A Dark Fantasy Spy

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Everything in the sky melts away, like the fruit of trees wilting and falling. The fine crystals descending from the heavens devastated the land.

A wasteland littered with the corpses of monsters. The melted flesh, not cleared away in time, has hardened into a rigid mass, reminiscent of wax.

Amidst the grotesque faces of death, like candles only half-burned, a woman wandered through the stench wafting from the bodies.

As she ascended the quiet sand dune, her purple hair, reminiscent of velvet, danced in the breeze.

Turning her head to follow the fluttering locks, she briefly glimpsed a boulder that resembled a cliff, gleaming fiercely.

From its hollow eye sockets, a thick, greenish fluid gushed forth in a slurry,

-Skratch!

The grotesque head, now resembling a puddle, splits diagonally. With a soft thud, the languid death behind it casually pushes the severed head onto the sandy ground.

The rolling head of the monster and the cleanly exposed cross-section. Azure magic swirled like a mirage above the blade. Strange runes inscribed along its rough surface.

“…Hmph.”

With a single swing, Francesca dealt with the monster, shaking off the blood from her runeblade.

“Are you okay, Chief?”

“Yes, I’m fine. As you can see.”

Although the wizards of the Magic Tower cast worried glances at the unexpected assault, Francesca showed no sign of concern.

The residual magic on the blade burned away the foulness of the fabric, and the sword, having completed its rotation, naturally transitions to the short blade. Treating monsters with an ease reminiscent of routine, Francesca quickly followed up as the representative of the Magic Tower.

“Neutralize the alchemical substances left at the bombing site meant for the large monsters, and if there are any contaminated areas, cleanse them promptly.”

“Most of the monsters were cleared away by two rounds of airstrikes from the government army, but it seems a few remaining monsters are still lurking. The peacekeeping force is on guard, and administrators should spread out advisories and supervise before starting residue extraction operations.”

“According to the recent news from the Ugarusian embassy, refugees from various places are now passing through here to move to refugee camps. If you come across any groups suspected to be refugees, you must hand them over to the peacekeeping force. While there’s technically no issue handing them over to the government army, for the sake of the refugees’ lives, it would be better to pass them to the peacekeeping force.”

Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

Among the quartet gathered around Camila, the title most commonly used by the public to refer to Francesca is “Alchemist.”

This has several reasons behind it.

First of all, the influence of her ancestors was significant.

The founder of the Ranieri family was not only a master of elemental magic like his counterpart, the Duke of the North, but also established the foundation of modern alchemy, being regarded as the father of alchemy— a great alchemist respected by all intellectuals exploring alchemy.

Though the ancestor did not personally found the alchemical school, he achieved a dazzling feat in the advancement of alchemy as a founding member and executive of the Magic Tower’s alchemical school. Thus, it is only natural that the glow of her ancestors would influence the perceptions of others in evaluating her descendants.

More importantly, she is indeed an alchemist herself, isn’t she?

Although she is listed under the elemental school, no one could deny her talent.

Whether it is due to the blood of her ancestors or her natural ability and skills, she can outshine even the seasoned professors of the Magic Tower and the distinguished scholars of the Ivory Tower, making them appear like mere teenage boys and girls in excitement.

Those who firmly believe that “the alchemy of the Magic Tower is a distorted science of magical engineering, and we must return to the source to pursue pure alchemy” include the venerable alchemists of the crimson desert.

And what of her own power? From testimonies of battling against the monstrous military with a sword infused with blue magic, to joining forces with her companions to dispatch a demon that descended into the present realm.

Her achievements in slaying the demon were proclaimed openly by both the Pope and the crown prince of the Empire, a fact so clear there is no room for doubt.

Saving millions of citizens in the North from the clutches of a demon and developing weapons capable of annihilating the monsters of Mauritania, which even the international community has half-given up on—

“What is the alchemist doing? Is she deep in thought or something?”

“From the look on her face, it seems quite serious.”

“Well, she wouldn’t be worrying over trivial matters, right?”

It was only natural for her to receive the curious gazes of those around her, referring to her as “the alchemist.”

Of course, Francesca wasn’t thinking of anything in particular.

“Haaam…”

Stepping out onto the terrace, she stretched and relished the warm, dry breeze embracing her skin. Like a cat stretching, Francesca lounged, supporting her weight on the railing.

It was just leaning against the railing, but it managed to create a rather picturesque scene.

Barely propped up, she tilted her head gently, her appearance oddly graceful, a slight droop in her tired eyes adding to her delicate allure.

With a sigh that could have been from fatigue or contemplation, she sent her breath mingling with the clouds. Then, she cradled her chin in her hand and murmured.

“I wonder how they’re doing…”

It has already been four days since the warrior and the Colonel exited. The time spent on the move and resolving complex matters surely took a toll.

Four days is enough time to begin something, yet remarkably insufficient to resolve anything. The day would stretch longer before the absence of those who had left could be filled.

In this way, Francesca’s increasing fatigue in recent times was a byproduct of her efforts to fill the void left by the two.

Over the past year, the tasks essential to her companions had primarily fallen under Frederick’s purview, as he handled international cooperation in diplomatic/military/security matters.

Of course, she wasn’t ignorant of the area of international cooperation, but why burden a single person with work when they could divide the tasks according to their strengths?

Being affiliated with the Ministry of Defense and also a diplomat, and given that Frederick had access to much more diverse information as a member of the intelligence agency than she did, he was the most suitable candidate.

Even if some of that information was somewhat illegal or politically sensitive.

“……”

However, now, with the crucial figures having stepped away, she found herself burdened with quite a handful of troublesome matters.

Border patrols that throw refugees into no man’s land without a second thought, nomads demanding compensation for lost livestock after disregarding entry into military operational areas under bombardment, and people throwing tantrums at the quarantined refugee camp due to viral infections—

Some were human, and some were not, but they were all troublesome in equal measure. With serious corruption and the laid-back attitudes of local civil servants only adding to the chaos, the situation was truly a nightmare.

Perhaps this was more problematic than the absence of a hero, one of the pillars of strength. While wars do not erupt every day, incidents and accidents can happen just by breathing.

Yet, it wouldn’t do to turn to Saint Lucia, who soldiers through treating nearly a thousand patients daily, for help. What could she do? If there were no teeth, one must rely on gums, and if water was short, one would squeeze the dry cloth.

“Haa…”

A worried sigh escaped her lips once more, yet it was not born of lamenting her circumstances.

No matter how tiring work may be, there are those who risk their lives, and then there are those who do not.

Thus, Francesca’s sigh was not one of despair, but rather, one of concern. Wondering if those who had departed might have encountered any troublesome situations.

However…

“……”

Looking at the crystal orb, silent for three days, it had begun to irritate her for some unknown reason.

Yet today, something felt different.

– Blink.

The gray crystal brightened, suffused with blue, and at that moment, Francesca’s lips parted slightly, letting out an incomprehensible sigh.

They say that when you speak of werewolves, they come. It seems the same cannot be said for gentlemen.

“Yes, the call has come.”

—”Ah. Francesca. Haven’t you checked out yet?”

“I still have some work left. And you?”

—”I just got done with the—”

At that moment, a commotion erupted on the other end of the call.

“Ugh, just shut up! Doing this race thing is making you sound like a barbarian, will you? Stop with the racism! D’ bula-eu ta!”

“Quickly bear the white man’s burden! Why do you keep making those racial jokes? No, that poem was written by an American, not a Brit! Wasn’t America a British colony?”

“Anyway, among your ancestors was there not a feudal lord that exploited colonies? How is it that someone born into a family of staunch conservatives is playing a supporter of the Labour Party? Camila, don’t tell me you’re a socialist? Historically, notable reds come from bourgeois backgrounds. Turns out this guy was one of them!”

“Who are you calling bourgeois? And I’m not a communist! That’s a lie! Where on earth did you pull that from?!”

“It’s true, it is. There’s this arts center that once had a big sign showing they served jjamppong (spicy seafood noodle soup), and now they’ve switched to underwater ballet. Want to go there and check it out? If you taste the water, you’ll know!”

“Honestly, I’m not a communist; I identify as a Lukacsianist.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, you weeb?”

“……”

Francesca’s eyes started to blink through the unexpected noise.

“…Colonel?”

—”Ah, sorry. Some issues have come up…. Anyway, I don’t have time for details. Just grab your coat and come downstairs. I’m on my way there!”

*

After a short conversation, a shabby van appeared before Francesca after she donned her coat.

She thought she was going to die driving a rusted old heap of junk that could make even a scrap yard owner scream in terror.

“Geez. I thought I was going to die managing this dump…”

The expression on Francesca’s face as she saw the mess of a van was priceless, like that of a young lady visiting a shabby villa in the city.

She had maintained her composure until then, but she couldn’t help but approach me in disbelief.

“…Where on earth did you get this?”

I kicked the van and replied sarcastically.

“It was given by a nearby branch.”

The original plan was for the people dispatched from the cult and Al-Yabd to guide Akande as soon as we arrived at the shore.

“Just when did the mysterious sea monsters start going berserk? The docks were wrecked, and about 1,400 people died.”

Due to an unexpected tsunami that flooded parts of the coastal city, we had to quickly alter our plan and head across the border.

“I heard about the tsunami hitting the Denari coastal area. They said it was powerful enough to sweep away some breakwaters.”

“Anyway… the meeting point was a hotel near that coast, but how are we supposed to meet in this situation?”

Upon hearing there were people waiting to meet me, I went to take a look, but what I found was nothing but the ruins swept away by the tsunami.

Upon checking the first floor cafe of the hotel, filled with various debris from the flooding and brick and slate likely torn away from somewhere, I immediately abandoned the meeting.

In the meantime, through the embassy, I learned that they were also out of contact with the people they had dispatched and simply received a message urging us to leave quickly as the security was rapidly deteriorating.

So we finally moved closer to the border, seeking a way to avoid the gaze of raiders in need of an ordinary mode of transportation, and ended up with this pre-scrap van.

Even though it’s a wreck of a neighborhood, that just didn’t seem reasonable, so I even asked for a rental car, only to receive a ridiculous response. They said this junk was straight from the rental car company.

They said they had no choice but to drive around in a car like this and reassured me that while there would be issues, the maintenance had been completed and ‘for now’ there shouldn’t be any problems. That memory was still fresh. Of course, they also mentioned that it smelled bad, but they added an air freshener, so it would be less noticeable. But the smell was anything but less.

The stench hit my nose, rivaling summer farmland fertilizer (as Camila would say, like something from Auschwitz), forcing me to share the experience with Camila with both of us retching simultaneously.

“In any case, this place is seriously messed up, huh?”

“…Messed up might not even begin to describe it.”

Seeing Francesca’s reluctant expression as she surveyed the van made me chuckle.

“Me. Out. Right now!”

“Okay, okay. I got it, don’t get your knickers in a twist! I’ll let you down slowly.”

“The smell is way too much.”

The trunk swung open wide. Akande, a massive mountain of a man who took up more than half the back seat, disembarked with a grimace while pinching his nose.

“The smell is really intense…!”

“Ugh, ugh.”

“Ugh!”

“Quick! Use the bag! Use the bag!”

Camila, who seemed to be getting out nicely from the passenger seat, buried her face in the bag, and I patted her back.

After a stormy cleanup, Camila, who barely regained her composure, was joined by me, and a now somewhat intrigued Francesca.

Finally gathered, we began to engage in conversation properly.

“Let me introduce you. This is Shamir Akande. Akande is the name, and Shamir is a title. We met in the Necropolis, and I brought him along for work.”

As I was saying, while bouncing a finger on that massive muscle, Akande lightly punched my arm.

When I asked why he hit me, he said it was retaliation for striking him first.

“Show heritage, now.”

“Okay, okay, let’s wait a bit. Alright?”

Despite the arrival of an unfamiliar woman, Akande paid her no attention. Since disembarking from the van, he had been adamantly insisting on checking if the cedar coffin was safe.

Even though I kept telling him I was fine, he stubbornly insisted he had to see it with his own eyes.

I prodded a bit, asking what was in the coffin that made him so protective, but Akande never provided a straight answer. However, after having been close to him for nearly 24 hours, it became clear that Akande knew exactly what was in that coffin.

In detail.

“I’ll show you soon, just give me 30 minutes for transport permissions.”

“Got it.”

I planned to take him to the facility where the cedar coffin was secured first.

After showing him that the coffin was safe, I thought it would be best to let my guard down completely before interrogating him.

Just then, as we wrapped up our banter, Francesca, who had been quietly watching, suddenly posed a question.

“Akande, how did you happen to meet?”

The term ‘how’ held countless meanings within it.

It could imply where this towering figure popped out from, the implications of making connections in the Necropolis certainly weren’t good, or it could ask the motive behind bringing him along.

I answered honestly.

“I caught him as a burglar at our lodgings.”

“Pardon?”

“But what’s important is that this little punk—”

Camila intervened.

“Watch your language!”

“…This friend of mine turned out to be the reason we got robbed.”

“Hmm… I think it might be better if you tell the police rather than me about that. Well, since you’re saying it like that, please, continue.”

With her arms crossed, Francesca began to nod her head lightly, as if encouraging me to continue.

Momentarily conscious of Camila’s gaze, I self-consciously declared aloud.

“Remember the item we found in the Necropolis? The one in the basement.”

No sooner had I ended that sentence than a spark of curiosity flickered in Akande’s violet eyes.

Taking a gentle breath, Francesca, without showing much of a reaction, responded quietly.

“Yes, I remember.”

“That item originally belongs to this friend here. It was kept in the temple of his homeland, and it seems someone stole it. He happened to stumble upon me while looking for it.”

“I understand what you’re saying.”

Nodding resolutely, she began rummaging through her pockets. She produced an orb of azure light and brought it to her lips.

“I’ll let Saint Veronica know.”

*

Cedar coffin, tribal temple, the blood of a saint, Al Kair, vampires.

A bundle that might unravel all the troubling questions that had caused everyone embarrassment rolled itself into view. To be precise, it didn’t merely roll in; it had come with intent.

“There should be crucial clues to uncover. We just need to secure this friend’s testimony.”

It remains uncertain how detailed Akande is about the cult organization known as Al Kair, but to put it simply, it’s clear he harbors knowledge beyond a single fact.

Especially about the identity of the cedar coffin.

“What is it about that coffin that made the cult want to steal it?”

“It could be that they wanted to feed it with the blood of Saint Lucia. According to what I heard in the Necropolis, they wished to become something greater… Perhaps they were trying to sacrifice someone to become vampires.”

As I fiddled with the orb while waiting for contact, a brief conversation unfolded. Francesca, who posed the question about the coffin theft, began explaining with a serious tone.

“Long ago, I read a book kept in my family’s vault. It belonged to an ancestor who had yet to surpass the level of an archmage; it was a book passed down through generations by his master and that master’s teacher.”

She followed up with a description of it being a historical tome containing knowledge about the undead and black magic, along with some countermeasures.

Regardless of ancient or modern times, it was undoubtedly a forbidden book—a dangerous tome. Knowledge of black magic was currently restricted to be shared only after undergoing control and censorship by the Magic Department.

However, if it were the inheritance of wizards who have eluded inquisition for centuries, that’s an entirely different narrative. The inheritance of wizards is always stored away from prying eyes.

Should it have caught any such gaze, the Magic Department would have paid for its retrieval or, long ago, the inquisition would have burnt it.

“Is there a method for humans to become vampires in there?”

I casually threw the question, and Francesca nodded slightly.

“A mere human can become one of their kin if they receive the blood of a true vampire.”

“A bite doesn’t turn someone into a vampire?”

“That’s merely for werewolves. Vampires kill on biting. The same holds true for someone bitten by a werewolf; if they don’t undergo the transformation, they’re likely to die from blood loss.”

One must receive the blood of a true vampire to become one. This portion drew my focus.

“If Al Kair really intended to become vampires, wouldn’t they have attempted a transaction?”

It’s a straightforward logic.

Vampires suck blood.

The blood of a saint performs miracles.

Lucia is the only saint present in the cult.

Thus, unless Lucia’s blood lacks any divinity to repel evil, it would surely be viewed as an extremely satisfying sacrifice by the vampires.

Francesca, after hearing my sequence of inferences, nodded with a calm demeanor.

“I see your point.”

I cannot access any undead-related information, nor is that my field, so I don’t know the specifics about true blood, but if it could make vampires, it would undeniably be worth a fortune.

This became clear through Francesca’s explanations.

“While there’s no clear standard for when a vampire grants true blood, historical records insist that if a lineage bears outstanding merit, they have invariably been granted it.”

“Is it a kind of honor, or does it confer any powers when bestowed?”

“The true blood is the blood of the first vampire, known as the ‘progenitor.’ It is of such worth that vampires fight to acquire even a single drop. That’s all I know about it. The ancient texts didn’t cover any more about true blood in detail.”

“That’s more than sufficient.”

If the wizards from ancient times recorded it like that, it’s likely factual.

“Of course, there are methods where vampires indiscriminately kill cultists and drain their blood, but that’s an overly far-fetched idea, so we’ll consider it out of the discussion.”

“In ancient times, using the organs, body, and blood of clergy were major materials for black magic. There’s even a record of a group that was caught right before they were about to summon a demon using a bishop’s bones 1,300 years ago— they met a swift execution on the spot.”

“In that case, the blood of a saint is undoubtedly of significant value.”

“If it’s the blood of a saint, well… I feel like even the demons in hell would be stirred awake by it.”

The thought of demons doing a twerking dance as they claw their way out of sulfur fires popped into my mind for no discernible reason.

“Hmm… indeed a horrifying matter.”

“Right, it’s certainly serious.”

Though they were talking about grave matters, what difference does it make? In any case, the cult’s intentions had flopped.

The group of cultists that had lurked in the Necropolis had perished entirely, and Lucia’s blood was safely kept within the secret vault of the Holy See. Along with the cedar coffin. Even Akande, who introduced himself as the guardian of that cedar coffin, was secured, meaning the foes had no means to act.

As our conversation neared its conclusion, a dry and warm breeze brushed against our skin, tickling as it wafted through the pleasant, refreshing air. The gemstone’s glow radiated more brightly. Veronica was calling.

When the crystal had completely turned blue, Francesca brightened her expression and moved closer to the orb. But the first to speak was not her, but Veronica.

“Damn…”

A low moan-like voice struck our eardrums.

A chilling sensation trickled down my spine.

“Veronica? It’s me. We’re sending someone over to your location, but…”

“Don’t come.”

Before I could ask what was wrong, Veronica’s warning echoed.

“The coffin has just been opened.”