A Dark Fantasy Spy

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※This episode contains depictions of interrogation within an information agency. Readers underage are advised to proceed with caution.

“Targets have been taken.”

“I will secure the entrance logs from all directions and check the magic power monitoring equipment.”

“A Cultist has forcibly invaded the headquarters. Begin inquiries with the officials.”

Ibrahim furrowed his brow as he issued orders to the Order of the Holy Knights. He had a face akin to someone who had bitten into something unpleasant.

It was no wonder considering the blood of the Saint had been seized. There was no dispute that whatever the cultists planned to do with Lucia’s blood would lead to very undesirable outcomes.

I concealed my pistol and exited the chaos of the headquarters. Nearby, Bill, who was commanding the operations team, casually approached me.

“Did you find them?”

“I missed them.”

“…Dammit.”

The cultists had already secured the blood and fled the scene. There was no way to know when they infiltrated the headquarters’ medical room, but one thing was clear—they had completed their mission and left the camp.

“What do you think they’re planning to do with the Saint’s blood?”

“That’s not really important.”

Matt emerged to answer Bill’s question.

The operations team leader, crossing the sandy area, placed his hands on his hips and let out a small sigh.

“The important thing is the cult’s location. To get from the camp to the Necropolis by car will take at least ten days. On foot, about a month. They are likely still in this country.”

“…….”

“Are you thinking of chasing them right now?”

“No.”

I shook my head and turned to face Matt and Bill.

“Let’s gather intel first.”

—

Episode 17 – The Tree That Drinks Blood

The operations team of the Royal Intelligence Department had established a base within the territory of the Hassan warlord. The reasoning was clear—there was no safer region than the territory of a friendly warlord with hostile forces lurking in every direction.

Nasir, the leader of Hassan, was a former operative. He had been recruited by Leoni while she was working as an operative, and he had been a sniper responsible for taking out numerous officials and generals of the government army.

Perhaps due to his background as an operative, the safe house provided by Nasir was in quite a decent location.

It was reasonably distanced from public offices, with almost no interference from neighbors. The layout allowed avoidance of external surveillance, permitting free movement without arousing suspicion, and the building itself boasted formidable defenses.

An isolated estate, akin to an island amidst the bustling city.

Right here was a mid-level official from the Sanya warlord.

“How’s Yunus doing?”

“Not well, Team Leader.”

A Royal Intelligence Department employee reported to Matt as he stepped out of the van.

“He hasn’t been well ordinarily, but the torture is breaking him down.”

“I know Yunus has underlying health issues. What about his nutritional status?”

“We’re supplying essential nutrients, for now…”

The Royal Intelligence Department employee’s voice trailed off ambiguously.

At that moment, a dull thud echoed from beyond the door.

“Ugh…!”

Some information officers remaining in the safe house under Matt’s orders were continuing the interrogation of a recruitment officer from Sanya.

Yunus’ condition under interrogation by the Royal Intelligence Department officials looked dire at first glance. His hair was matted with blood and sweat, and his face was covered with an unidentifiable sludge, possibly remnants of food.

A fist struck his jaw, making his chair rattle. As his bare feet thudded against the floor, the officials yanked him by his hair, delivering a powerful blow to his abdomen.

“Ugh…!”

As Matt watched Yunus’ figure on the monitor, he directed a question toward the officials.

“Did you do water torture?”

“Yes.”

The Royal Intelligence Department employee calmly admitted to the waterboarding.

The official in charge of the interrogation posed another question.

“For how long?”

“According to regulations… for 20 minutes.”

The manual of the Abas Information Agency stipulated that water torture should not exceed 20 minutes.

This is because water torture, accompanied by hypothermia and respiratory distress, can potentially result in the subject’s death if done incorrectly.

Though they’d prolonged the water torture and delivered electric shocks, it seemed they had yielded no significant results. A shadow passed over Matt’s face as he sifted through the interrogation records.

As he flipped through the papers, he raised his head to meet my gaze.

“Go take a break upstairs. I’ll let you know as soon as new information comes in.”

“Can’t I go in?”

Matt began to give me a suspicious look as I reviewed the documents.

I surveyed the interrogation room and locked eyes with him.

“The cultists took the Saint’s blood, and all we know is they’re heading to the Necropolis. We have Yunus in our custody.”

“…….”

“If the one who aided the smuggling is here, he must know something. The Sanya people wouldn’t have done this without a safety net, would they? I’ll take care of Yunus. You keep track of the situation from up above.”

“Do you really think that’s okay? It’s not going to be easy.”

There was no clear sign of him blocking my way.

I smiled slightly and loosened my tie.

“Don’t worry.”

“Fine. Do as you please.”

Matt knocked on the iron door and unlocked it. In that time, I gathered my belongings and made my way downward.

Just before the door opened, Matt warned me as I was about to enter the interrogation room.

“His condition isn’t good. Treat him as gently as possible.”

“Are you worried he might die?”

“What are you joking about…?”

The quasi-military operative from the Royal Intelligence Department let out a small sigh.

“I’m more worried about being called to a hearing if you screw this up.”

—

The unpleasant stench of burning flesh mingled with that of feces was unbearable.

Instruments stained with blood lay scattered across the cold table.

Next to the table, an information officer, masked and smoking a cigarette, took a break, while Yunus, now resembling a rag doll, sat in a chair.

“Get out.”

I turned to the Royal Intelligence Department officials.

The exhausted information officers glanced up, wondering what I wanted.

The senior officer standing outside silently gestured to his subordinates. The officers exhaling smoke gathered their cigarettes and lighters and exited the interrogation room.

I slowly moved forward and grasped Yunus’ chin, lifting his head.

“Ugh…”

Blood-tinged foam dripped from his gritted teeth.

His front teeth protruded, stained crimson, revealing a dark gaping hole where a tooth had been extracted.

When the information agency tortures someone, there are times they forcibly feed them.

This is generally done when the tortured subject attempts to starve themselves or refuses food.

Of course, forcing someone to eat should garner resistance, hence the agency doesn’t serve the food nicely on a tray. Instead, feeding is typically done through a tube.

It seems he damaged his teeth while chewing that tube. Since the Royal Intelligence Department officials claimed they were supplying essential nutrients, they must have inserted the tube through his esophagus. Tubes used for feeding are usually made of rigid material, so it’s no surprise that his front teeth broke.

“…….”

With a slight sigh, I tilted Yunus’ head back. The broken teeth hadn’t come out cleanly; the roots were still lodged in his gums.

In the silence, only coarse breathing was shared.

An old magic lantern flickered with difficulty.

“Yunus Abdulla Mohammed. Mid-level officer of the Sanya warlord.”

Gripping Yunus’ hair, I continued speaking.

“You recruited shamans at the Jutari Refugee Camp. The minor who enticed refugees, you were the one who vetted them and sent them to nearby cities.”

“…….”

“How many have you collected so far? Sixteen? Seventeen?”

Yunus, a moment ago spitting up blood, now wore a deep smile.

“A lot, indeed.”

With his hair still firmly in my grasp, I slowly circled him.

The sensation of his blood-soaked hair tangling through my palm was crystal clear.

“Were you having fun dangling pitiful sums in front of desperate people to send them into battle? Even the shamans ran off in fear. Must have been dire enough to resort to using refugees.”

“…….”

…Spit!

Yunus spat at me.

His chair was fixed in place, so the spit merely stained the floor, but it was enough of an act of provocation.

“…Eat this.”

As he turned his head, Yunus muttered. He grinned, revealing his blood-stained teeth.

“What are you, just a mid-level administrator taking orders…?”

“…….”

“I’m a warrior. If I die, then I die. I won’t be giving you the answers you want.”

“…Yeah, I know.”

A malicious gaze flickered through the matted mess of his hair. Despite the torture, his eyes remained alive.

I released my grip on his hair.

“I also know you aided the smuggling of four cultists. You accepted funds from the cult organization in exchange for bringing them into the refugee camp.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Stop feigning ignorance. You knew they were cultists.”

The materials obtained from Sanya’s residence clearly indicated information about the cult. Yunus and Sanya were fully aware that they had brought cultists into the camp.

“I don’t know what you’re plotting, but you’ll soon find out. You’ll be confessing everything before long.”

“…….”

“I get it. Of course, you’re not going to talk easily. But you will soon, don’t you wonder why?”

“I… why?”

“Because I have a wealth of experience.”

Kneeling, I bent forward, locking my gaze with Yunus’ two eyes.

“And I have patience. With just these two, you can make someone say anything.”

A smirk played on the warlord’s officer’s lips.

“What can you do?”

I grinned and replied.

“You’ll find out now.”

—

It’s a well-accepted truth that people are hard to rewrite.

There’s a reason so many agree with that adage.

However, the notion that achieving something is challenging is essentially synonymous with it being possible.

Even if the process is difficult, people can change.

In any form.

“Kaaah!”

With a swift snipping sound, Yunus screamed sharply.

The blade smoothly sliced through flesh and muscle and easily severed down to the bone. The sensation of cutting through lotus roots traveled through the handle as blood gushed forth from the clean-cut surface.

Having discarded the severed finger with my greatsword, I knelt down to match Yunus’ height.

“How’s that? Feeling more clear-headed now?”

“Ahhh!!”

“It’s just a little prick, and you’re already whining.”

I began to mess up his hair.

The Kien Empire’s military greatsword held ample power to sever a person’s finger. The just-separated finger moved aside as I began to scrape my fingers against the table. As this happened, Yunus’ screams increased in pitch.

While he spat phlegm and cursed, resistance finally yielded proper answers about the moment three of his fingers were severed.

“Yes, yes! I knew they were cultists all along!”

“Great. So you’re finally in the mood to answer properly.”

Toward Yunus, who was squirming enough to shake the chair, questioning proceeded. I wedged the greatsword between his fingers, and Yunus spat with ragged breathing.

“How many cultists entered the camp?”

“Four, four!”

“Where did they come from?”

“I don’t know! The first place I met them was at the border! The border with the Tispon Republic!”

“Who did you meet at the border?”

Yunus twisted his arms tightly against the ropes until they bled, answering.

“A preacher. A cult preacher came to make contact. They promised to pay me if I let a few believers into the camp! They promised 70,000 shekels!”

“70,000 shekels is about the same amount as the wage of an Abas employee for two years.”

The questions continued.

“Where did the funds come from?”

“How should I know! They must have squeezed it out of the believers or sold drugs to gather it!”

I tilted the greatsword. The razor-sharp blade sank into his skin without resistance.

Even as he desperately shook his head, repeating that he didn’t know in between having a finger cut off, Yunus seemed not to know where those funds from the cult had originated.

Just as I stepped outside to fetch bandaging and disinfectants, Matt, who was standing near the door, quietly called out to me.

“Can I have a word?”

“Did you find out something?”

“Not quite. I felt you were pushing it too hard.”

He seemed discontented with my approach. It was not the right time to pressure Yunus and requested I exercise restraint.

“It’s fine to find out what the cult or the Saint they’re targeting is up to, but we’re not that, are we? Yunus is a mid-level recruiter of the Sanya warlord. We need to extract the information he holds, either to deal with Sanya or annex him. But what happens if you cut off his fingers?”

“What do you want me to do? The bastard won’t open his mouth.”

“We need to keep our portion for later.”

For Leonie’s operation, I needed to continue pressuring Yunus, so he requested I treat him gently, which means leaving a few fingers to cut off later.

I replied affirmatively.

“If it’s an order, I have no choice.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

“Got anything you need?”

“Please lend me a few people.”

Matt sent three information officers fighting under him into the interrogation room.

“Seize him.”

“Ugh, ugh…! Hmph!”

“Be careful with the jaw. If it closes, it might suffer a fracture.”

—

-Wiiiiing!
The dental drill screamed loudly as it spun.

The Royal Intelligence Department employees tilted Yunus’ head back and forcibly opened his mouth, while I maneuvered around his shaking teeth, poking at his gums with the drill.

“Ughhh….!!”

The fast-spinning drill burrowed into his gums, torturing the nerves. Each time his front tooth was ground down, his body jerked against the chair, and in agony, he clawed at the armrest.

With every thrash, the drill penetrated deeper into the nerves. The expressions of the officials caging him also tightened in pained sympathy.

I spat curses at the officials turning their faces away.

“Grab him, you morons!”

Only after applying enough pressure to gnaw at his dental nerves did he begin spilling his knowledge as if it was water. Included in that information was everything Ibrahim wished for and also what Matt requested.

“How did you recruit the shamans?”

“…My recruiter has someone who can identify shamans. A magic observer.”

“Where do you take the recruited shamans?”

“Initially to the city… to a safe place before moving them elsewhere. To a training facility. People from the warlord’s side are guiding the shamans, and that person in charge is an officer…”

“Where do the shamans go once training is completed?”

“To the frontlines for now… Anywhere they’re needed. The place they’re most likely stationed is with the elite guard, as far as I know… I only know that much. The details are with the officer in charge.”

“What’s that officer’s name?”

He revealed most of what he knew.

Continuing to fire questions at him, I detected moments of delayed answers or signs of distraction during the interrogation and immediately intensified the torture to eliminate any stray thoughts.

Having run out of fingers to cut, I was resolved to employ other methods, yet fortunately, I had an arsenal of torture techniques I was familiar with.

—

-Wiiiiing!
The torture of tightening dental nerves.

-Sheek…!
The burning of skin with a lighter.

-Whoosh!
The pouring of water over a cloth for waterboarding.

After enduring the Cold War and the War on Terror, the torture techniques of intelligence agencies had dramatically progressed, evolving into a more meticulous and specialized approach to extracting information.

I utilized the methods I knew to torment Yunus. I used the drill to squeeze his nerves, scorched his skin with the lighter, and after waterboarding, I applied electric cords stripped from bulbs to his membranes.

Torture did not simply end in the physical realm. With time constraints imposed, there was a necessity to extract information as swiftly as possible. Thus, the torture evolved into psychological warfare.

I had to push Yunus against the wall. To provoke shame, I had the information officers strip him completely naked.

“Speak up, or you’ll end up impotent.”

“Huh, huh…!”

I gazed at Yunus, his eyes bloodshot and filled with rage. I sprinkled water onto his private parts and brought the electrodes close.

Electricity coursed through his body, traveling from his groin to his sternum. He screamed as if his throat would tear.

At this point, the officers present were bewildered. Under Matt’s orders, the information officers participating in the interrogation begged me to stop.

“It’s time to stop. He’ll truly die if we keep this up.”

“Just a bit more.”

“Please stop.”

I turned my head toward the officers and replied.

“I make the calls here.”

“…….”

“If you really want, go ask your team leader if we should stop right now.”

The Royal Intelligence Department officers silently turned to stare at Matt. By now, the quasi-military operative had settled himself at the table, chewing on jerky.

He sent a look to his subordinates, and they sighed softly. They finally moved to secure the unconscious Yunus in an upright position while injecting his heart to bring him back to consciousness.

Huffing, Yunus coughed violently, his body trembling as his breathing turned rapid.

“Kuh, hack! Ugh, guh, ahhh…!”

“…….”

At the moment I pulled a scalpel off the steel table, I locked eyes with Matt. With a blank expression, he stared at me, while I turned my attention back to Yunus.

The burnt blade hovered across his thigh.

As the copper skin tore, bright red muscles and countless veins revealed themselves. Having cut into Yunus’ thigh, I avoided the veins and further dissected the flesh, securing it tightly to ensure it did not close up.

“I’ll ask you one thing now. If you don’t want to live as a cripple for the rest of your life, you’d better answer me wisely.”

“…….”

“I want to know their plans.”

Yunus, gasping for breath, lifted his head. His blurry eyes reflected me back.

I held the scalpel to his nerves again and began to speak.

“What’s the cultists’ plan? What are they after with the Saint’s blood? You must have heard from the preacher you met at the border.”

There was no answer.

I lowered the scalpel I had pressed against his nerves. I lifted my finger and poked at the incision inside his thigh.

With all his might, Yunus jerked his head back, screaming in pain as blood and saliva, tears, and sweat mixed into a needy patchwork of torn skin.

I spoke again.

“What’s the goal? When did you last see those guys?”

“Huhhh…!”

“Where are they heading?”

“I don’t know… I swear, I don’t know…!”

I withdrew my finger from the exposed nerve.

Wiping the drenched finger across Yunus’ skin, he struggled to regain his bearings.

Grabbing his hair, I forced him to meet my gaze.

“You said you’re a warrior? I’m a soldier. And this is what real war looks like.”

“…….”

“So go ahead and keep holding on. I’m curious to see who’ll come out on top.”

I leaned in, whispering close to Yunus’ ear.

“I could do this all day.”

—

Two days later.

Two reports were laid before Leoni.

One detailed the whereabouts of the cultists who had seized the Saint’s blood, while the other stated that Yunus had died.

The first report was classified and stored in the archive, while the second report was sealed in an envelope and tossed into the incinerator.

As is the fate of all information that has lost its value.