A Dark Fantasy Spy

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International political figures are thinking.

They believe that if the spread of illegal weapons can be stopped, peace on the Mauritania Continent will be preserved.

From solving minor conflicts to stabilizing the region and its political systems.

The belief that simply preventing illegal arms trade can save tremendous costs and lives is an agenda shared by many analysts and scholars.

However, if someone were to suggest to the locals of the Mauritania Continent that they should lay down their weapons…

The locals would immediately pull out the rifles they had hidden in their closets and chase the intruders out of their village.

Why does the spread of illegal weapons never cease?

To put it plainly, why do the locals refuse to lay down their arms?

The answer to that question is quite simple.

It’s far easier for angry parties to shoot each other than to engage in “democratic conflict management” based on compromise, agreements, and tolerance.

—

Episode 18 – The Men’s Club

“I trust the Empire.

While I wasn’t born in the Empire and certainly am not a citizen of it…

The people from there gave me land and I established farms and mines.

The Empire made me wealthy and gifted me dreams and hope. I raised my children in the ways of the Empire. It wasn’t just me; our whole tribe did the same.

…Until the goblins with the red flags showed up.”

The old man lamented his loss of vigor anew.

Though he was past retirement age, he couldn’t put down his burdens and looked resentfully at his empty arms.

“I couldn’t do anything. Not when the goblins burned the fields, nor when they collapsed the mines.”

“……”

“Not even when they took the children. I… I couldn’t do anything.”

The customers who visit the central market of Umsalga each have their own personalities and uniqueness.

And that uniqueness is expressed through their stories and the currency they carry.

Those who are terrified of the indiscriminate fear of civil war, refugees chased by baseless hate for revenge, naïve thieves preying on the gullible, overly educated foreigners filled with foreign currency, dreamers who love to hope, and….

“Sir, what do you expect from me?”

“I want revenge.”

A monster blinded by vengeance.

“Vengeance, huh….”

The old man said that he craved blood.

“Did you know what I sell?”

“…Yes. I already know what you’re trading.”

The monster replied, and the merchant smiled.

The merchant, who had been calmly listening to the conversation, began to grin widely, exposing his sharp teeth and stretching his green lips.

The orc offered a handshake to the old man seeking revenge.

“Welcome, sir.”

*

As per Mauritania’s customs, the orc welcomed the old man into the living room and they walked out to the backyard together.

In the quaint, shady backyard where grapevines were planted, a long table surrounded by snacks was set, with various firearms displayed like a museum.

“From the Northeastern Alliance’s pistol to domestically produced goods from Mauritania, everything is here.”

While browsing the exhibited firearms, the old man asked the orc.

“Do you have Imperial weapons as well?”

“Of course.”

The weapons dealer smiled widely and pointed to a set of rifles on one side.

“There are also the rifles used by the Imperial Guard who defeated the demon tribes in the north, and there are the personal arms of the Imperial Guard who have been protecting His Majesty for over 30 years. If you take them, I assume you would use them to defeat the goblins and protect your tribe.”

“…….”

“Please feel free to look around. Everything you seek should be here.”

“Yes….”

“Well then, I have a prior engagement I must attend to.”

The orc left a polite greeting and approached the table set with refreshments, shaking hands with a man clad in old military attire.

The two sat down together, continuing a conversation that had been interrupted by the arrival of a new guest.

“Boss, as I mentioned earlier, acquiring rocket launchers is currently challenging. The high-risk military magical tool, ‘Ice Storm Mine,’ is completely out of production.”

“It’s only been over four years since we started trading. Please, you know my face; try to help me out.”

The aged warlord executive implored, yet the weapons broker could only manage a troubled smile. He himself was no young buck.

He took a sip of coffee and began to speak calmly.

“I understand you’re anxious since you’ve staked your life on advancing south. However, claiming to be the Messiah, the Savior… it seems that there are increasingly more cunning tongues luring people astray.”

“Has another warlord already appropriated the supply?”

“Well, rather it’s the harsh reality of market economics that has taken hold.”

“Jammer-Victor, there isn’t a more astute businessman in Umsalga than you. I’m begging you. Is there truly no other way?”

“Hmm.”

The weapons broker’s contemplation deepened.

With thick fingers tapping his bicep, the orc calculated quietly, and then raised three fingers.

The warlord executive gasped in shock.

“Three times… that’s a bit excessive, isn’t it?”

“The amount includes costs that need to be allocated to managers of military factories, the headquarters, customs, and the ports. Factoring in the effort to avoid heightened inspections by bringing in crews from third countries on international waters… frankly, it’s a deal where I lose money.”

Given the goodwill from previous dealings, it was implied that he would offer a discount.

After considering the amount of ‘taxes’ to be collected and the state of available ‘funds’, the warlord executive stamped the contract, and the broker, with a bright smile, shook hands with the man.

“I will pay in gold. It’s from the mines of the tribe, and since we’ve paid before, the quality is guaranteed.”

“That’s a wise choice.”

“I trust your honor, Jammer-Victor.”

“……”

The orc smiled silently.

After concluding the contract, another deal was prepared. It was the old man who sought him out first without the need for the orc to visit.

“Fifty Kien Empire rifles. One thousand two hundred rounds of live ammunition. Sixty-seven ten-round magazines, is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“How would you like to make the payment?”

“I will pay with cash, 450 kilograms of beans, and 78 goats.”

The weapons broker nodded, wearing a satisfied expression.

“Beans and goats! Wonderful. Food is more precious than gold.”

Subordinates stacked the purchased items neatly in the truck bed. The goods the old man bought were disguised as firewood, factory-made food, electronics, clothing, and so on.

To see off the departing guest, the weapons broker came outside. In accordance with Al-Yabd’s customs, as well as Mauritania’s customs, he bid farewell.

“Take care and be safe.”

“May peace be upon you.”

The weapons broker bowed to the old man. He did not rise even as the truck faded away.

Then, suddenly, he rolled his eyes a bit and began to whisper in a small voice.

“…Did he leave?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh dear.”

The orc shot up, pressing his forehead.

“Ouch, my head.”

“Big brute whining like a baby….”

A subordinate lightly patted the orc’s belly as he walked inside. At that moment the orc asked.

“Freddy. You did put the tracker on the truck, right?”

“Yeah. I attached it.”

“Thank goodness. I was worried you might have forgotten.”

“Who would pull something that foolish?”

Shouting at Victor, who was awkwardly licking his lips, I bellowed from the doorway.

“Get in here and track the cargo!”

*

As I lay on the bed reading reports, I couldn’t help but marvel sincerely.

“Wow….”

The world has truly gone mad.

The vengeance-filled elder is out buying rifles like it’s a movie.

The warlord’s head is spinning from the chaos, trying to buy rocket launchers and military magical tools.

Trading weapons starting with “I trust the Empire” and ending with 450 kg of beans and 78 goats… It’s unbelievable. A true miracle of loaves and fish.

“Seriously? Who does he think he is? Swapping goats for weapons?”

As an envoy dispatched for world peace, and as an outsider here to serve with my companions,

The sight of the village chief and the local thug purchasing weapons together is utterly mind-blowing.

How can anyone sleep soundly in a place where illegal weapons are rampant? It’s terrifying.

So, everything was turned to scrap.

– Thud!

I was just sprawled out, wiggling my feet when the door swung wide open, and I heard the familiar sound of “defpft-,” as a certain golden sun rolled in.

“You’re back?”

“Yep… Did hard work on the scrap today.”

Jake returned to the lodge looking haggard.

He set down his heavy military pack and flung off his bulletproof vest. He looked tired, but maybe he’d manage to scrape by this time. Just as I thought that.

Sure enough, he began his usual groaning.

“Manager.”

“What?”

“I can’t take it anymore.”

“What? Are you talking about smashing illegal market weapons in the city?”

Bam! Jake shook his head like a madman. I looked up at the ceiling, contemplating for a moment.

“How many hours do you and the operations team sleep on a daily basis before heading out?”

“We barely get 4 hours.”

“Then do you think the Major, who’s chasing targets and collecting location information with less than 4 hours of sleep, will sleep more than that?”

“……”

“If you understand, then just keep going.”

“…Teeeng!”

Perhaps it was a cooldown, Jake had another meltdown. It was a habitual outburst.

Wondering if I should teach him a lesson, I decided to let it go. After all, I was tired from chasing down those illegal market weapons that Victor had tipped me off about all night.

“Jake, if you keep having these outbursts, you might end up getting punished like the weapons dealer.”

“The weapons dealer? Oh yeah, that market dealer you tossed around at lunch. Why did he break his leg? I saw the bone sticking out.”

“Oh— I stepped on him.”

“Excuse me?”

To be honest, I just aimed to remove his shoes, but the little brat kept running away, so I had to break his leg instead. He won’t be able to run with a broken leg.

Like watching a completely unrealistic drama, Jake plopped onto the floor, speechless. Pippin walked by and clicked her tongue, just like a mother witnessing her son’s messy room.

“What are you doing here?”

“Pippin!?”

“Jake, you’re really making a scene.”

She lightly teased Jake, sipping her coffee. Maybe because of the continuous overtime, her eyes lacked vitality, and her face looked drawn.

Of course, mine wasn’t much different.

Thanks to my years of pulling all-nighters in intel, I had become somewhat tolerable, but nothing was truly abundant for us.

Some regions might be different, but we had to recover and destroy all weapons traded within a single nation.

And that was amidst the smuggling of arms into and out of dozens of neighboring countries.

“…Tsk.”

It’s not a new phenomenon for arms trading in war zones, but recent incidents on the Mauritania Continent have gone beyond reason. It was at a point where both the local government and the international community needed to issue stark warnings.

The chaos didn’t merely arise from the large-scale distribution of illegal weapons.

The instability in Mauritania stemmed from the struggle to survive, and with the money that could buy a box of canned food, you could buy three boxes of rifle ammunition. People were buying weapons instead of food to turn into robbers.

To quell the immediate fires, orders were issued to deal with any weapons circulating in the market.

“…Is everyone having a hard time?”

“Has work ever been easy for us?”

Pippin sighed heavily. Jake, having recovered from his outburst, chimed in next to her.

“What could it be? There’s no manpower, time is tight, and there’s pressure from above… It’s always the same damned chaos.”

I nodded in agreement.

“Jake.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll give you 5 seconds. Slam your head into the ration pack.”

After finishing Jake’s fit with the universally known technique for “physical therapy” (not really), I was plunged into serious contemplation.

“I acknowledge the necessity to crack down on illegal weapons and the reasons behind it, but can we really solve this problem just among ourselves?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Of course, right?”

“Yeah.”

Even if Jake and the operations team worked tirelessly to smash weapons today, by tomorrow, dozens of containers filled with weapons will cross the border.

With the right skills and working conditions, even handguns can be crudely made locally, and when they set their minds to it, anti-tank missiles and howitzers can easily be smuggled. I know this from first-hand experience.

“At least weapons of heavy caliber are easier to crack down on.”

“Manager, you struggled immensely to transport them yourself, didn’t you?”

“Well, that’s true. But handguns and rifles, that’s the real issue.”

In fact, this was the biggest problem.

Heavy weapons can’t be useful without proper training. However, any farmer or idle person can be taught to use a handgun in no time. Loading a bullet and pulling the trigger doesn’t require complicated knowledge.

Still, up to now, it had been managed well.

When have warlords or terrorist groups ever posed a direct threat to us? Even if there had been attempts, I had stopped them in the middle, so everything had been fine.

Until the time came when some self-proclaimed prophet, an old lunatic, made the scene “not nature but violence!”

And suddenly, the chaos spilled over with pseudo-Muhammad proclaimers and self-styled Jesus advocates.

“The state is going to hell in a handbasket; what a sight it is. How many prophets of the Earth God are above fifty in this countryside? Are they all from the same mother? Did she go around the entire continent while pregnant? What in the world.”

If an Al-Yabd priest was present, they would have surely torn their hair out by now at such blasphemous remarks.

But what can I do if it’s the truth?

Pippin and Jake began whispering in worried tones as they sat around the table.

“What are we going to do? Operation team leader Matt and sub-team leader Bill are also saying they might need a plan soon.”

“Senior analyst Larry and the analysis team staff share the same opinions.”

“…I get it, it’s time for me to take responsibility. What else can we do?”

We needed a plan.

To address this issue, I sought help from my companions. Specifically, I handed the problem of arms control over to the World Union.

By chance, we were also in the middle of resolving the Nabuq incident. With the justification of peacekeeping efforts, we could just carry out arms trafficking crackdowns along with the peacekeeping forces.

“Uh, Camila, can I have a moment to talk?”

To be honest, I wasn’t too concerned. I already had a plan in place.

Real dealers like Victor would be tough to handle unless you were a company, but the small deals happening in the neighborhood should be easily manageable by the World Union or my companions.

Moreover, everyone could protect themselves adequately, and there weren’t any rash individuals who’d charge into enemy territory without care.

Distributing tasks while cracking down on arms with my companions was what my plan ‘was’.

*

On day one of the official arms trafficking crackdown with my companions, Lucia successfully apprehended a buyer and an underground market dealer.

“Lucia. I’m glad you’re unharmed, but…”

“Yes?”

“Why did you bend this perfectly healthy person’s waist in half?”

“Because they were trying to run away.”

“…….”

“Don’t worry, I can restore them to their original state.”

“…Please stop joking.”

This was just the beginning.

Thus, the age of the strong surviving had begun.