A Dark Fantasy Spy

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The security in a dictatorial state surprisingly boasts a high level of efficiency.

You might think this is nonsense, but believe me, it’s true. There are countless examples to support this.

The first that comes to mind is, of course, South Korea.

Next, we have countries like Cuba, Chile, China, Laos, and Vietnam, all of which have experienced socialist dictatorship.

Under the state’s authority, dissidents are suppressed while crimes are hunted down as if they were mere insects, and if someone is deemed a criminal, they get hefty sentences without a second thought.

High-level security is maintained through state-led surveillance and severe punishments, and in countries with a history of dictatorship, this monitoring and punishment are often disguised as ‘public safety’ while being aimed at suppressing dissenters.

If someone isn’t a lackey of the dictator or doesn’t have the cash to grease the palms of the investigative agencies, then committing a crime in such places means they should toss any thoughts of living comfortably for the rest of their lives into the toilet.

The situation in this place wasn’t drastically different.

The Kien Empire, where the emperor’s protection and the stability of the state and royal family come first.

In an effort to shed the bloody purges and tyrannical image, the emperor’s orders placed every criminal in the empire behind bars.

Robbers, pickpockets, human traffickers, murderers, and rapists—all kinds of offenders were rounded up in a grand operation, allowing the Kien Empire to rise as one of the leading nations in public security on the continent.

The Republic of Patalia, with its painful history of military dictatorship.

Facing a collapse of order due to the aftermath of regime change and economic crisis, the military government once declared war on criminals.

Generals who attacked the presidential palace threatened criminals with their guns, and military police crushed the wrists of thieves caught at tourist sites with their clubs, all to protect the tourism industry that had been famous for thousands of years.

As a result, even today, with the regime change successful, Patalia enjoys a relatively stable public safety situation. Even the pickpocketing commonly seen in Abas doesn’t dare to stray into Patalia’s major tourist spots.

The Lushan Federal Kingdom, held together by the royal family’s powerful central control.

The power of the king of the federation comes from bloodline. To maintain authority, the king appointed his offspring as ministers, and the princes inherited key positions such as the Minister of the Interior and the Minister of Defense.

Aside from the torture, violence, kidnapping, and assassination targeting anti-royalist activists and critical journalists, the royal family sincerely committed to rooting out crime that disrupts the federation under the catchphrase of maintaining public safety.

It’s an irony of history that the noble cause meant to uphold dictatorship can sometimes come to life. Yet, it’s not something to think too strangely about.

The tree of freedom grows by feeding on the blood of both oppressors and revolutionaries, while the dictatorship’s tree demands even more blood. The blood that nourishes the tree is always the one pooled beneath society’s surface rather than its heights.

Thus, it’s no surprise that public security in a dictatorial state can be so high.

At least that’s how it has seemed to me.

But as the world always goes, there’s no such thing as absolute certainty.

—

Episode 17 – The Tree That Drinks Blood

—

When I first arrived on the scene, I realized that the formula I had firmly believed in was shattered.

“What the hell… This is a complete mess.”

For those who lived through the 21st century in South Korea, the image of a violent crime scene is as follows:

A thick police line marked ‘Do Not Enter.’
Investigators in the midst of forensic examination wearing the label ‘science investigation.’
Police preventing access while citizens peek curiously.
News cameras capturing each scene and reporters from media outlets conducting interviews.

What unfolded before my eyes completely contradicted the image of the ’21st-century South Korean violent crime scene’ that had been tucked away in my mind.

A disorganized crowd of onlookers and what appeared to be grieving family members wailing at the center of the crime scene, station staff rolling a magic camera while stepping through bloodstains.

The scene was, quite literally, a total fiasco.

There were noticeably too few police officers to block access, and the touch of those going through bloody clothes showed no intent of preservation whatsoever. Given that the first principle of criminal investigation and forensics is scene preservation, it was enough to leave one astounded.

With a serious expression, I muttered while scanning my surroundings.

“What in the world is going on…?”

—

“Get a shaman here right now!”

“Elzaher Town, come out. Nabuktu Police Station. We need doctors. I repeat, doctors immediately….”

After reading the urgent communication from the Foreign Ministry, I teleported to a scene that was pure chaos.

When I pulled out from the scene and visited the local police headquarters, it equally reeked of disaster.

Not a simple disaster, but a multi-dimensional disaster.

The police chief yelled at lower-ranking officers, and a radio operator was desperately trying to hear through a headset while fidgeting with the transmission. It was a sight to behold.

Realizing there was no hope here, I quickly left. As I was exiting the headquarters, I received an address on my company phone and headed there.

What I found was a village located in the city center.

In that place, surrounded by a white fence, I was finally able to hear the proper story.

“A tree has been eating people.”

A man with a scruffy beard, looking like a crop worker, opened his mouth.

“A tree?”

“Yes. That’s what the reporters said.”

He introduced himself as an administrative official from the Abas Foreign Ministry stationed at the local embassy.

But both he and I already knew that was a blatant lie. The address he provided was for a company, not an embassy.

In other words, the man was not a diplomat but an information officer. An info agent dispatched by the Royal Intelligence Department.

The Royal Intelligence Department employee had called me out to this village while I had been stirring things up at the scene and the police headquarters. Avoiding the absurd market alley, I noted that this was an unusual village as soon as I arrived at the rendezvous point.

It made sense, as areas surrounded by nice white walls in underdeveloped countries generally indicate that it’s a wealthy district. This place was probably developed for the local affluent and powerful.

As I scanned the parking lot, I quietly muttered.

“Something unusual must have happened, considering the state of the hospital.”

Beyond the wall separating the impoverished from the wealthy, the hospital situated in the affluent district was today’s meeting spot.

Of course, even though it was called a hospital for the wealthy, it was still a developing nation’s standard.

Due to insufficient beds, patients were strewn across corridors, the lobby trash cans overflowed with waste and medical refuse, and the morale of the doctors and nurses had sunk so low they were often irritable with the patients.

This place was the central hospital of this town, far behind large hospitals in developed countries or university hospitals.

The Royal Intelligence Department employee lit a locally procured cigarette.

And while pretentiously flicking the flint of his lighter, he surveyed the area.

“….”

A police car, loaded with injured, hurriedly rushed past us. Since no medical personnel had come to welcome them, the officers had to move their colleague on their own.

Police officers dragged a colleague out of the backseat, and blood was streaming down his head. The remaining officers ran towards the hospital with their unconscious colleague’s limbs in tow.

Once the police had completely disappeared, the man finally lifted his head, puffing on the lit cigarette.

“What a sight. I came to meet an informant and suddenly the city turned into a hellhole, and the informant is missing.”

From his tone, it seemed the missing informant had been brought to this hospital.

I asked if he had found the informant. He replied that the informant was already dead. By the time he arrived, the informant had succumbed to excessive blood loss. He added that.

The Royal Intelligence Department employee who was smoking his cigarette finally spoke.

“They told me to ask you everything you know. I don’t know if I can be of any help, but I’ll pass on everything I’ve found.”

“Thank you.”

“The tree has eaten people. That’s where we should start.”

He provided me with some information.

The oddly disjointed landscape I had observed on my way to the meeting spot, the rumors circulating among the townsfolk.

The circumstances revealed by patients, families, and medical staff at the hospital where the dead informant had been brought, along with the testimonies from journalists and government officials he had kept in the know with pocket money.

I took the materials handed to me by the Royal Intelligence Department employee to find Veronica.

“The tree has killed people. It seems the blood-drinking tree Ramiel mentioned has appeared.”

“The incident occurred in the South, right?”

“Nabuktu. It’s a city near the capital of the southern province.”

“Are you certain?”

“I just confirmed everything from the scene to the police headquarters and hospital.”

Photos capturing the horrors were spread across the table.

Veronica flipped some of them over, covering her mouth with her hand to block the sight from view.

I spoke up.

“There are sixteen fatalities and over twenty injuries. Considering the police witnesses, grieving families, and journalists at the scene, the local newspaper or central broadcasting will likely cover this news today. Of course, the Holy See and Al-Yabd must have caught wind of the situation.”

“….”

“What do we do now?”

It was already too late to keep the information contained; too many people already knew.

Leaning her fingers against her chin, Veronica sat in silence with a blank expression.

In the flowing stillness, she lowered her wrists weakly and carefully spoke.

“Should we formally propose the eradication of demons to the Holy See?”

“Will Al-Yabd just sit back and watch that happen?”

“What else can we do?”

Veronica leaned on the table and rose from her seat.

“I need to go to Lateran and meet Raphael. You stay here and check for any new news. If necessary, ask the angels for help… I’ll give them a heads-up.”

“Understood.”

I quietly nodded.

—

The bizarre murder case that unfolded in Mauritania spread across the globe.

Local correspondents reported the news, citing local newspapers and broadcasts, and urgent communications were sent back home by the officials stationed at the embassy.

The cult and Al-Yabd discussed launching an investigation to uncover the truth. However, the intricacies of the international situation hampered their efforts.

“How can we trust pagans to conduct an investigation? It’s absolutely out of the question.”

“It’s indeed astonishing that pagan priests have set foot on land crafted and perfected by the Earth God. How can we conduct investigations with them?”

The news that the Holy See would be participating in the investigation sparked significant backlash among many Al-Yabd followers.

With blood still fresh from the wars waged by the crucible and the Inquisition, how could they shake hands with the priests of the Holy See?

The identification of the Inquisition as the body that would represent the Holy See in the investigation was also a source of discontent within Al-Yabd. The emergence of hardliners had begun to surface against the backdrop of the Inquisition’s influence.

The issue of external opposition soon arose.

“Brothers, why are you cooperating with heathens? Withdraw your hand extended to the unclean. Do not shake hands with them. If this behavior persists, you will pay dearly.”

A terrorist organization began to intervene in the situation, akin to groups like Hezbollah, Hamas, Taliban, or Daesh in the earthly realm.

By referring to Al-Yabd’s priests as brothers, it was easy to infer that these folks belonged to the Al-Yabd faction.

And from the similitude with Middle Eastern terrorists, it was obvious they were notorious troublemakers born of religion.

—

[The Al-Yabd extremist terrorist group ‘Glorious Path’ has claimed responsibility for the large-scale attack that occurred a few days ago in Maheb.]

[Flames engulf the building. As people emerge from beneath the collapsed walls, the machine guns of the military special forces on the scene rain fire. Those who conducted the terror in the city that day were part of the ‘Ubasharan Brigade,’ demanding the abolition of educational systems against the law and the cessation of collaboration with the cult….]

[A militant faction in the Mauritania continent issued a statement around 6 PM local time on the 11th. The declarations began by demanding the expulsion of Saint Lucia and other cult priests, listing six demands in total. The Deputy Minister of Defense indicated that such demands were unacceptable and warned that any attacks on the royal family would lead to severe retaliation.]

When Lucia arrived in Mauritania, the armed groups hadn’t made significant protests. Behind the scenes, they might have been stirring up trouble, but at least initially, they acted civilized.

This was entirely due to Lucia’s dispatch occurring at the official request of Al-Yabd, supported by the local government and community.

Thus, aside from the crazed individuals in the back, the armed factions were unable to take action. Especially after the thugs who had threatened to kill the saint got obliterated by government fire, they were even more on guard.

However, once the stakes were raised, the suppressed factions began to rise in unison, clearly ready to unleash their pent-up rage.

The assaults by the terrorist organizations were executed with a high degree of sophistication and meticulous planning.

Intelligence agencies in developed countries classified it as a premeditated act of terrorism. Abas’ intelligence agency was no exception.

Just like the CIA in the United States, Abas, along with other leading nations, had branches across the globe. So it was only natural they had received intel that something was in the works.

Yet, the responses of the local governments were utterly pathetic.

—”The government compound is under attack. In Nurhaven.”

“I heard we were targeted for terrorism, and a warning was given two weeks ago to prepare. What has your side been doing?”

—”We took a beating. Just the other day, we were assured that we’d properly prepared for it. I really want to smash that ambassador’s face in.”

The Royal Intelligence Department obtained signs of the impending attacks from informants monitoring major terrorist groups.

These materials were processed and handed over to the embassy, with the Abas government issuing warnings to be prepared for defensive actions. Leonie had also given orders to filter certain intelligence from the Military Intelligence Agency and pass it on to the local Ministry of Defense long ago.

However, shockingly, the utterly incompetent local Interior and Defense Departments allowed the attacks to proceed. Not just a mild beating, but a complete slaughter.

There were even indications that someone in their intelligence office had become a mole, leaking information from Abas that had been handed over. The terrorists had intercepted our intel.

It was a catastrophe, no question about it.

Colonel Clevenz, head of the domestic affairs section of the Military Intelligence Agency summarized the disaster succinctly.

“Our intelligence network just regressed five years. The elaborate tower we’ve painstakingly constructed is on the brink of collapsing overnight.”

Though it was an exaggerated statement, it proved accurate.

If the terrorist organizations managed to expose agents within their ranks using the leaked materials, they would all be dead meat.

It was a matter of urgency to protect the lives of the informants, let alone those of the officials.

Foreboding predictions always tend to come true, and this tiresome jinx quickly became a reality.

Intelligence officers responsible for overseas counter-terrorism intel collection began being attacked. While the total number of casualties was small, the fact that the terrorists had gained access to the identities and safehouses of our intel officers was a monumental deal.

Simultaneously, the circumstances of companies in other nearby regions were similar.

—”Two of our employees got hit. They were showered with bullets while trying to exit a parking lot.”

“Were they okay?”

—”Fortunately. But it seems the informants weren’t. They only recovered a severed head and hand from the dumpster.”

Sofia from the National Security Agency of Patalia calmly described the incidents occurring locally.

The fact that intelligence officers en route to work were attacked implied that their identities had been compromised. It seemed one of the slain informants had admitted to something, but since those informants were already dead, uncovering the truth would be exceedingly difficult.

With the situation developing in this manner, even local governments began to lose their grip.

“What do you mean, Minister? Evacuation?”

“Exactly that. I’m asking you to have Camila, Francesca, and Saint Lucia leave our country by the end of this month.”

“…Minister, please listen to me calmly. Our Patalia can find ways to engage in the World Union’s peacekeeping operations—”

“Peace? Did you just say peace? Ambassador, take a look at the corpses lining these streets. This is not peace.”

“…….”

“It’s terror.”

Notifications started pouring in for officials associated with their movements.

Ambassadors, consuls, charge d’affaires, NGO executives, World Union diplomats, international organization staff, and even foreign embassies.

Abas’ government, along with other nations, offered to execute military operations against the terrorist organizations and rebels; however, their proposals were of no use.

In fact, government officials revolted, saying, “You’re not deploying troops, so why should we send our soldiers into the battlefield?”

“…….”

I gazed at the speech of a local politician appearing on TV, the subtitles generously provided by the translator rapidly flowing downward.

—

[Why must our sons be thrust into danger? Why must we suffer in fear every night? We are tormented day by day due to the Prime Minister’s incompetence and the indifference of the great powers. Where are the peace and stability they speak of?]

[We must break free from this cycle of tragedy immediately. I demand the government. Drive them out of our country at once, and negotiate with the rebels….]

—

Pop. The screen darkened as the drivel vanished. I tossed the remote irritably and sank into my chair.

“They’re really out of their minds,” I muttered.

Jake, watching alongside me, chimed in.

“That governor is one that was elected in a rebel activity area.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Of course, the main police will have to die off a few times.”

He bent over to pick up the remote control that had fallen on the ground.

“However, it seems the countries that do actually implement evacuations will be few, according to our Foreign Ministry’s assessment. The local sentiment also seems to be favoring us.”

Pippin’s gaze shifted from Jake to me. Analysts reviewing the data sent from Abas’ embassy were starting to voice optimistic prognosis instead of pessimistic forecasts.

“The international community’s stance is clear. Many governments support the response to the terrorist coalition that has formed. There’s an understanding forming that we cannot allow the Mauritania continent to suffer under the threat of terrorism any longer.”

“Wasn’t that announced by the foreign ministry of the Kien Empire?”

“Yes. To be precise, it was brought up during a meal with journalists by the ambassador to the alliance. It looks like it will be formally registered as an agenda soon.”

What the hell. The day has come when both the Kien Empire and Abas Kingdom’s opinions align.

It’s warming to hear, but from my perspective, the reality is rather bittersweet. The support of the international community was, in essence, a result of pressure from powerful nations.

If any nation disagreed with that agenda, they would have their economic aids and industry subsidies cut. Abas and Kien, among others, were secretly threatening these nations.

It was an outright act of thugery, yet governments dared not complain. For nations just starting to emerge from impoverished economic conditions, the cessation of economic aid would be an ultimatum to prepare for their days of scraping by. If they wanted to avoid that, they had no choice but to comply.

While historically, it’s the nature of international society for the strong to dominate the weak, this felt particularly egregious.

Though, of course, who am I to point fingers?

Like anyone who works in intelligence, I had my dirty hands as well. At least for those like me, who had blood on our hands.

“First, let’s compile a list. There will be regions where, even if evacuation doesn’t happen, we can at least restrict access. We should narrow down the most likely candidates.”

“Should we just focus on the rebels, warlords’ effective control areas, and high-terror-risk zones?”

“Can we really narrow it down that much? Let’s consult with the Foreign Ministry and make a selection.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pippin and Jake began working on drafting a regional list. While Abas’ Foreign Ministry had mobilized all its diplomatic powers to put out the immediate fires, the large issue of the cult still remained.

Veronica was indeed putting in the effort. She was actively trying to persuade the bishops and cardinals, demanding a decision from Raphael, etc.

Lucia wasn’t sitting idly either. I knew she was still contacting key figures in Al-Yabd nonstop. Francesca was doing something similar. For those in the Ministry of Defense, her developed alchemical weapons were quite the attractive armament. Any complications in their contracts due to this situation would make it exceedingly challenging to face the beasts coming in from the borders.

And then there was Camila….

“Where’s Camila right now?”

“Hero? She went into No Man’s Land for an operation four hours ago.”

She was diligently off hunting monsters.

Even in this unraveling chaotic world, she continued to quietly roam the desert. Though not much she could do, she asserted she would at least do what she was good at. When I asked what that was, she said monster hunting.

I had no idea how much time we had left, but it was clear she intended to save as many people as possible during that time. I didn’t stop her.

“Ha…”

I turned off my communication device and lay down on a cot. I had just finished contacting Warlord Hassan and Victor.

Rebels inevitably connect with each other, and arms brokers have close ties to rebel leadership. Nasir al-Hassan, the leader of Hassan, and Victor, the arms broker for the Kien Ministry of Defense. Both informants had gathered the latest on the armed factions in the Mauritania continent for me.

Just as I was about to take a moment to rest and analyze the intel received from my informants…

The communication device I had plugged into my bag began blinking. After turning on the anti-eavesdropping device, I entered the restroom, turned on the tap, and pressed the connection button.

“Yes, it’s Frederick.”

—”It’s me.”

“Matt?”

I readjusted the device in my grip.

“You called out of the blue. I was just about to get some rest. Just moments ago, I received intel from Hassan about an armed group beyond the western border searching for bomb makers….”

—”The issue at hand isn’t about the rebels.”

Matt interrupted.

—”Something has happened. Can you switch devices?”

“…Call me back in ten minutes.”

I ended the communication and stepped into the living room. Lifting the carpet, I jammed a knife into the gap between the boards and pried it up.

Underneath the plank lay a small hole. I dusted off the pile of dust and retrieved a secret communication device I had hidden away. This device allowed for much more secure communication than the standard equipment I usually used.

Draping an Arab-style robe, I made my way outside. After careful scrutiny to ensure there was no tail or surveillance, I wandered down a quiet alley and established the connection.

“You can talk now.”

—”Good.”

“What’s the problem?”

The need to switch devices usually indicates something of great concern.

Having arrived at a deserted open space with the more secure equipment, I glanced around once more. After a brief silence, Matt finally spoke.

—”Are you okay?”

“Yes. So who is this someone you’ve mentioned?”

—”…It’s a person from Petrogard. You might know her.”

When I asked who it was, Matt corrected himself.

—”Not a guy, it’s a girl.”

Not a man, but a woman. A woman from the Kien Empire.

As soon as that was mentioned, one person popped into my head.

—”Ekaterina Andreevna. You know her too, right?”

The information officer from the Imperial Guard HQ.

—”She just arrived in Abas.”