A Dark Fantasy Spy

---

As the silver wings pierced through the clouds, a splash erupted on the vast runway.

The US military transport plane navigated along the illuminated taxiway.

Upon receiving the stop signal, the pilot manipulated the panel, and the rear ramp door slowly opened, revealing a white man sauntering down with a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hey there, Michael.”

Blue eyes peered at me over the sunglasses.

The CIA Information Officer, who was waving his hand lightly, grabbed the bag on his shoulder and greeted me with a fist bump.

“It’s been a while. How was the flight?”

My American friend responded in pleasantly accented Korean.

“Ah, it felt cool and heavy.”

“Stop kidding around…”

Behind the amusing CIA officer, I could see military green cases that looked like they contained personal belongings.

As American civilians debarked, hauling equipment and pushing trolleys, I couldn’t help but gesture towards the cases.

“What’s that? Did you bring a moving truck for a short business trip?”

“That? Nah, it’s not from our company.”

“Not from Langley? Whose is it then?”

Michael added quickly.

“Fort Meade.”

“NSA?”

“Yep.”

We glanced over at the NSA agents. Michael mumbled as he glanced at the equipment unloaded from the transport plane.

“It’s a delivery ordered by SUSLAK (Special U.S. Liaison Advisor-Korea).”

“Oh, that NSA branch.”

Military soldiers entered the hangar being guarded by the American troops. The East Asians clad in integrated digital camo were unmistakably members of the South Korean Army.

Despite crossing paths, the soldiers didn’t bother to greet or even acknowledge us. If eye contact happened, they immediately turned away, as if it was a competition to see who could look away first.

As I shifted my gaze from the soldiers, I fiddled with my cigarette pack and spat.

“Looks like Seongnam.”

The 777th Command affiliated with the Intelligence Headquarters located in Seongnam City, Gyeonggi Province, which specialized in signal and communication intelligence.

Although they didn’t reveal their affiliations, it was obvious they belonged to that side. There was no other unit working closely with SUSLAK.

“Couldn’t you have shared the plane? Traveling together and suddenly running into each other has made it awkward.”

“Do you think we have an endless supply of aviation fuel?”

“Let’s hurry up and leave; we both have our own things to do.”

We discreetly distanced ourselves, lighting cigarettes and engaging in small talk. Of course, what we considered trivial was hardly trivial.

“The other day we captured some images of the Huabong County area in North Hamgyong Province; there were new troops settling in.”

“Troops? IRBM? What did TGT (Defense Intelligence Agency North Korea Targeting) say?”

“They’re reporting it as indicators of missile launch tests. But didn’t Huabong recently become operational? They might have stationed the newly powered missiles there.”

“Word is the Yongjeory troops are also concerning; suddenly a regiment is arriving at Huabong, just seven miles away…”

“They’re all a bunch of reds. Not long ago, they launched an ICBM and failed miserably… I wonder what they’re planning now. They should just roll their tanks into Pyongyang and flatten the place.”

A chuckle slipped between my lips, and Michael let out a weak laugh.

“Still whining about communists? Aren’t you getting tired of it?”

“Tired? Not even close. Those bastard scum.”

“…”

Michael began to stare intently at me. I shot him a glance as if to ask if there was a problem.

At that moment, my American friend set his cigarette down and suddenly spoke to me in English.

“…Are you okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard the news. Your team member got taken out at Georgetown. A junior, right?”

“…”

“I understand why you’re upset. But chill out. If you keep focusing on personal stuff, it’ll just interfere with your work. Are you Hamlet or John Wick? Want to go out and kill them all?”

I turned my head away and exhaled smoke.

“This isn’t personal.”

“Then?”

Thud, the cigarette butt rolled on the ground, and I stomped it out with my boot.

“It’s business.”

A headache began to throb. A hazy fog clouded my vision, and as the sunlight vanished, darkness loomed in.

It was a blackout.

—

Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

“Camila, please don’t get angry, just listen.”

I opened my mouth in a gentle tone.

“Why did you commit such a horrible act? Even if someone is filled with rage, they wouldn’t go and set things on fire. Knowing this side of you would surely sadden your parents.”

“…Who triggered my anger in the first place?”

“Let’s face reality.”

Her pale cheeks flushed red as Camila shyly looked away.

The red cheeks usually indicate that the person is feeling ashamed or embarrassed. However, there was no sign of either emotion on Camila’s face.

So why were her cheeks so flushed?

The answer to that question was simple.

Flames danced wildly, consuming the trees, and the scent of smoke filled the air. The intense heat swallowed dust and paper, belching out dark plumes.

I stared at the blazing building, tugging at my hair in despair.

“How can you shoot fire from your mouth because you got angry…?”

Whether it was the bio-translator acting up or if being tempted with food caused her frustrations to bubble up, as Camila howled, “GYAAAH!” fire erupted from her mouth, and soon after, the cry of “KYAHAH!” erupted.

That was the result.

As I blankly gazed at the building engulfed in flames, I calmly acknowledged the reality. This was hopeless.

Did the fire department go bankrupt? There were neither sprinklers nor fire prevention magic. Even if this was a city full of exiled mages, it seemed fire safety magic wasn’t mandatory. Or perhaps the construction company skimped on materials.

Since she committed arson, the chances of her being arrested as a criminal were high, but I wasn’t worried. I may have provoked her patience, leading to this explosion, but in the end, Camila was the arsonist. I had no fault in this. That’s a fact.

Maybe because of past experiences of burning down cornfields cultivated by farmers in Africa, Camila held her head high, unfazed. Goodness, looking at that nonchalant demeanor had me clicking my tongue.

“Indeed, ex-convicts are exceptional. To burn down a building in such a short amount of time.”

“…Who are you calling an ex-convict?!”

Smack! Camila’s kick struck my backside.

How was she so strong for someone who doesn’t seem to work out? As I jumped in surprise, a painful scream escaped my mouth.

“Ugh, my butt!”

Ignoring my turmoil, she quickly hurled a bucket towards the blazing building. Although I felt wronged having been hit by a bucket as she dealt with the fire, she didn’t care and barked an order.

“Hurry up and put out the fire!”

*

The fire, caused by Camila’s negligence and my ‘error,’ was barely brought under control after her efforts (again, not mine).

With her arms reaching toward the engulfed building, Camila concentrated and began channeling her magic.

As her delicate hand gestured left, the flames tilted as if pushed by the wind. With a swift motion like scraping sandcastles on the beach, the flames shot out towards the windows and into the air, eventually extinguishing and disappearing.

Thus, the fire was suppressed.

There was only minor damage apart from the entire first floor including the guild’s reception area and parts of the second and third floors, and the charred external walls and equipment. Thankfully, there were no casualties.

However, it was too early to breathe a sigh of relief. Although the fire was extinguished, aftermaths like damage compensation and legal consequences remained.

I looked around and mentally calculated how to work my way out of this mess safely.

Decisions had to be swift and bold.

“Let’s make a run for it.”

I suggested we hastily retreat. Choosing the strategic withdrawal most beloved by Information Officers.

Camila looked at me as if I were absurd.

“Are we going to run from here?”

“This isn’t running.”

“What is it then?”

“It’s not a retreat; it’s an advance. Just a different direction.”

In professional jargon, it’s called a ‘reverse attack.’

Of course, it was utter nonsense.

“What do you think people will say if we run after setting a fire? And weren’t we here to gather information? We have to take something back.”

“Did the person responsible for starting the fire know that? You have some thick skin.”

“No- that’s primarily Frederick’s fault…!”

The bickering continued. Who was wrong? I was wrong, you were wrong; why did you provoke me and not think ahead.

After a period of squabbling on the street, Camila let out an exasperated breath and headed into the now charred building.

And shortly after, miraculously, she returned with her hands full of something.

“What took you so long?”

“I went to talk to the Beastmen who were left inside. They gave me this to eat.”

Wait, why did she rush back in, and now she was bringing out food? I was dumbfounded.

In utter disbelief, I blinked as Camila pouted, explaining.

“I didn’t steal it! I received it as a gift.”

“…”

“Why are you upset?!”

“…Camila. When regular people receive gifts, they say it’s a gift, not deny it by saying they didn’t steal it.”

When the heavy sack suddenly gripped my hand, it began to spin. Camila swung the bag filled with food vigorously, and I stood there wide-eyed.

“Ahhh—!”

“Stop fooling around and listen!”

*

The fire caused by Camila’s negligence and my ‘mistake’ was finally, after much effort (and once again, not mine), under control.

With her outstretched arms towards the affected building, Camila focused and channeled her magic.

As her slender fingers moved gracefully, the flames tilted away as if pushed by the wind. Waving her hand as if scraping sandcastles, the flames twisted toward the windows and soared upwards, finally extinguishing themselves.

The fire was thus subdued.

Except for the entire first floor, including the guild’s reception and lounge, parts of the second and third floors, along with the soot on the external walls and equipment, the damage was relatively minor. Fortunately, there were no injuries.

However, it was too early to breathe a sigh of relief, as while the fire was controlled, the ramifications of damages and potential legal penalties awaited.

I scanned my surroundings, mentally calculating how to wiggle out of this mess.

Judgments had to be swift, and decisions decisive.

“Let’s bail.”

I suggested pulling a quick getaway. The classic move that information officers loved most, an evasive retreat.

Camila began to look at me incredulously.

“You’re seriously proposing to run away from here?”

“This isn’t an escape.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s not running away, it’s an advancement in the opposite direction.”

In professional terms, it’s called a “reverse charge.”

Of course, that was nonsense.

“What will people say if we run away after setting a fire? And weren’t we here to gather intel? We need to get something.”

“Did the arsonist contemplate that? You must have some thick skin.”

“No—that’s primarily Frederick’s fault…!”

The arguments continued on. Who wronged whom? I was wrong; why did you provoke me without considering consequences.

After a prolonged dispute, Camila huffed and dashed back into the fire-scorched building.

And moments later, to my surprise, she emerged carrying an armful of something.

“What took you so long?”

“I was talking to the Beastmen left inside. They gave me this food.”

Wait, why did she hurry back in just to bring out food? This was bewildering to me.

Staring in disbelief, I could only blink as Camila pouted, insisting.

“I didn’t steal it! I received it as a gift.”

“…”

“What’s wrong now?”

“…Camila. A normal person, when they receive a gift, calls it a gift, not argue that they didn’t steal it.”

Just as a hefty bag twirled in my grasp, Camila took that bag full of food and decisively threw it.

“Stop messing around and listen to me.”

*

In a world without ranks, equality doesn’t truly exist; even in a society where visible ranks fade away, not all individuals are perfectly equal.

Perfection is an ultimate illusion created by humanity; even what appears to be a perfect circle reveals its imperfections upon closer inspection.

Society operates similarly.

Income, capital, health, family, education, residence, age, gender, religion, nationality—all these factors define a person, and the differences in their backgrounds become the seeds for disputes—recognizing difference as wrongness.

However, occasionally, these discrepancies serve as grounds for comparison of superiority and inferiority. Some individuals, believing they are superior to others, find it difficult to keep their mouths shut in front of those they perceive as inferior. You might liken them to those villains in fantasy or martial arts novels who make grand speeches in front of their servants, huh?

The mages of the Necropolis seemed to carry that very image of talkative villains.

Despite having countless ears hidden underground, they hardly ever knew silence.

To label them as careless seems a bit concerning. The mages weren’t careless.

Rather, it’s that the beings who overhear simply don’t know how to use magic—an inferior race.

“It seems the Beastmen listen and perceive quite a bit.”

In a nameless park distanced from the fire scene, a meticulously laid pebble path was lined with blooming wildflowers.

Camila, removing dust from a stone with her cape, plopped down onto a rock.

“The folks we met in the guild shared various information too.”

“To you?”

“I doubt they would share anything with Frederick.”

Her tone suggested that the implied query was rather obvious.

Thus, I had no choice but to sport a puzzled expression, tilting my head.

“Why would the Beastmen, who burned down their workplace, treat you well enough to share their food and provide intel?”

“They just gave me some cash and apologized, so they said it was fine, apparently.”

Camila produced something from her pocket, revealing a half-folded stack of cash.

“Just grabbed some for bribes; I didn’t expect it would be so useful.”

Aha. I now understood.

“Considering that a mage set your entire building ablaze, it would be rather inappropriate to refuse when they offer cash as an apology. Mages capable of incinerating an entire building with a single spell are hardly commonplace.”

“I hope I’m not heard as if I threatened them…”

“Whether it’s a threat or not, in Necropolis, that’s just how it is.”

Even their own kin are turned into slaves under the exiles of Necropolis, known as “expelled”. If even homies are treated as slaves, what of the Beastmen? It’s all fair game as long as there’s a crime that warrants punishment, yet mages are deeply involved in the establishment and operations of Necropolis.

Unless mages run amok and destroy the city, or decided to murder their kinsfolk openly, expels are unlikely to intervene directly. The bending of the arm tends to face inward rather than outward.

With the number of Beastmen vastly outweighing mages, and due to the variety of their uses, they are allowed to roam free. Were those deemed useless to plague the city, the expelled would have dealt with them long before.

This place exists as a haven for those who’ve been exiled.

Naturally, considering that Camila herself is a mage, there’s likely a reason for the Beastmen to act kindly. She’s apologized and offered compensation. Upon estimating how much pay she likely handled, the figure seemed to hover around 5,000 talc.

“I knew this would happen. With compensation like 5,000 Takun, the Beastmen would bow their heads in gratitude.”

“Um… was that too much?”

“In an African country where a person armed with guns casually demolishes makeshift unauthorized buildings, how do you think anyone would feel if you handed over about $2,000? Who would complain?”

This time, Camila appeared to understand as she smacked her palm with her fist.

“Aha! It wasn’t even that large of a sum. I thought they had me fooled!”

“…$2,000 is not a large sum?”

Anyway, resolving the matter by covering the Beastmen’s mouths with cash resulted in a solid outcome.

I listened intently to the various stories Camila had gathered.

“So, did you find out what we asked?”

“The doctrine used by the Cult Organization. The name… was Al-Kair, right?”

“Yes, it’s Al-Kair. That’s the name.”

“And there on Ash Tree Alley. According to the Beastmen who frequent the religious district, they are incredibly cautious individuals.”

This matched the findings from Kair’s reconnaissance when we raided Al-Kair’s residence.

Those folks exhibited extremely careful behaviors. Camila started listing supporting testimonies to back this claim.

“I greeted them, but they ignored me, and if I happened to pass by, they’d stare until I wasn’t in sight anymore. I doubt there are any who directly interacted… if any Beastmen engaged, there were hardly any reports. The males always stayed silent when spoken to, and the females would quickly step aside upon just glancing at them.”

“Did you ascertain the characteristics of their male and female members?”

“I don’t know names or nationalities, but I estimate that the members of Al-Kair here are under ten in total, likely around six at most. It seems that’s the number of slightly varying appearances indicated in different testimonies. One thing they all share is that the males all seem to be of conscription age?”

Camila’s collected information was noticeably high in accuracy. Was it her skillfulness or the Beastmen having extensive knowledge?

Regardless, we should approach the Beastmen with caution.

“No one reported seeing children, only testimonies regarding males aged between their twenties and fifties. I even asked some of the neighbors living nearby, and they too mentioned they had never seen any children.”

“What did the neighbors say about the members of Al-Kair?”

“They have a nearly identical perspective. It’s as if they’re existing but also not. They don’t approach first, and when someone does approach them, they’re unresponsive but still manage to linger around.”

“So they stuck out as peculiar.”

“I was told their behavior was not typical. Usually, they would take a few days to open up and gradually mingle with the surroundings, but it seemed these folks deliberately avoided becoming part of the local community.”

More so than avoiding integration, it was probably more accurate to say they were evading surveillance. Of course, the outcome was far from agreeable.

Camila asserted that the members of Al-Kair exhibited extreme caution and minimal contact with others, suggesting that they were likely up to something.

“Isn’t it odd if they don’t even have human interactions, regardless of differing beliefs? How do people live hiding indoors all day, leaving only to purchase goods in passing?”

“I doubt there have been any personal contacts made. But still, I suspect a few of them must have exchanged words.”

“Um… Perhaps it can’t be called a conversation, but one Beastman did come into contact with a woman.”

While trundling back with the cart, the woman asked if she could only deliver the food to her house, and bizarrely enough, it was down Ash Tree Alley.

Although the destination was quite far, it didn’t seem cumbersome to bring an additional person. So, the Beastman promptly accepted.

However, according to the Beastman, throughout the journey, the woman subtly attempted to proselytize her religion.

As if echoing the internal feelings of the Beastman, Camila sighed in frustration.

“Seems the woman caused quite a bit of stress. She was fuming while speaking… I initially thought she was nuts and let it slide, but out of all the content she was pushing, one message stuck out.”

“What was it?”

“‘Be reborn.'”

Murmuring the Cult sermon, she tilted her head, forming a question mark above her head.

“I have no clue what ‘be reborn’ signifies… Is it philosophical?”

Philosophy might be too highbrow for a cult. While Camila pondered over the sermon, she shrugged it away, assuming it was simply that.

“It’s probably just a distorted misquote from some scripture. Isn’t this all what charlatans do? Right?”

“…….”

“Frederick?”

“…I was just thinking off-topic for a second.”

“I see.”

Apologizing for interrupting, Camila giggled, but I quietly lowered my gaze.

As she’d indicated, heretics and cults distort scripture to their advantage.

Yet, I had an inkling of what the cultists were trying to ‘become’ or ‘be reborn’ as.

“…….”

I silently took out my mobile phone.

*

“…So, the cultists’ goal was probably not to awaken a vampire but to become a vampire itself.”

-‘A vampire? Not a servant but a vampire itself?’

“I can’t say for sure, but those who might know are in the Inquisition. Not me.”

-‘Should I inform the Inquisition? Do you still have the objects I provided?’

“Yes, I’ve properly stored them in the bag.”

-‘Understood. Stay safe, Colonel.”

Click.

After ending the call, I placed my phone down on the desk. The documents containing information about Al-Kair crinkled beneath the phone.

“…….”

I filtered through the testimonies and documents gathered from the Beastmen guild and sent them over to Veronica. Raw intelligence would channel through her to the Inquisition and eventually land on Raphael’s desk.

The ball was now in the experts’ court, yet my heart remained tight.

Embracing the restless feeling in my chest, I exited the supplies room when a smacking sound caught my ear.

“Om nom nom….”

“…….”

“What are you staring at?”

“…Nothing, just looks delicious.”

Camila, devouring food piled high, began glaring at me with narrowed eyes.

That look was reminiscent of a dragon spotting a thief attempting to steal its treasure.

Fearing she might take food away, my act of subtly retrieving my plate and takeout container became quite comical, yet I struggled to contain my indignation.

“Hey, when did I ever ask for that?”

“…Liar.”

“Liar, my foot.”

“You said that last time and threw all my snacks away. All of them!”

When did I even do that?

Of course, I could understand Camila’s perspective. The reason she disposed of all those snacks she had hoarded at the hotel—citing them as fattening—was because of me. I didn’t just throw them away—I had snuck in to nab them too.

Moreover, using delicious food to lure her into eating was something I did regularly.

So I could totally comprehend why she would deem me a thief.

Alright, it made sense.

But—

“When did you start treating me like someone you can’t trust?”

“Since I entered the guild.”

“I apologized, didn’t I? And besides, who was it that bought you what you’re eating now…?”

“I am indeed grateful for that!”

Camila shot back with a bright smile.

That, however, was short-lived. She quickly shifted her expression and drew a line.

“However, that’s that, and this is this. Have you ever tricked me just once?”

“…….”

It hurt even more since that was a fact.

There was no rebuttal for that. I had broken Camila’s trust.

This was all due to my own failings, the consequence of a year of building up ill-will.

Gulp! Grabbing what might have been some mysterious leg of meat (probably goat soaked in spices), Camila slammed her cup down and exclaimed.

“Water.”

Earlier it had been Francesca, and now today I was serving Camila.

I poured her water as if I were the servant to a British capitalist, and then began to blow on the cheap liquor, pretending it’s ‘traditional Kien Empire vodka!’ Nonetheless, it was just a hodgepodge of whatever liquor was available.

Damn, I just realized the spelling’s messed up too. Idiots!

As I wailed internally against the wretched mages.

Damn mages. Such disgusting bourgeoisie. This is how communism spawned in England.

Ah, Marx. While I wasn’t aware when the wind blew, now I realize the greenhouse I was in. Money is something that can vanish and re-emerge at any time. The bourgeois here will never grasp the depth of your meaning, even after centuries.

But reflecting upon it, wasn’t Marx also a bourgeois? This bastard was born with a silver spoon and never lived a life as a worker in the trenches.

Damn it! Now I see this bastard was in on it too. Mao Zedong was right; the Soviet Union was merely a haven for revisionists with no roots.

This is why the Soviet Union fell. In the beginning, the only authentic communist nation was China!

Should I switch teams right now and hold a grand celebration for the People’s Republic? As I philosophized, that moment came when the British bourgeois finished their meal.

“Ah— I’m stuffed. What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for bamboo around here.”

“…Why bamboo all of a sudden?”

After finishing a satisfying meal, we ventured out into the streets.

Camila was searching for homemade beer (presumably sold alongside traditional German-style sausages), while I checked to see if there were any decent quality bamboo or Kien Empire rifles resembling the 56 type.

For reference, I shall consider Soviet-made AKs subpar and only regard Chinese-produced weapons as the genuine item. I’ll exclude the North Korean scum, as they seem to be a hybrid mix of Christianity and Confucianism.

Though I’m rambling.

In Necropolis, nothing like that existed.

“Hey, shopkeeper! Hand over the guns!”

“Uh, excuse me? We don’t deal in firearms here…”

“Nah! My shotgun! If you don’t have it, fetch it immediately!”

“Gyaaaah…! My apologies! My friend here is inebriated…”

“Get lost, dirty landlord! I’ve ordered optical stuff from Russia, so bring it here immediately—ugh, ugh…!”

“Please be quiet and follow me!”

“Gah, have a good day!”

*

In this foolish town, the ridiculous night crept in.

It wasn’t a jungle nor even a desert filled with shakes of the Viet Cong. Perhaps due to the thoughtless dunderheads failing to take into account the mosquito situation, the heavy-handed nonstop ringing of a bell echoed through.

“10 o’clock! It’s 10 PM! Residents, please take caution!”

For something born with such small stature, their voice was unexpectedly loud. After jolting me awake mid-sleep, I felt the weariness lift.

As I rubbed my face with my palm, I faintly returned to reality, glancing around to discover I was in a park.

Had I fallen asleep in the park? Have I truly lost my mind? Cursing internally, I scratched my neck.

“Water….”

“Yap.”

“Ah, cold!”

I felt a heavy, chilly sensation at my nape. Startled by the intensity of the chill, I jumped up.

While I rolled across the ground, surprised, I turned my head toward the laughter emanating from nearby, making eye contact with Camila, who was seated on the bench.

“What are you doing here?”

“Why are you here, too…?”

“I waited for you to wake up.”

She shook a glistening water bottle.

“You’ve been working hard lately, haven’t you? You only just got back to rest, and then you went drinking, so how long did you think you would last before passing out? I couldn’t bring you back to my place alone, so I had no choice but to wait here until you got back up.”

I worked up some energy with the water she handed me, feeling as yet revitalized. Now that my head was clear, I could objectively evaluate my surroundings.

What caught my eye was Camila, occupying most of the bench with a cape rolled beneath her knee.

Could that prior hunger have belonged to her?

While I felt a pang of embarrassment due to my hangover, it only made her chuckle soft-heartedly, teasing me.

“Were you really that tired? You were practically sleeping as if you were unaware of the world around you.”

“Quiet…”

“But did you have any dreams?”

“Dream?”

“Yes, a dream.”

Nodding, she added.

“I thought you were grinding your teeth, but it turned out you were mumbling.”

“What did I say…?”

“It felt like you were talking to someone. The words were so soft that I couldn’t understand them, but I think you mentioned ‘Michael.'”

“…….”

“Who’s Michael?”

“An American friend.”

Seeming particularly inclined towards the notion of a “friend,” Camila raised her brow in intrigue. Unable to hold back her curiosity, she began questioning me about Michael.

“Is he American or British?”

“American. He used to be with the US military.”

“Used to? So, you mean he’s no longer with them?”

“Right. He went into Langley.”

“Langley…? Ah, CIA.”

Everyone else might favor the term “company,” acting as if that’s the best-known slang. However, various other terms exist for intelligence agencies, depending on the nation.

Slang may differ, but the most popular references derive from location names. Langley in Virginia ranks as the most recognized term, denoting the seat of the CIA operations.

“How did he end up at the CIA?”

“He was originally part of an intel unit. FSK.”

“FSK?”

“USA FSK. US Army Field Station Korea. It operates under INSCOM (U.S. Intelligence and Security Command). He served in that intelligence brigade near Pyeongtaek.”

“Uh-huh!”

As if realizing it, Camila nodded exposure.

“That makes no sense to me at all!”

“…….”

“I understand INSCOM, but that’s it!”

“Just know it’s an American intelligence unit located in South Korea.”

“Is learning that going to hurt me…?!”

No! I had no responsibility to convey that to her either.

Of course, if I mentioned any such nonsense, I’d be signing up for disaster, so I bypassed it. She seemed quite interested, though, peppering me with question after question.

“How is the American intelligence unit structured? Once it’s a brigade, then it must be a division next?”

“Brigade leads to a division, not a corps. Don’t you know your father is a soldier?”

“I’m not a soldier. Anyway!”

“Was it a brigade or battalion…? I don’t remember how it was back then.”

“So what’s South Korea then?”

“Nah, why would I have to explain this to you?”

“Since we’re allies?”

“…….”

“This question has greater meaning, right?”

“Awww, just shut up.”

“Cute…”

Once more, feeling petulant, Camila and I walked back to the lodging.

Even though we came in under a disguise, Joaquin had lived too long in Necropolis, raising the possibility of someone recognizing him. Thus, he lived in a distinct building, while my accommodation was solely for Camila and me.

Though the hour neared midnight, fatigue weighed heavily on me, yet Camila relentlessly pestered me.

“Have you been to the CIA headquarters? How about NSA? What about the FBI?”

“I went to both during exchanges, but why would I go to NSA… unless it’s for the FBI.”

“How about the SIS?”

“The British offered assistance but were rejected. The rest of Western Europe also fell short; the competition was fierce….”

“What’s the most memorable thing you’ve seen at the CIA?”

“The Starbucks. That’s truly what I envy the most.”

“Why Starbucks of all places? ”

“When you only ever have canned coffee worth 200 won, you’ll understand.”

As if pecking at a mother bird, Camila chirped nonstop, inquisitively drilling me.

It’s said that the strangest of oddities emanate from England. Now they’ve even cultivated little espionage dreamers. Hats off to London.

Could it be that Camila is the vanguard sent by the British government to conquer other dimensions? As if she’d make a fortune here and return to the grand Empire, honestly, I wouldn’t mind if she went back or stayed in Britain. But I have to admit that I would like to witness the scene where Elizabeth II plugs herself into life support and becomes an emperor.

“Ah, but is the Queen still alive? I think she recovered from COVID. I wouldn’t be surprised if she really lived to the age of 100.”

“Elizabeth II? She passed away a few years ago.”

“Huh? Then who’s the king now…?”

“Of course, it’s Charles. Well, technically, he’s Charles III.”

Charles ascended? Britain really has fallen.

“Farewell, Britain. A realm that had more colonies than even Russia.”

“…Our country hasn’t fallen yet, just so you know. It’s classified as a developed nation.”

“How about you give Ireland its independence first before you talk.”

Pointless nonsense intertwined like a tail chasing its own tip. Sometimes we fought and argued. But we also laughed. Leaning against one another under the dim glow of the magic light, we maintained our conversation.

“It’s nice being together again after so long. Things have been so busy lately…”

“Things must be rough in No Man’s Land?”

“I’m not sure about the overall situation myself, but every place I’ve been to was dire. The border areas were no better.”

As Camila raised her gaze to the streetlamps before her, darkness hung over us.

Murmuring, “There are many who can’t even light a single lamp. Right now, I believe everyone is probably hiding away? ”

“…That may not be so,” I pondered. “If you, someone like you, led them into a safe zone, they would be able to light their lamps without concern.”

“Ah—that sounds great! A town where they can freely turn on the lights. I could try to create one!”

“What are you planning to make it like?”

“Well, we could just rescue everyone we can see and help them settle in a safe place, right?”

“Compulsory relocation? Quite a British way of thinking.”

“…….”

“…I meant that it’s a uniquely British idea, not that you got me wrong.”

“Aha! So you didn’t mean to offend! I hope I’m not misinterpreting you!”

With a bright smile, Camila jumped with glee. It was just a trivial conversation.

As we neared the familiar building, I fished for my keys in my pocket. Camila stretched her body out like a cat, briefly shaking off the drowsiness that headed her way, and I positioned the key towards the lock.

“…….”

“Why isn’t it opening? I told you to ah—”

“Shh.”

I quickly covered Camila’s mouth with my hand. Her blue eyes widened earnestly.

As her pupils swirled in shock, I quietly turned my head.

“…The lock’s been tampered with.”

As I pulled my hand away, Camila crouched low and made a fist.

I felt a chill tracing my palms. The weight of the pistol tucked at my waist seemed particularly pronounced today.

We cautiously stepped back from the entrance.

And then,

-Thud!

Heavy footsteps echoed from within the building.