A Dark Fantasy Spy

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Emotions are volatile. Forgetting acts like a natural abrasiveness that occurs with the passage of time, making it incredibly difficult to maintain one’s original feelings, no matter how hard one tries to hold on.

That’s precisely why we praise those who manage to preserve their original intentions.

Forgetfulness and familiarity wash away the feelings buried in the heart and deceive the mind. Once emotions have evaporated, it becomes challenging to retrieve them, and rebuilding the collapsed boundaries is impossible.

By the same logic,

“Return. Tribal legacy. Cedar coffin.”

When the hulking figure crawled out of the inferno and began to speak in a hard-to-understand short language of the Mauritania Continent,

“….”

“Um, big guy. Frederick?”

“…Hmmm?”

“…Put some clothes on and stop mumbling, you jerk.”

The transformation from what had looked like the spawn of a demon to that of a naked, half-naked performer committing an indecent act was an unavoidable phenomenon.

—

Episode 17 – The Tree that Drinks Blood

Breaking and entering, robbery, assault, unlicensed magic usage Law No. 71, indecent exposure, and an uncountable number of crimes that made my mouth tired just to enumerate, the suspect was a half-naked muscle-bound tattooed pig, or in short, a perverted bastard.

After interrogating the guy we caught while rummaging around the back alley, we obtained a handful of shocking information.

First of all, the identity of the second intruder.

“I. Shamar. From. My Tribe.”

This half-naked performance artist (a.k.a. a barbarian) was a traveler from a rural area somewhere in the Mauritania Continent. He introduced himself as ‘Shamar,’ and at first, I thought it was his name; turns out, it wasn’t!

“Are you Shamar?”

“Yes.”

“Is Shamar a name?”

“No.”

“Are you playing twenty questions with me? Just tell me your name! What kind of nonsense is this, you utter lunatic!”

“Yaggh! Relax, just relax!”

Akande. That was the jerk’s name.

Shamar referred to his position, which was his role in the tribe. According to Camila, who stepped in as a translator (she insisted on it so she wouldn’t have to bicker with him since they couldn’t understand each other), “Shamar” derived from a word meaning “guardian” or “watchman.”

In short, that meant this guy was some sort of guardian of something.

“A watchman? This jerk?”

“What if you call a person a jerk…?”

“Well, it’s not entirely nonsensical.”

Stabbed and sliced multiple times, and even when Camila’s magic turned his entire body on fire from a close distance, he was still standing tall. All the burns and cuts seemed completely washed away long ago.

Remarkable vitality and healing. Plus, with his strange full-body tattoos and unknown abilities, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say he was a professional mercenary, not merely a watchman.

The fact that the watchman had strayed from his post could be interpreted in a couple of ways.

Either he stepped down and came to foreign lands.

Or he left to find something he must protect.

In this case, he fell into the latter category.

“Some robbers broke into the tribe’s temple and stole our legacy, and he chased them all the way to the Necropolis. Because protecting the temple and the legacy was ‘Shamar’s’ duty, he’d been roaming the city looking for a way to get it back for weeks. Suddenly, he said he sensed some traces of the legacy in a certain building… some energy? Power? Something like that?”

“The place he sensed it was our lodging?”

“Yes! So, he sneaked into the building.”

The third piece of information was about how he ended up at the port of the dead whale and why he rummaged through our lodging.

The robbers, who invaded the temple Akande was guarding, had taken the legacy and fled.

The Shamar Akande chased the robbers to the Necropolis and just today, he met us.

What was that legacy in the temple? Why was it necessary to get it back? Who were the robbers? He didn’t mention it, but I didn’t feel the need to press for details.

The first piece of information I gathered when I first encountered this guy had the answer.

“Is that cursed legacy, the cedar coffin?”

Cedar coffin.

That solved all my questions. The reason for retrieving the legacy, the identity of the robbers, Akande’s purpose for coming here, and why he invaded our lodging—all of it.

Camila nodded.

“Yes. I don’t know what that means exactly, but… anyway, that’s what this man claims.”

…Damn it. Thanks to one crazy cult bastard, things had seriously spiraled out of control. With my hair all disheveled, I clicked my tongue.

The reason Akande suddenly attacked me after rummaging through our lodging also boiled down to these guys. No, it was for sure because of them.

The half-naked muscle pig had erroneously assumed I was one of those cursed cult bastards, so he unleashed some magic or sorcery upon me.

Having taken notes of Akande’s testimony, Camila was staring directly at me with a cocked head.

“The energy from the robbers who invaded the tribe’s temple was also felt from Frederick, so he attacked. It was so weak that he didn’t notice until he got close, but once he saw it, he immediately knew. At first, he thought he was a robber because he was shooting guns at you….”

“What happened then?”

“But now, it doesn’t look as if he stole the legacy, and it seems he’s not strong enough to take it. Anyway, he says he’s sorry for the misunderstanding.”

“…Is saying sorry enough after throwing someone into a trash bin, you piece of—”

“Ah! Stop it! No more swearing!”

*

After salvaging the intact luggage and materials, we discarded all unnecessary equipment.

The building had been completely burned down, but Bereda didn’t care at all. The Palm Tree Trade Guild was affluent, and the Necropolis branch was a newly established one that Hormoz, the Guild Master, spared no investment on.

Bereda, the head of the Necropolis branch, even suggested that if anyone was hurt, not to hesitate to call a doctor.

Of course, I declined that suggestion.

“What do we do now?”

In the supplied room of the Palm Tree Trade Guild’s Necropolis branch, Camila, sipping cocoa piled high with whipped cream, asked.

“According to the regulations, if a third-party conflict occurs, we discard the equipment and move to the next lodging. We’ll communicate with the headquarters to decide whether to stay or escape.”

“What does the company say?”

I replied as I ripped into the packed sandwiches.

“They said we should take that bastard and leave.”

The flimsy packaging waved like a mirage pointed somewhere. Camila turned her gaze there and started chiding me with a horrified expression.

“Why on earth would you use such a bad term for a person?”

“That’s my choice.”

“Haa. Really….”

Guh-! A loud burp interrupted her sigh.

I threw a pointed look but it seemed the barbaric muscle pig was devouring manners alongside his usual practice, happily burping away.

Five fish bought at the seafood market near the port, half a goat butchered and prepared in the nomadic tradition, boiled eggs with pilaf…

This amounted to a meal for a typical family of five, all of which Akande devoured in one sitting. He even chugged down a cup brimming with Jalaab (a traditional drink made from dates and rosewater with added raisins, pine nuts, and honey for flavor).

Having been stationed in the Middle East, I met many locals who ate to their heart’s content during Ramadan but… I had never seen anyone eat like Akande.

No, wait. Maybe I had seen something similar once?

“…Why are you suddenly staring at me?”

“No, just… I meant nothing else.”

Avoiding the piercing blue gaze that seemed to question my intent, I soon lifted my head high and faced Camila once more.

Though I feared a fiery wrath would ignite, I felt I had to say something.

“Camila, to be honest, that guy—”

“That guy.”

“Shouldn’t we do something about him?”

Camila gently folded her arms, raising an eyebrow, as if to ask what I intended to say.

I raised my voice in frustration, pointing at Akande.

“Standing still is one thing, but he needs to show at least some manners!”

After all, once we escaped the Necropolis, we’d part ways anyway. The Government of Abas, having received reports from the Military Intelligence Agency, would soon send someone to take Akande into custody concerning the cult and Al-Yabd.

In just a few days, we’d never see each other again, but still, for those few days, shouldn’t he at least act human?

At the very least, he shouldn’t burp while people are eating.

I shook the sandwich I hadn’t eaten yet, passionately voicing my complaints. But Camila continued to wear a sour expression.

“What are you expecting me to do about it? It’s odd for me to chastise an adult, isn’t it?”

“What, is it not your responsibility?”

“No, what does my responsibility have to do with this?”

“It’s a white person’s duty!”

“…….”

Blink blink.

Camila looked as if she didn’t understand what I was saying, repeatedly blinking her eyes. Then, as if she finally grasped something, her expression hardened.

“…@%^$^#&@#!!”

Suddenly, she began screaming some strange nonsense and getting furious.

In the midst of the rising heat, her face was reddening as her anger flared. Sparks flew from her mouth, a premonition of flame breath.

Knowing full well that standing still would guarantee my roasting like a marshmallow, I quickly shoved a sandwich into her mouth and fled outside.

“…Hey! Don’t just stand there!?”

A furious shout came after me a moment too late.

*

The official name of the Necropolis. As the name ‘Port of the Dead Whale’ implies, the fastest and most effective means to leave this place isn’t by land but by sea.

However, departing by ship isn’t something you can do just on a whim. Port entry and exit, routes, reasons, inspections, and so forth—there are countless checks to go through, with thousands of documents required to get a ship in and out.

Thus, the timing of our exit had to align with the scheduled departure of the ship.

“When do we leave?”

“Three days from now. A ship belonging to the guild will depart for Kenbe Port at 2:00 AM.”

The plan is simple.

A ship under the Palm Tree Guild (more precisely known for tax havens, the Sobav Islands) will leave Necropolis three days later at 2:00 AM.

The destination is Kenbe Port, located 472 miles to the east. There, goods and materials needed by our local branch will be loaded, and then the ship is expected to return via waypoints.

Once we leave the Necropolis and enter international waters, the ship will briefly slow down. At this point, we’ll “accidentally” join a passing troll ship and return.

I spat out, sipping on traditional Mauritanian tea.

“Looks like the day will come when I ride an underwater golem instead of an SDV.”

“SD… what?”

Hozkin, who had been breaking sugar cubes with a teaspoon, asked what I meant.

I waved my hand dismissively, indicating it was nothing.

“Well! I don’t know what it is, but it can’t be more fun than an underwater golem. Once you try it, you’ll see how much of a fun toy it is!”

“That seems like a stretch, considering it might sink and go down fast….”

Just as I was about to agree, Hozkin suddenly stuck his nose into the neatly arranged sugar cubes and began inhaling.

“Slt…. Haah…”

“…….”

“This isn’t very good. The quality is terrible. Where did you get this?”

“That’s sugar.”

“Oh, sugar? No wonder it’s got a coarse texture. They always told me not to mess around with things meant for adults; guess this proves it. Haha!”

What a fool.

Seeing a junkie wizard unable to differentiate between sugar and cocaine made me click my tongue. Of course, it was just a joke.

Since returning to the Necropolis, Hozkin seemed unable to contain his playful behavior. I had heard he liked to joke around when at the magic tower, but after several years, his persona now left even Francesca in disbelief.

A little—no, a lot off. It probably wasn’t only from drugs.

From what I observed during my stay at his house during the last operation, Hozkin wasn’t a very sociable person. He wasn’t active at all. He just seemed to repeat a loop of studying—eating—drugs—sleep. With his ex-cessive lifestyle combined with drug addiction, he seemed to have lost any form of self-management.

Yet, after escaping the Necropolis, he had quit smoking weed (the Hassan Warlord had secured the back alley for me, promising that no matter what I did, he wouldn’t sell drugs) and managed to sunbathe a bit, resulting in an utterly transformed personality. I wondered if this was truly the Hozkin I had known.

Of course, his crazy, mad scientist personality had remained unchanged. Perhaps it wasn’t the drugs but his innate temperament.

Born mad, rather than made mad, it seemed.

“By the way, I developed this from the monster-catching powder Francesca created last time!”

“What is it?”

“Rat poison!”

Rat poison? That’s nothing special; it’s already out there in the market.

I stared blankly, wondering what was so great about it that warranted boasting, and Hozkin suddenly began rummaging through his bag with excitement.

“It’s not just any ordinary poison! Just wait and see!”

Digging enthusiastically, he pulled out something: a large syringe and a live rat.

Could he possibly be planning to inject the rat with poison? The thought crossed my mind for a moment, but then, removing the needle, Hozkin suddenly placed the drugged rat on the floor.

– Poke! Zzzz! Snap!

The rat writhed on the ground, its whole body convulsing. It twisted its joints, drooling, shaking its eyes in a manner reminiscent of a scene from a zombie movie.

After about thirty seconds of convulsions, the rat seemed to settle down and eventually got back up.

And that’s when it happened.

When Hozkin produced and placed another rat nearby, the drugged rat lunged at it, aggressively attacking. Biting, scratching, and stomping, it mercilessly killed its kin before panting wildly over the slain.

Without warning, the rat that had committed murder collapsed sideways.

“…Wow.”

What I had said as a joke turned out to reflect true mad scientist behavior.

While dumbstruck by the unexpected drug’s effect, Hozkin scratched his head, seeming to think it was annoying, before tossing the syringe aside.

“But, this is a failure. It caught rats either way, but it wasn’t the effect I intended. Ugh, alchemy is harder than I thought.”

“What were you trying to achieve? It looks fine to me.”

“I wanted to make them infertile to prevent their offspring from reproducing!”

Let me revise that. He wasn’t just a lunatic; he was like a Hitler figure.

Before Hozkin could go on about exterminating the untermenschen, I briefly debated whether I should shoot his remaining nuts (if he even had any) right off, but thankfully, the worry turned out to be unfounded.

After the rat poison was a flop, Hozkin completely lost interest in that area. Instead, he expressed grand ambitions to use his alchemical knowledge to develop high-quality marijuana.

I couldn’t fathom why this guy always thought of drugs first, but anyway, whether he became a historical mass murderer or the century’s drug lord, it was impossible to tell right now. Nevertheless, Hozkin was one of the assets I managed.

“Okay, okay. Enough chit-chat, let’s focus.”

Thus, I decided to assign him a few tasks.

“You’re staying in the city, so you’ll help with accommodations at the Palm Tree Trade Guild for now. However, you’ll also need to assist with both the guild’s work and mine a little bit.”

“Is it payment for lodging? Of course I will. So what should I start with?”

“First… You know the man who just arrived? The big guy.”

While tapping his lips with his fingers like playing a keyboard, Hozkin exclaimed, “Ah, the one as big as a telephone pole? Covered in tattoos, right?”

“Yeah.”

I asked Hozkin to gather information about Akande. To be precise,

“I’d like you to find out what that man has been doing around the Necropolis. If you can also find out what he did before coming here and where he came from, it would be great.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

“There’s a cult organization called Al Kair. They were on Ash Tree Alley, the ones I was tracking last time. Remember? Please gather information on them too.”

Akande and Al Kair. Those two were the tasks I assigned to Hozkin.

He seemed to think those weren’t difficult tasks, so he readily agreed without hesitation, his confidence showing like that typical resident of the Necropolis.

“Is that all I need to do?”

“Yes. Please contact me immediately as information comes in, and feel free to call regularly, but don’t hesitate if something happens… huh?”

“What’s up all of a sudden? Did you see something interesting?!”

The moment I halted my words and turned my gaze, Hozkin began making binoculars with his hands, getting all excited.

Only after glancing around as if he were looking for something did I finally realize it.

“…No. It’s nothing.”

I hurriedly regained my composure, patting Hozkin’s shoulder to calm him down.

“I must’ve been mistaken.”

“What is it? I’m curious; let me in on it.”

“…….”

I hadn’t seen it clearly, but just moments ago, I felt like I’d seen a familiar face.