane man state that if the saint was present, he would rather die than not detonate a bomb. Who knows if one might be here?”

Woof! Woof! At the mention of “bomb,” a Peacekeeping Force’s explosive detection dog seemed to react by barking at me, perhaps just wanting to bark.

Then Matt’s voice came from the radio shortly after.

-“Who’s the idiot chatting on the network?”

With just a single line, he silenced the entire channel and clicked his tongue. After switching frequencies, Matt promptly called for me on the radio.

-“I’ve been watching for two hours, and nothing notable has turned up. The snipers stationed above haven’t reported any troubling activity either.”

The same went for the cult side.

Ibrahim, who had returned from scouting the area, shook his head at me immediately.

“I see no sign of the cultists. What about your side?”

“We haven’t found any either.”

“Damn…”

It had already been over two hours since Lucia entered the camp. Currently, she was moving about, engaging with the patients.

“How’s the team disguised as security doing?”

“They report no issues either. Both our team and the Holy Knights, plus the priests and the Peacekeeping Force, have yet to see anyone suspicious.”

“……”

I gazed toward the members of the Holy Knights surrounding Lucia. Clad in silver armor and bulletproof gear, they embodied a strange blend of tradition and modernity. One might imagine if divinity were to be revealed somewhere, they’d resemble the Swiss Guard of the Vatican.

The Holy Knights, wearing peculiar armor that combined plating with body armor, were armed with automatic rifles as they secured Lucia. Their ferocious gazes, piercing through the tactical masks, scanned the crowd, but couldn’t seem to detect the Handler.

As I watched Lucia treating refugees quietly, I muttered.

“Something feels off.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just… everything.”

I struggled to articulate my unease. Something felt skewed.

The cultist group supported by the Sanya warlord had crossed the border. They had infiltrated the camp targeting Lucia’s blood, hiding their true identities as refugees.

There were four of them, and they were set to flee to the Necropolis after their mission succeeded, waiting for the perfect moment to extract Lucia’s blood.

Yet, nothing had occurred thus far.

“……”

I observed the calmness around the camp, mulling over Lucia’s serene demeanor.

What if—what if the intel we obtained was incorrect?

That thought, however, was quickly dismissed.

The intel was accurate. Information from Ibrahim, Yunus’s testimony, and the materials obtained from Sanya’s hideout all corroborated that cultists had infiltrated this location.

I continued to scan the vicinity around Lucia. Armed Peacekeeping Force personnel were stationed everywhere for her safety.

To counter the publicized threats and terrorism, peacekeeping units had drastically increased vigilance, deploying mages and trained dogs for security. As if that weren’t enough, diplomats dispatched from the union stood guard near Lucia to prepare for any potential terror attacks.

Let’s think about this.

If I were a terrorist, would I dare to attack such a hard target?

“……”

Research on terrorism has been intensely studied since the 9/11 attacks. Various intelligence agencies across the globe, from the CIA and SIS in the west to the Chinese Ministry of State Security and the Russian Federal Security Service, exchanged insights to meet the rapidly rising terror threats. Unsurprisingly, our National Intelligence Service was no different.

Through that abundance of materials and my time spent in the third world, one fact became evident: terrorists are anything but reckless.

Terrorists are, fundamentally, guerrillas.

They know very well they stand no chance by directly assaulting government forces or foreign troops deployed. They recognize that fact painfully well.

Therefore, they consistently target the weakest link. They aren’t fools marching into the fray where they’ll only end up dead. Instead of striking a heavily fortified military base or an airport—the hard targets—they instead go for soft targets: poorly defended urban areas and hotels.

Looking again at Lucia, she was surrounded by countless layers of protection.

Even if I imagined myself as a terrorist, that would not be an easy target to attack at all. Even if it were intelligence agents or special forces, penetrating through that wall of security would require a tremendous cost.

The cultists likely understood this as well. They would know that obtaining Lucia’s blood amidst the Knights and the Peacekeeping Force would be a near-impossible task.

So… what would they be aiming for?

“…Lucia.”

“Yes?”

I called out to Lucia, who was busy treating a child with a broken leg. She followed me with a curious expression.

I led her behind a tent, taking a deep breath before slowly speaking.

“My question might sound strange, but please don’t misunderstand. Have you ever bled since coming here?”

“Bled? Why do you ask that all of a sudden?”

“I just need to check something. Think carefully before you respond, Lucia.”

“I haven’t been scratched or injured… Oh, but I did have blood tests.”

“…Blood tests?”

“Yes.”

Lucia replied like it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Recently, there’ve been outbreaks of infectious diseases among refugees, and since sanitation is poor, with issues related to local endemic diseases, I had to undergo blood testing at the request of the international organization. Just because I’m a holy figure doesn’t mean I can’t get sick.”

“…When did you have that test?”

“Just now, in the medical room at headquarters…”

Without waiting for her to finish, I dashed toward the building where Lucia was stationed.

“Alert! All personnel on standby, report to the headquarters building! Repeat, to the medical room at headquarters!”

“What’s going on?!”

“Lucia had blood taken!”

“What do you mean?!”

“She underwent a blood test! In the medical room at headquarters!”

As Ibrahim began to grasp the situation, he sprinted alongside me.

Members of the Royal Intelligence Department, previously mingling among the crowd, headed over to the adjacent vicinity of the headquarters. Under Ibrahim’s orders, the Holy Knights split into two teams.

Amid the chaos, I kicked open the medical room door while wielding my pistol. Ibrahim followed suit, aiming his machine gun as he checked around the corner.

“All clear.”

“…….”

Lowering the gun in my hand, I stared blankly out the window.

“…Oh, dammit.”

The locked window was broken, open without any hindrance.

And there stood an empty blood refrigerator.

Two hours and forty-three minutes had elapsed since Lucia had entered the camp.

Cultists had successfully stolen blood from her.