A Dark Fantasy Spy

---

Before the glorious era known as the Renaissance arrived, under the hands of countless masters, the dominant architectural style of late medieval Europe was Gothic.

Gothic architecture, which developed and perfected Romanesque design, led church buildings to their peak. From the Basilica of Saint-Denis to Notre-Dame Cathedral, and even the Milan Cathedral, which combined Lombard style.

With tall buildings and pointed spires, the architecture reaches towards the blue sky, creating an almost vertical impression.

The richness and elegance from luxurious decorations, the grandeur of size, and the dazzling brilliance of radiant multicolored light illuminate the interiors—one cannot help but understand how Gothic architecture captured the hearts of Europeans everywhere.

And here, there stands a Gothic building adorned with splendor and majesty.

The Holy Land Lateran, known as the heart of the cult. The main hall located at the center of the heart.

High-ranking decision-makers from the Inquisition and the War Ministry gathered in one place.

The people gathered before a massive map discussed methodologies. How to retrieve the blood of the Saint. How to confront the cultists.

During this time, a priest quietly entered the conference room and began to whisper into the old man’s ear.

“Chief, we have a call coming in on line 8.”

As the wrinkled hand was raised, the noise subsided. The people from the Inquisition and War Ministry stopped their discussions, turning their gazes to the old man.

“…Hmm. I see. Let’s discuss this in detail later.”

The old man hung up the receiver, and the priest held the phone on an elegant tray.

After finishing the call, the old man sat back down, pulling a chair close and lifting a cup from the table to moisten his dry lips. Those gathered in the conference room kept their eyes on the old man, awaiting his words.

At last.

“Contact His Holiness the Pope.”

Petrus spoke.

“I’ve received intelligence that the cultists have been located.”

—Episode 17: The Tree That Drinks Blood—

“Did you manage to get some sleep, Colonel?”

His droopy eyes brightened gently, perhaps thanks to the proper rest he had finally received.

Francesca, with a bright smile on her face, greeted him in the morning.

“I dozed off a bit.”

As I answered, brushing my face with my hand, her chuckling laughter followed. Francesca wore a radiant smile—a brightness so blinding it was almost annoying.

I met her in front of the room as she twirled her mug, starting a conversation.

“Despite your words, you look quite tired. Did you have trouble adapting to the different bedding?”

“I appreciate your concern, but did you have to play this prank?”

I tapped the door softly with my knuckles, looking at Francesca with a disgruntled expression.

On the old and musty door was a sign that didn’t quite match its vibe.

[Francesca’s Servant’s Room.]

Watching the sign sway, Francesca giggled.

“What’s wrong? It’s an undeniable fact. Colonel, you’re currently my servant.”

“Oh, really.”

I snatched the sign from its place and crumpled it in my hand. It was made of paper, so it didn’t take much effort.

Yet, the sight of me crumpling it seemed to amuse her further, and she started to laugh joyfully. I became angrier at her cheerful demeanor. I folded the paper tightly and muttered in a defeated tone.

“A servant, my foot…”

Pretending to be a servant to infiltrate the Necropolis was the choice I regretted the most.

Francesca seized the ridiculous notion of me being a servant and began to tease me vigorously. It was relatively quiet when we set off from the border, but since arriving here, she had escalated her antics to a whole new level.

“Where on earth did you learn such mischievous pranks?”

Wiping her tears away from laughing, Francesca smiled.

“Who do you think I learned it from?”

“Saint Veronica, of course?”

It was a no-brainer. In this wide world, there was no one else who could pull off such antics like her.

I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of mischief those two sisters were up to together, but I didn’t want to find out. I didn’t want to know.

It seemed my sour expression was quite the sight to behold. Francesca scrutinized my face, grinning broadly.

As her violet eyes scanned my features, unable to hold back her laughter any longer, she burst into giggles.

“You have quite the dissatisfied look, Colonel! How about I give you a chance to get back at me?”

“…You’ll regret it.”

“Do merchants sell their goods for mere pennies? No one hates losing more than they do.”

“….”

“Anyway, for the time being, you’re stuck as my servant, so I’d appreciate it.”

“…Let’s see about that later.”

I’m not letting this slide—I will get back at her.

I will have my revenge, mark my words!

*

Phase one was a success.

The cult’s location was conveyed to the Church via unofficial channels. The Inquisition, having obtained the intelligence, filed a report, which led to the papal directive for the extermination of the cultists.

However, several issues remained.

For one, the precise location of the cultists had yet to be confirmed.

The tracker’s signal pointed to a specific area, but the source of the signal was located in the heart of a massive city.

Although it was called a city, it was more akin to a slum.

The lawless city, devoid of any semblance of civic awareness, was as chaotic as the city planning that had been shattered over the decades of reckless construction and expansion, filling the cramped underground spaces with buildings.

A complex maze reminiscent of a favela.

The place where the signal originated was right there.

“Now that we have a general location, we’ll start tracking down their hideout. Thanks to a broad search range, it should be considerably easier.”

“Will you be conducting this search personally?”

“Of course. It’s not something I can leave to others.”

I decided to personally track down the cultists.

After all, even if I did find their base, I still needed to gather intelligence to provide to Ibrahim. So, it would be more convenient if I undertook it myself.

While searching for their hideout, Kair and Charnoy began their information collection. Disguised as mercenaries and wizards’ servants, they scoured the Necropolis for information related to the cult.

For the record, Francesca accompanied me due to the regulation that required anyone without a pass to be accompanied by a guarantor.

“Was there such a regulation?”

“I didn’t know either, but Joaquin informed me. He said it was due to the scrutiny from Al-Yabd’s culpability committee, which has made things a bit stricter.”

Though, that strict regulation didn’t apply to Kair and Charnoy.

Kair and Charnoy were currently employed mercenaries, and their kind was outnumbering even the wizards expelled from the Magic Tower, making them abundant in the Necropolis.

Not that there was any need for the Necropolis to restrict the status of mercenaries and wizards’ aides. The rules bend to suit whoever holds power; wizards would be making use of people, as would other wizards. Ultimately, it was simply that they couldn’t be bothered with interference.

The problem was,

“But, Colonel, you need to stay with me.”

“…Why am I the only one bound to the rules?”

“That’s because right now, you’re in the role of a servant.”

In the dual-natured magical society, a servant isn’t regarded as an independent entity, but as an instrument of the wizard.

So basically, it’s as if they’re not treated as people at all. Just like how African Americans weren’t recognized as humans before Lincoln declared their emancipation in 1863.

“A servant is a minion, and in the world of wizards, minions are essentially like slaves. They’re not contracted employees you hire but are seen as mere tools.”

Listening to Francesca, the top-notch instructor of the magical society, I couldn’t help but curse.

“There’s no way that’s true! Slavery was abolished over 150 years ago!”

“If the world should flow entirely by law, there would be no reason for judicial institutions to exist, right?”

Francesca summarized the slave system of the magical society this way.

“Of course, the Magic Tower and the Ivory Tower officially do not recognize the existence of slaves. It’s legally prohibited. However, in the shadows, many still receive treatment akin to slavery. Whether it’s in areas with lax monitoring, in backwater places, the Necropolis, or graduate labs….”

“A graduate lab? It’s pure slavery there….”

“So I told you, Gano. Currently, Colonel, you’re a slave, not a servant.”

“Hey!”

I demanded that my status be changed to that of a free citizen immediately, but the label of ‘slave’ had already been stamped on my pass.

I couldn’t now peel off a new identity, nor could I find a counterfeit pass.

In the end, I had no choice but to start living the life of a slave.

Ding ding!

“Could you bring me some water? Something refreshing.”

When it became clear that I wouldn’t be escaping the identity of ‘Gano’, Francesca fully began to work me like a dog.

“Bring me water. Carry the luggage. Go buy something.”

Even worse,

“Ow, my legs hurt…”

“…….”

“I wish someone would just rub my legs for me.”

Within three hours of starting my life as a slave, I had tasted all the misery the world had to offer.

Setting my overstuffed hands on the bench and crouching to rub my calves, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had joined the intelligence agency just for this nonsense.

The funny thing was, I wasn’t alone in this mess.

There were a significant number of slaves living in the Necropolis, where the exiled mingled. Whether they were kidnapped from who knows where or if there was a slave market somewhere, the mages here seemed to have at least a couple of servants.

As I strolled the streets and watched closely, I could summarize roughly: those parading around in flashy fashion were either the wealthy or mages, while those looking like Afghan country farmers were slaves.

I realized that a kind of social hierarchy was forming within the Necropolis. If mages were the Brahmins and Kshatriyas of India, then slaves were akin to the Sudras. They were, after all, untouchables.

Me, an untouchable. It didn’t get much lower than this.

As I rubbed my calves filled with sweat, memories from when I went on a business trip to India flashed in my mind like a slideshow.

As I compared my past of dining and staying in a top-notch hotel in New Delhi to my present of rubbing Francesca’s legs on the dirt floor of the Necropolis, waves of despair washed over me.

Damn mages and capitalists. The bourgeois exchanging capital for labor.

Oh, Marx, you were right. Capitalists exploit the labor of workers. They don’t even pay wages and use us like crap, damn it.

Capitalism truly is riddled with contradictions.

Why the hell did Gorbachev dismantle the USSR? When things seemed on the verge of collapse, he could’ve come over here.

It’s a mystery why only people from England and Korea come here but not Soviet citizens.

Revisiting the value of labor altered my mindset. It felt like my blood was turning red in real-time.

Finally, having transformed into a semi-communist, I discovered a mysterious principle that the more surplus value increases, the redder the blood of workers becomes.

Then, suddenly, I made a realization.

“…Huh?”

Isn’t the slave who can’t even receive wages while massaging Francesca’s legs just the same as an information officer who incurs minimal salary while acting as a spy?

My brain, wrapped in a red band, started to race.

The Government of Abas was exploiting my labor all along! I should have recognized they were in cahoots when there were still nobles and royals around.

Would it be okay for me to genuinely switch over to communism right now?

I couldn’t believe the absurdity of this thought myself.

“Are you feeling unwell? Your expression is off. What’s on your mind?”

“Don’t talk to me, bourgeois.”

“…Huh?”

As I busily joined Francesca, waiting on her hand and foot, my mind was unraveling.

The shock from becoming a slave (not really) and the grueling physical labor sent my mental state on a rollercoaster ride.

So there I was, simultaneously experiencing the despair of a cotton-picking slave and the yearnings of a revolutionary communist guerrilla. Before I knew it, lunchtime had rolled around.

It was about time for Kair and Charnoy to return too, so we needed to head back to our collaborator’s place.

Having returned to our residence, while Charnoy rummaged through the fridge for some food, valuable information emerged from our internal collaborator.

“Wait, you guys are looking for cultists? Then you should check out Ash Tree Alley. All the cultists live there.”

This was information that could help identify the location of the cultists. Though it wasn’t precise, it was enough to deduce a general area.

H Joaquin retrieved a map of the Necropolis from a bag half-buried under the bed and pointed to a darkened region with his finger.

“Is this it?”

I combined the features of the place where the signal had originated and Joaquin’s testimony, concluding that the ‘Ash Tree Alley’ he mentioned was indeed the location from which the signal had been sent.

What a waste. I’ve gone through all that trouble for nothing.

If I had known this information yesterday, I wouldn’t have had to suffer through the alleys on foot.

“Why are you only telling me this now?”

I asked Joaquin incredulously, and his answer was ridiculous.

“You never asked! If you come to a new city, you should be speaking to the guides.”

“……”

It’s because you were lying around after hitting the ganja! I barely restrained myself from unleashing a torrent of curses.

As he bounced away from the couch, Joaquin began searching for a tray. You know, the tool used to roll joints.

After sleeping in till eleven, the first thing on his mind was finding a tray to roll his weed. What a fool, right?

“Ugh, ah…. This is just so….”

Unfamiliar people, anyone can see he’s a stoner, as Joaquin happily rolled his paper. Whatever!

While he inhaled the rolled weed, he launched into a completely unrelated explanation.

“Do you guys know why they call it Ash Tree Alley?”

Kair, covering his nose from the atrocious smell, shook his head.

“No idea.”

“I’ll be nice enough to explain!”

It turns out the names in the Necropolis are often derived from natural features. There was a story intertwined with the cities’ founding.

Given the nature of being an underground city, the environment in the Necropolis had to be artificially created.

The exiles who first established themselves here went to great lengths to make the desolate underground city a cozy place, and once the Necropolis was formally established, the names of the streets honored the labor of the exiles who tended to the city.

As the explanation about the origin of the street name morphed into a different topic, Joaquin spat out the leftover weed on his tongue, starting to speak about Ash Tree Alley.

“Ash Tree Alley is just named that; in truth, there isn’t really a tree here. Well, there used to be a scraggly tree a few years back, but it’s gone now.”

Basically, there once was a tree, but now there isn’t.

Suddenly curious about what caused the disappearance of the carefully tended tree, I wanted to hear the reason, but upon hearing it, my head began to throb.

“Why did the tree disappear? It was due to complaints!”

“Co-complaints?”

“Right. Every month, the cultists offered prayers at the ash tree. They considered it a sacred tree imbued with miraculous energy. Then one day, some money-wielding mages just suddenly complained and had the tree uprooted.”

Absurdly, the tree’s disappearance was caused by the cultists.

While Joaquin giddily danced around, slicing leaves with his blade.

“I wasn’t really bothered by the cultists praying or offering any rituals, but I guess those people found it bothersome.”

“Were the mages averse to religion?”

“Well, that could be one reason. There are Inquisition Officials in this town as well. In any case! People here are quite averse to religion.”

He lit up the weed again, drifting off into thoughts about the past.

“So, there had been a fight for a couple of months over that tree, right? The cultists worshipped it as a sacred tree, but the mages were cursing it for being noisy, showing their concerns over prayer around the tree. The Church and Al-Yabd were getting benefits on earth while those guys simply sat and prayed in the underground. They suggested that if they wanted to preach so badly, they should go outside and do it first.”

“What happened then?”

“Eventually, mages grew tired and hired orcs to chop down the tree! The cultists climbed up to resist it. It lasted about six months, I believe? Ultimately, the tree got uprooted, though.”

When Joaquin finished explaining, I could hardly contain my astonishment at the contentious history tied to the feud between the religious folk and the mages.

A surge of complaints from criminals and a protest by cultists. Is this real life?

What a jaw-dropping pairing it was. The Necropolis seemed even more absurd than I had imagined.

I had no desire to stay longer in this ridiculous place, and I certainly didn’t fancy spending time in dark tunnels, so I resolved to escape this place as quickly as I could, and Kair and Charnoy silently agreed with my thoughts.

“Thank you for the explanation. It was entertaining. We’ll take our leave now.”

Having efficiently gathered information while dodging the stoner, we began to pack up and prepare our escape.

Just then, the weed-fiend Joaquin suddenly stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“Just a quick errand outside.”

“Take me with you! I need to shop for pasta as we’ve run out!”

“…….”

Why would I need you tagging along? Wouldn’t it be better if you just stayed home to smoke of your weed?

I wanted to plead desperately, but it was pointless. Joaquin dashed out of the house, practically crashing into us.

He wore a worn shirt with a neck that seemed to have grown oversized, cloaked in an equally shabby coat. Was he still half asleep? He was barefoot with mismatched socks, and his coat was being worn backward.

“…..Francesca.”

“Yes?”

“Is there any possibility of firing a shot here?”

“Absolutely not.”

“One shot. I’m saying just one shot will do.”

“Ugh…!”

Francesca shook her head vigorously, blocking my hand.

*

With pot and alcohol addiction, Joaquin was a guy with all sorts of bad habits, but surprisingly, he made for a decent guide.

“Currently, we’re at Evening Primrose Square! The square is named after the primrose flowers planted around the fountain!”

“That there is Purslane Street! Once it was fertile land full of crops, but some idiot planted vine plants, and boom, the name changed! All the crops were wiped out! The guy who planted that vine ended up dangling from a chandelier from the good folks.”

It turns out Joaquin was a resident of this city, despite his strong first impression.

His firsthand experience of living here was nowhere near comparable to the knowledge he’d gained through rumors or materials.

“If it’s your first time in the Necropolis, you should check out places like Pearl Hill or the Deep Well! Or, the port where goods come in and out is also great!”

Joaquin stoutly waved his arms as he marched forward.

We began to navigate the streets of the Necropolis, following the local.

“Alright! Where to first?”

With a grin on his face, Joaquin glanced back at us, seemingly eager to show us around the city, but the place we wanted to go was already decided.

“Ash Tree Alley.”

I pulled out the map that marked the location of the signal and showed it to Joaquin.

“Please guide us this way.”

“Huh? I don’t want to go there.”

“Why not?”

“’cause it’s a dangerous area.”

Joaquin checked the map and replied, fluttering his hands. His attitude starkly contrasted with the earlier tone he had used while explaining the origin of the street name.

When I asked why his attitude had changed, I received a completely different answer.

“I never said I would guide you there. Explaining it and guiding are two different things, alright?”

“……”

Joaquin trembled and started to shake in fear.

I quietly handed him a roll of cash.

“Here’s an advance payment. If you guide us, I’ll pay you double as a reward.”

“Oooh…!”

As Joaquin snatched the cash, his eyes began to sparkle. He completely flipped from his earlier stance and was now eager to guide us.

With the bills unfurled in front of him, Joaquin wore a serious expression and made a strange salute.

“……”

“Not going to return the salute? That’s a bit disappointing…”

“…Who salutes with their left hand?”

Joaquin awkwardly scratched his cheek as he lowered his hand.

“Uh… I was saluting with my right hand…?”

You must’ve dodged the draft.

Yeah, actually, he’s exempt.

I could tell. No military would take a stoner like him, at least not without a certain warlord.

Without a doubt, one could confidently say, this guy has probably never stepped foot in a training camp.

“……”

“Heh heh…”

Watching Joaquin giggle like a fool, I simply shook my head in disbelief. Even though his screws might be loose, I needed to make use of him.

Sniffling, he opened the map and began his explanations. Of course, he didn’t just give a calm narrative; he jumped as he spoke and raised his voice.

“There are many cultists living in Ash Tree Alley! The surveillance from the Culpability Committee and the Religious Police is really high! There are hardly any open organizations to act in public! They’ve either fled to the wild or hidden underground. The friends who chose the latter came down here!”

The residents of the Necropolis shouted the names of cult organizations settled in Ash Tree Alley.

“The Blind Snake! They’re the strongest faction in Ash Tree Alley! The area you visited yesterday is their territory!”

The Blind Snake.

I quickened my pace and murmured.

“I feel like I’ve heard of them before.”

“You probably saw them on the news? The Blind Snake has a church located on the surface.”

“Is there a reason for a cult that operates on the surface to step into the Necropolis?”

“Information!”

Joaquin grinned toothily.

“You just said there are many cultists here! That’s why the organizations primarily operating above ground often come here. They do it to exchange news!”

Though, surely there are other motives behind it too. Cultists wouldn’t just gather for information exchange.

“What other reasons?”

“Other than for information, it could be about expanding their influence! The surface organizations are simply stronger than the underground factions, right? The stronger consume the weaker to grow bigger!”

Survival of the fittest.

Now, I could finally understand what kind of city the Necropolis is.

We moved our legs more quickly, entering Ash Tree Alley. As we stepped into the entrance, Joaquin slowed down and began wiping the sweat off his clothes, lowering his voice.

“. . . Yikes. Now that I see it, this is the Blind Snake’s turf. Let’s turn around.”

“Is there a need to detour?”

“Of course! The Blind Snake doesn’t like it when non-members poke around their turf.”

Then what was it that made them seem so quiet yesterday?

I asked if he knew of any cultists’ news, and Joaquin smiled with a mischievous grin and shrugged his shoulders.

“Of course! As a resident of the Necropolis, there’s no way I wouldn’t know. We’ll cover that story in a bit…. Let’s see here… in this area…”

Joaquin veered off the path, starting to walk slowly along the outskirts of Ash Tree Alley.

Looking at the map, however, we were moving in the opposite direction from our destination.

“Where are you going?”

“Just a sec.Hang tight.”

His focus seemed lost as he replied.

While following the outskirts, Joaquin began to tap against the walls of buildings, as if he were searching for hidden spaces.

He pressed his ear against the wall, furrowing his brow as he mumbled to himself.

“If the Blind Snake is the best in town, there must be a second-in-command, right? I’m looking for the friends ranked second in Ash Tree Alley.”

“Who are they?”

“The Abyssal Devourer. It’s a religion that worships the sea. If you go there, you might hear news about the group you’re looking for.”

It’s unlikely they would be deemed cultists for merely worshipping the sea. I figured it was probably a place that revered sea monsters or bizarre deities.

“Do you think the Abyssal Devourer might know the hideout of the cultists?”

“Oh, they probably do. They’re well-informed about the area. They know where they live, where they come from, their specialties, and even how many forks they have at home. I don’t know who you’re looking for, but … if you need info, it would be good to meet these friends.”

Joaquin’s sudden excitement about seeking cultists felt deeply suspicious (mostly regarding his mental state), but I felt there was perhaps some sort of plan, so I decided to observe quietly.

While Kair pulled out an automatic rifle to guard against the surroundings, Francesca leaned against the wall, scanning the street when suddenly,

“…Ah!”

Joaquin, the one knocking on the brick house, let out an ecstatic yell.

He waved his hand toward us, shouting.

“I found it! It’s here!”

Where is it, though?

Just as I was about to ask, Joaquin’s body started to get pulled into the brick house.

“What the….”

“Gah!”

“Hiiiieeeek!?”

Cries of horror erupted from all directions.

Kair scrambled up onto the fence, growling, while Charnoy screamed, “The building swallowed him whole!”

Despite the increasing panic around us, Joaquin laughed heartily.

“Ha ha! Don’t be scared, just come follow, pals! It’s safe here!”

If he’s saying that, he really should just quit the ganja….

My words couldn’t reach Joaquin’s ears. With the sight of his feathered hair vanishing inside the brick house, we stood there frozen, staring dumbfounded at the spot he just stood.

“……”

“…Francesca?”

Francesca, who’d been standing still, turned her gaze toward me.

She wore a serious expression as she opened her mouth.

“I’m not sure what kind of magic that was. There is no mana radiating from it, so there might be a biological trap or a hidden barrier…”

“Right now, let’s forgo the magic lectures.”

I pointed toward the brick house from which Joaquin had just vanished. Then I spoke to Francesca.

“I was going to say we should go first.”

“……”

For a moment, the three pairs of eyes glaring at me all furrowed with suspicion.

A human, a beastman, and a nymph—they all eyed me as if judging me like an overripe piece of garbage.

However, I would not let their glares faze me. I stood boldly and shouted.

“Ladies first.”

“……”

“……”

“……”

Their expressions hardened even more. It was like they looked at me as if I was less than human.

In the end, I decided to back down.

“…Fine. I’ll go in. I just need to step in, right? I’ll go in.”

Like a prisoner dragged off to the gallows, or perhaps a stubborn ant who has caught up with the thematic stocks—I, ah, no that’s not right?

Regardless, I placed my hand against the brick house, wearing a desperate expression.

Moments later.

The world flipped upside down.