A Dark Fantasy Spy

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I have worked in the Middle East and Africa for a long time, but I still can’t adapt to the desert climate.

The bright sunlight and dry wind made it hard to contain my excitement, causing my clothes to flutter, when Charnoy, who was leaning against the window, started to whine.

“The sun is unbearably hot… Truly a Nymph-hating weather… If this continues, I might just stick to the asphalt like melted ice cream…”

The Beastman’s gaze towards his friend was filled with pity, as if asking why he was making such a big deal out of this.

Of course, the limp Nymph and the Beastman sitting in the back seat looked no different. Both were on the brink of dying.

“The car shakes too much…”

Kair, dressed in the unique attire of nomads resembling a white dress, let out a deep sigh. Due to his sensitive nature, he was quite susceptible to motion sickness.

I turned the steering wheel and handed him some motion sickness pills. As he swallowed the tablet dry without water, his spirits lifted, and his tail, which had been hanging limply like laundry, began to sway.

The minivan had transformed into a sauna under the blistering sun. I activated the air conditioning to wash away the sweltering heat, but the breeze was hardly refreshing. As the mood of the passengers plummeted, only Francesca maintained her calm demeanor.

“Hmm~”

The endless stretch of desert and the fragrance of light brown shrubs.

The magician, humming a pleasant tune, withdrew his gaze from the window and unfurled a map.

“If we continue straight like this, we’ll arrive around dinner time. Is there no faster way, Colonel?”

“How can we speed up when we just flew in using the Warp Gate?”

The cultists who had extracted Lucia’s blood were already far ahead of us.

With time losing value, we couldn’t afford to lounge; we began our pursuit across the border using the Warp Gate. For the record, the vehicle was provided by the Royal Intelligence Department.

Francesca, calculating the distance and travel time, rested her foot on the glove compartment. Thanks to her long legs, merely placing her feet there created a picturesque scene.

Seizing the passenger seat, Francesca glanced back at me.

“By the way, Colonel.”

“Yes?”

“Why aren’t you calling me Master? I am currently in the status of my Gano, you know.”

“……”

I pressed the accelerator in silence, while a soft giggle emerged from the passenger seat.

*

Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

The cultists had extracted Lucia’s blood.

With the help of the Warlord Broker, they infiltrated the refugee camp, broke the window of the medical room, opened the refrigerator, took away blood packs, and vanished across the border.

Their final destination: Necropolis.

That place was our target.

“Our objective is to retrieve the items stolen by the cultists.

A path across the desert.

I explained the plan to the three of them.

“The mission goal is to reclaim Lucia’s blood taken by the cultists. The moment we recover every last drop of blood they took, this operation will be a complete success.”

The key is to bring back not a single drop of blood.

“We’re not going to handle the recovery operation ourselves. We’ll infiltrate Necropolis, identify the cultists’ base, and simply verify whether the blood is there or not.”

Her purple eyes fixed on me. Francesca turned her head and opened her mouth to ask a question.

“Are there separate people responsible for the recovery?”

“Yes. The Cult will handle that.”

Though Lucia is our ally, she fundamentally was a Cleric of the Cult. That had been true even before the oracle was delivered, and it remained the same since she joined us.

Thus, the task of directly reclaiming the blood was designated to the Cult. The unit involved in this operation would be the Utrant Knights.

This had been agreed upon with Ibrahim even before we set out. I would provide the information, and Ibrahim would lead the Knights to ambush the cultists.

As she absorbed my explanation, she nodded calmly.

“The Order of the Holy Knights… I’ve heard that name in my ancestor’s journals.”

“They were responsible for the mid to late stages of the War of Independence. If you’re an Archmage, you probably have faced them directly.”

The news of the Order of the Holy Knights moving did not evoke any significant feelings in me, but Francesca’s reaction was different. Hearing the name of the Order, which had once pushed the Magic Tower to the brink, altered her expression.

However, since the Order was currently cooperating with us, Francesca didn’t seem particularly wary.

“If the Order of the Holy Knights is handling the recovery, then there’s no need for worry, but… it would still be good to have insurance. I’ll look into ways to steal Saint Lucia’s blood from the cultists.”

“Steal it? Is that even possible?”

Francesca gave me an alluring smile in response to my incredulous expression.

“Have you forgotten who I am?”

Her skills, wisdom, and animalistic instincts had already been demonstrated multiple times in the Northern Regions.

The information about the Dark Magicians colluding with demons came mainly from her. She had even eliminated one of the instigators by her own hand.

She was a person I could trust in many ways. I nodded and replied.

“If it’s a good plan, I’m always on board.”

The vehicle that had crossed the wasteland had finally arrived at the city. Despite passing numerous checkpoints along the way, the checkpoint at the entry to the city stood out for its peculiarities.

A small outpost occupying the main road was guarded by armed personnel.

At first glance, there was nothing particularly different from a government army checkpoint or a warlord’s checkpoint, but the guard emerging from the outpost was not human but an Orc.

“Stop! This is not a place for you to be!”

The Orc, exhaling a threatening breath between its tusks, aimed the rifle slung over its shoulder at our car.

There was no demand for identification or travel permits; the Orc simply ordered us to turn back.

An unilaterally delivered order, with a gun barrel that seemed ready to fire at any moment. It was a scene that would have made a weak-hearted person scramble to reverse, but I remained unfazed.

Francesca stepped out of the car and approached the Orc guard, handing over something. It was a token that only those authorized for passage could possess.

“Umm…”

The Orc examined the token closely, squinting at Francesca.

“A magician?”

“Yes.”

“How can I trust you when you’re not wearing a cape or robe?”

Francesca rolled up her sleeves in response to the guard’s demand for proof of identification.

“My ashes are ashes, and my dust is dust.”

Just as a sentence resembling a spell trailed off, the gear on her palm began to rotate clockwise and levitated.

It was the core of a Golem.

-…Voooom.

The mystical gear exuding light began to attract surrounding objects to form the body.

First formed was the chest. Then came the abdomen.

As the rotation picked up speed, the pebbles squirmed, forming a massive arm, and soon after, two legs appeared, causing a Golem to tower over the desert.

– Giiirrrr…

As the peculiar sound erupted, the giant stood up, and the Orc’s expression transformed. The previously threatening stance vanished, and the guard bowed respectfully towards Francesca.

“My apologies, Magician. Please forgive me for doubting a seeker of truth.”

Seeing the Orc sincerely apologizing, Francesca smiled sweetly and waved it off.

After verifying the token and identity, the Orcs quickly cleared the obstacles and opened the gate.

As the gear turned counterclockwise, the Golem disintegrated, and Francesca returned to the car with the core.

Just then, the apologetic Orc approached. He informed us that we would need to disembark from the vehicle from here on out.

“…What do we do now?”

Kair, who had been in the back seat, asked.

“For now, let’s get out. Just take our gear with us.”

Kair and Charnoy got out, each grabbing their luggage. I followed Francesca as we walked along with the guard into the city.

We arrived at a small two-story house with a little garden. It was a quaint house made of sand-colored bricks with a blue roof.

“You can go down.”

The Orc guard pointed to the lower level. I threw him a question.

“Is this where the guidance ends?”

“Yes. We can only accompany you this far.”

After unlocking the door with a key, the Orc again bowed respectfully and left.

As the sound of his footsteps climbing the stairs faded into the distance, we stood in front of the basement door, looking at each other.

“……”

I gazed at Francesca. She nodded quietly in acknowledgment, and upon hearing her response, I forcefully opened the door and stepped in.

And.

*

Looking up, you see the ground above.

The ground was not a bottom.

The galaxy of the celestial bodies descended as if to comfort the souls of free beings wandering in the vast wasteland.

As the crystals embedded in soft curves sparkled, the sea formed by rivers and valleys revealed itself in the faint darkness.

It was beautiful. The city shrouded in darkness was strangely beautiful.

The smoky mist that had gathered like fog vanished like a midsummer night’s dream. Starlight rained down in this city where the ground was the ceiling.

The train entering through a massive tree reminded one of an old Dwarven city lost in the sands of history, and the houses standing shoulder to shoulder bore an ancient charm as if plucked from the cities of the past and medieval times.

There were no melodious birds chirping in joy, nor was there the sunlight grazing the skin, but brilliant constellations flowed along the ceiling of soft curves. Carpets and brooms gliding through that sea of stars filled my eyes.

A sight far more beautiful than a city steeped in the scars of war and a civilization built on the foundations of brilliant science and magic.

The underground city, seemingly frozen in the eternity of time, possessed an irresistible charm.

“……”

Caught in the sheer beauty of the scene, a fragrant aroma tickled my nose.

As I turned my head, I saw the soft curve of the ceiling adorned with a river of crystals.

An ancient city, wrapped in nostalgia.

Against the backdrop of a city built by, for, and about magicians.

“Welcome, Colonel.”

Francesca, with a captivating smile, greeted me.

“To Necropolis.”

*

The harbor of the dead whale. Commonly known as Necropolis.

The Magician’s city was located underground in an unnamed small town in the northwestern part of the Mauritania Continent.

“…The nickname of Shadowed Magic Tower isn’t a mere exaggeration.”

Unable to contain my surprise while surveying the surroundings, I muttered to myself.

Necropolis was a city far more advanced than I had imagined. It was hard to believe such a gigantic city existed underground.

I wasn’t the only one overwhelmed by the city’s landscape. Kair and Charnoy, dressed in traditional outfits with their backpacks, were exclaiming in awe as they explored the city.

It seemed to be quite entertaining for Francesca, as a subtle smile crept onto her lips.

“It’s nice to visit, but aren’t you acting a bit too much like a country bumpkin?”

“Did I do that?”

“Yes. Anyone would think you’re someone who just arrived from the countryside.”

Draped in the cape she had brought from the car, Francesca scanned the city with an expression dripping with simple boredom.

“Hmm…”

With her arms crossed gently, she tilted her head while looking at the ancient and medieval-style houses that seemed to have flown in from different eras.

“The exterior looks quite decent. At this level, it wouldn’t be out of place compared to the central area that boasts the longest history in the Magic Tower.”

I was aware of the Central Area of the Magic Tower.

When great Archmages painstakingly created the Magic Tower, they crafted the core that would become the nucleus of the tower.

The fact that the tower floated against gravity and maintained protective barriers against invasions for over a century was entirely due to the core being alive.

Once the Archmages completed the core, they constructed the city around it. As the tower grew, the Oracle expanded and reorganized the spaces above and below, but the core, being the heritage left by great ancestors, was never touched.

That Central Area is what Francesca mentioned.

As Francesca compared Necropolis to the Magic Tower, it became apparent that her perspective, thanks to her magical expertise, was different from my own, which viewed the city as an impressive place.

Continuing her observations with crossed arms, she freely critiqued the city.

“The exiled ones worked hard. I guess they really missed the Magic Tower, huh?”

“Exiled?”

Charnoy, fiddling with the weeds at the roadside, tilted his head curiously.

“What’s an exile?”

“Ah, I see you don’t know what an exile is.”

Francesca smiled gently before starting her explanation.

“An exile refers to those who have been expelled from the Magic Tower. They are sinners who’ve broken the rules.”

The war for independence between the Magic Tower and the Cult had led to many transformations.

In the pre-Magic Tower era, often referred to as the Age of Barbarians, conflicts among Magicians were frequent.

Magicians who strived to reach the truth revealed their greedy fangs whenever even a small gain appeared before them, and the sticky desires quickly spiraled into violence.

They would steal the achievements of their peers’ research, plunder magical tools, and in some cases, even kidnap ordinary people for experimentation.

The cycle of violence continued unabated despite individual efforts to stop it.

In pursuit of revenge for their master’s enemies or to resolve the grievances of their inadequate apprentices, the Magicians began personal vendettas, which brought the Magic Tower nearing a crisis.

The tragedy of mutual slaughter among kin and the gaze of the international community led the Archmages to call a meeting. From that meeting, the rules for Magicians were born.

That was the Code.

The law of magical society that ended the Age of Barbarians.

Francesca continued her explanation calmly.

“Though the Magic Tower has criminal law and civil law, the Code is prioritized over any existing legal system. It’s akin to a constitution that establishes the identity of the nation or the law of religion.”

“Then violating the Code means…”

“Yes. It signifies that one has committed a sin that cannot be washed away in any manner.”

Thus, the Necropolis built by the exiled souls was essentially a den for criminals who had violated the Code and been expelled from the Magic Tower.

Charnoy was visibly frightened by the unexpected identity of the city. With a more anxious expression than ever, the Nymph rolled her eyes, and Francesca offered her an encouraging smile.

“Necropolis being a city founded by Magicians exiled from the Magic Tower is true, and it’s also true that many of those exiles reside here, but there’s no need for concern. Ordinary people live here too.”

Though most of those ‘ordinary people’ are mercenaries, criminals, traffickers, or cultists.

Nonetheless.

Thanks to Francesca’s words, Charnoy’s worries eased, and he regained his cheerful demeanor.

“That’s a relief! So, who are we meeting today?”

“My acquaintance. Although we only met briefly, she’ll be responsible for our safety during our stay in Necropolis.”

Someone I could trust.

“Then shall we?”

With a smile, Francesca began to lead us deeper into Necropolis.

I grabbed the backpack and followed her, while Kair and Charnoy remained alert, keeping pace behind us.

Of course, our walk was anything but smooth.

“Here, hold this.”

As we walked ahead, an unexpected backpack was shoved into my arms. It was Francesca’s bag.

When I asked her why she was handing it to me, a direct answer followed.

“Colonel, you’re currently my Gano. Isn’t it natural for the attendant to carry the master’s luggage?”

“……”

“Take it. Hurry up.”

I shot a glare at Francesca, thinking my look was notably fierce, but she was entirely unbothered.

In fact, Francesca was looking at me with a broad smile.

“Are you unhappy about fulfilling the role of my attendant? Your expression is rather disrespectful.”

“…Let’s talk about this later.”

Eventually, I found myself reluctantly carrying the bag.

A peculiar combination of a baggage mule and a mercenary, an attendant and a magician entered the city of exiles.

I climbed the arduous stairs while Francesca glided gracefully, beginning to admire the scenery, looking as if she was on a pleasure trip.

“The internal collaborator is still here in Necropolis. I managed to contact her just before our departure yesterday, so she should still be here.”

According to Francesca, the internal collaborator lived here.

We intended to gather locals to track down the cultists who infiltrated Necropolis.

“But how will you find the cultists’ location?”

Francesca, leading the way, asked, and I retrieved a small magical tool from my bag and waved it.

“I’m going to find them with this.”

“What is that? It feels like a magical tool judging by the magical energy I sense.”

“A locator.”

The cultists mixed in with the camp had purchased transportation equipment from Sanya, paying for it and receiving several supplies in return.

With a month’s worth of emergency rations, water, transportation tickets, and first-aid medicine, among other things.

Among them was also a magical tool enchanted with a spell that allowed long-term blood storage.

“The cultists bought equipment to transport the blood, but it seems the supplier didn’t trust them enough and played a prank. I plan to track their location with this.”

“I’m not sure how long the locator’s battery will last, but it’s not a bad plan. But what’s the detection range? For small magical tools, unless they are high-end products or military-grade, their performance tends to be lacking.”

“Let’s see… about 50 meters?”

The dismal performance of the magical tool left the Magic Tower graduate stunned.

“Is this a toy? 50 meters? That’s absurdly short.”

“That’s just how domestic magical tools are.”

But the detection range didn’t matter much. I still had ways to track them down.

Although aerial reconnaissance was impossible due to the underground city’s characteristics, just like assembling is the reverse of disassembling, there is always a way around.

Leading in front, Francesca and I continued walking in silence.

It seemed fairly spacious to be an underground city, and it took a little time to navigate.

By the time we arrived at our destination, it was just about the moment Charnoy, who was carrying the bag, cried out, “My shoulder is about to dislocate!”

“We’ve arrived.”

Francesca, lifting the front hem of her cape with her fingers, spoke.

I lifted my gaze toward the building.

“…Is this?”

The building where our guide supposedly lived was a shabby house situated halfway up a hill. An old house perched atop a steep slope seemed as if it could tumble down with a strong gust.

Upon closer inspection, it seemed that all the surrounding buildings were in a similar state. This had to be Necropolis’s slums.

It wasn’t true that all Magicians lived lavishly. How could people live in a place like this?

It had been a long while since I thought, ‘Is there really someone living in this kind of place?’ Perhaps it reminded me of the favelas I had seen in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil; it felt similar to the scenery I had encountered in South America.

Having struggle to put down the bag, I placed my hands on my waist to draw some water, while Francesca knocked on the front door, dodging the litter scattered in the street.

“Is anyone home?”

There was no response.

“Perhaps they went out. I can’t sense any presence.”

“Is there no way to contact them?”

Kair, who had been soaking his hair with a water bottle, raised his head.

“……”

Twinkle, twinkle.

The cat ears hidden under the keffiyeh moved swiftly, and the Beastman, who hadn’t even wiped away the droplets falling from his hair, quickly leaped.

– BOOM!

A loud explosion burst forth.

It wasn’t a large explosion. While the sound was loud, the shockwave was insignificant.

I dropped my belongings and retreated from the house, pulling out my pistol. It was then that—

BANG! The front door slammed open with a loud noise, crashing against the wall.

“…Whew! That was close!”

A figure appeared beyond the wide-open door.

From the look of their attire, they were a magician.

The magician donned a cape and coughed.

He seemed to have kicked the door open, and dirt clung to the soles of his shoes, while his left hand held a flask from which fluorescent liquid dripped from the broken end.

“Sorry, sorry. I was in the middle of an experiment, and then suddenly visitors came… Cough! Ugh… I’m dying.”

Waving his hands to clear away the smoke, the magician apologized, and the one he was apologizing to was Francesca, standing right in front.

Brushing off the dust on her clothes, she gave a small nod.

“Apologies aren’t necessary. No one got hurt. Sorry for interrupting your concentration.”

“Ugh… don’t mind it,” the magician waved dismissively.

The broken flask tumbled into the pile of trash nearest the doorway. The magician brushed his unkempt hair with his hand and then brought the cigarette he had been clutching—

Wait a minute.

Isn’t that marijuana?

The pungent stench wafting in from a distance was undoubtedly the smell of marijuhana. Upon looking closely, he was indeed holding real cannabis.

Sipping the weed using his thumb and index finger, the magician inhaled deeply. Then with the terrible smoke, he swayed back and forth, almost on the brink of falling over.

Completely high in broad daylight, the magician’s eyes widened as he shot his hands up.

“Welcome, friends! Welcome to Necropolis!”

“……”

“……”

“……”

Whether he was drunk in high spirits or simply high, maybe both, the sight of the swaying magician left the information officers nothing to do but exchange glances with one another.

Thus began Day One of our infiltration into Necropolis, marked by a meeting with a drugged-up magician.