A Dark Fantasy Spy

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Reasoned violence engulfs the black market!

“Ugh- Please accept it graciously, Brother!”

Glass shattered loudly as a Black man soared through the window.

Falcon, caught selling seven pistols, screamed as he plummeted down.

“Aghhh-!”

-Splat! Crunch! Smash!

The mace, swathed in a pure white light, smashed the floating pistols in one go, setting off in search of the next victim like a bloodthirsty hunting dog.

Just then, a couple of gangsters who had been trying to escape through the back door found the once-solid ground had turned into a slushy bog, snatching at their ankles.

“Help! Somebody! Glub…!”

“Glub glub…!”

Amidst the screams piercing the alley, the sound of slurping tea blended in.

“Hey, hey! Help us!”

“Yo! I need help hyaaaah…!”

“…….”

The magician elegantly tilted her teacup, looking utterly oblivious to the chaos.

A sword with strange patterns leaned against the wall, while a peculiar empty reagent bottle rolled next to her swaying feet.

-Boom!

An explosion erupted.

Flames devoured an entire floor of the warehouse, greedily consuming the massive cache of ammunition and weapons stored inside.

The heated live rounds went kaboom- the explosion loud enough to be heard outside, while the sound of the magic imaging equipment exploding also rang clear.

“…….”

I was at a loss for words, stunned by the dizzying sight.

The ruthless click of cameras from the swarm of reporters and Jake’s voice calling out to me failed to reach my ears.

“Manager….”

“…Ah.”

I rolled my eyes back, unaware that my body was tipping over.

“…This,, is,,, terrible,,,”

Anyone would do. I just prayed.

I wished someone would kill me right here, right now.

—

Episode 18 – The Man Club

In a world gone mad, if someone manages to keep their sanity, are they normal? Or abnormal?

One thing I can be sure of is that that sane person is certainly surrounded by crazies.

My case was exactly that.

*

“Why are you all doing this to me?”

About 300 kilometers east of the capital of the Jamria Federation, in Churukushi.

The unexpected commotion coming from the Eastern Headquarters of the Government Army drew the attention of passersby.

“I told you to be careful multiple times! We even promised last time! You said you wouldn’t cause any trouble next time!”

A well-dressed man attracted attention wherever he went.

Unlike the ochre-colored combat uniforms of the Kien Army he received twenty years ago (A-grade standards – produced in the 70s) or the inexpensive camouflage suits brought in by a local trader (basic water-repellent + optional items from the deceased), his three-color desert combat uniform looked fresh off the factory floor, with overlocking that was simply on another level.

You see, there’s something about it.

The envy from soldiers during joint training towards the well-equipped American troops. That’s how the federal soldiers viewed his desert combat uniform.

Of course, the majority of the federal army was blissfully ignorant.

They simply found it fascinating that a pale-skinned white man was throwing a tantrum.

At that moment, there was indeed a descendant of European imperialists present.

“Why are you shouting?”

“Am I not supposed to!?”

Camila Lowell, a magical girl born to a British bourgeois family.

Her actions seemed absurd; she wasn’t exactly one to have a typical background either.

Given that the class system is still openly maintained in Britain, producing politicians, bureaucrats, journalists, and legal attorneys (Britain has two types of lawyers) must indicate at least middle-class standing.

Of course, from the start, she had broken into Cambridge and even interned with the British intelligence agency on her own merit; she was indeed a rare breed.

But the problem lay in her innate rebellious spirit.

“What did we do wrong? No one died, did they!?”

The arsonist (with multiple offenses) who had burned down the warehouse replied back with raised eyebrows. Her attitude was brazen to the point of being shameless.

“We’re on our 27th day of zero accidents; why are you shouting? No one died or was injured!”

“…Zero accidents? Are you referring to military-style zero accidents?”

“I don’t know; I’m not military! Hehe.”

My jaw trembled. While the spy in his desert three-color combat uniform was blushing, a chuckle interjected the conversation naturally.

“Please don’t get too angry, Colonel. It won’t be good for your blood pressure.”

Francesca, a civil servant and current representative of the Magic Tower, emerged with her purple hair swaying.

She was another person not known for being ordinary. First of all, her appearance was anything but average.

Her alchemical prowess had developed a mysterious alchemical weapon that eradicated the desert monsters that had been a headache for thousands of years, the unlimited supply of healing potions provided for tens of thousands of unofficial casualties…

There were indeed some who questioned where she had found a golden goose to vomit gold.

As her standing rose further, she began securing contracts with various governments starting from the local Ministry of Defense of Mauritania, continuously updating her already high stock prices.

And, as was slowly befitting her status, stories began circulating in the entertainment circles about her searching for a husband, suggesting that when she declares she is looking for one, “men with ‘certain assets’ will flock en masse to the red desert, pondering, ‘Could I be the one?’”

(Of course, this claim was entirely unrelated to the parties involved, as it had been cobbled together by some love-column writer who had never set foot in Mauritania or covered Francesca in the past.)

Francesca maintained a smile throughout.

“Is there any reason to be angry? We’ve resolved something safely today.”

“That’s right.”

A voice filled with kind warmth gently affirmed her statement.

Lucia, the 59th Saint of the Cult.

The description of the voice’s owner was simply sufficient; in the Mauritania Continent, everyone knew of the “blonde, blue-eyed saint.”

“There were no casualties, and no deaths. All weapons were recovered, and both the black market dealer and buyers were captured by the peacekeeping force. Now, they only have to face the courts.”

With her shining blond hair glowing, Lucia fluttered her eyes. Her ocean-blue gaze had a charm that brought peace to those meeting her eyes.

But my gaze drifted beyond her eyes, specifically toward the mace strapped to her back.

“……”

A sigh inevitably escaped my lips. As I unfolded a crumpled stack of paper, a series of articles I had saved popped up.

I began to read through the underlines marked by Pippin and Jake in a tired voice.

“Controversy arises as the local residents, following excessive suppression by the heroes in the Murunga area of the Jamria Federation, received diagnoses indicating fractures and second-degree burns. On the 9th, members of a criminal organization caught for smuggling, unlawful arms trafficking, and drug possession sustained equivalent injuries during their arrest.”

“……”

“Yes. It ended safely. No one was injured, right? Isn’t that so?”

Apparently, those who suffered had clearly eaten something wrong, as incidents kept occurring.

With Camila’s eyes rolling in frustration, Lucia quietly raised her hand to explain, not really making an excuse.

“I treated all of them.”

Flipping the page swiftly, I found the next article and began to read.

“A criminal identified as Mr. J, who suffered deep lacerations in his fingers while being treated, realized too late that the foreign object was left unremoved and stitched up at the police hospital. Mr. J is complaining of ongoing pain in eight areas, including his fingers, but the Ministry of Foreign Affairs spokesman from the Holy See has merely responded that they are still in the process of understanding the facts…”

“……”

“Do you have anything more to say?”

“…Yes. I actually reopened the stitches to remove the glass pieces that were still there before stitching them back up.”

“They were tiny little pieces that I missed.”

Describing the glass pieces smaller than cut fingernails, Lucia shyly glanced at me, attempting to conclude her reluctant excuse for medical malpractice (without a license).

After that, I pulled out numerous incidents the group had committed. Many, diverse, and the continuation of an adorable little disaster.

“Assault, aggravated assault, group assault, all of those can be dismissed as nonsense from those criminal bastards.”

What about the intimidation?

As I turned to look at my companions, all eyes were fixed on one person.

Camila, whose blue eyes were rolling around, was sweating profusely. She couldn’t seem to meet anyone’s gaze—a suspicious act. I read the statement filed with the local police with narrowed eyes.

“…The masked bank robber, hiding beneath a bread bag, said, ‘I saw the red-haired woman on the news suddenly point a finger at my forehead and began chanting some spell I’ve never heard of. Eyes of Aspect, Twilight, and Wisdom—’”

What is this?

“What on earth did you do?”

“Hehe….”

Camila began to squirm like a worm. She scratched at the dirt with the tip of her shoe, appearing utterly at a loss and embarrassed.

Moving on, I found another article.

“Unregistered magical use within a residence, violation of aviation laws, property damage, trespassing… You all seem to have been busy. What’s this about ‘violations of unlicensed magical tools usage’?”

“Ah, that would be me.”

Francesca naturally confessed. After all, the magical tool user should be either Camila or Francesca. Since all of Camila’s magical tools were registered.

When asked for specific details, she began weaving a ridiculous tale.

“What? You tested a new magical tool?”

“Yeah.”

“Why on someone?”

When Francesca tilted her head in confusion, I could only groan quietly.

“Do you think safety inspections look like sticks?”

“I had really done basic inspections long ago. I got permission from the Magic Tower. They test military weapons in real combat; why can’t they test magical tools?”

“Well, it would have been nice if you had at least consulted with the local Ministry of Defense beforehand.”

She had recklessly used unlicensed magical tools, leading the Ministry of Defense of Abas to mistake it for a new weapon test and throw quite the fit. As a result, I was torn from my sleep to handle phone calls from the idiots in the Ministry of Defense.

Of course, the misunderstanding was cleared soon after.

Francesca wore a bright smile.

“Let’s move on to the next one.”

“Yes. Next is the unauthorized possession of blades due to errors in communicating with the supervising police station, using unlicensed second-grade explosives, damaging public property, and arson… Haah! Alright. I’ll let this one slide.”

Laws can be interpreted in many ways. It’s not like it’s the first time Camila’s little stunts stirred up complaints. The Magic Tower had received similar complaints, after all.

But.

“Speeding, crossing the center line, driving in reverse… Why on earth did you breach the road traffic laws?!”

Upon questioning, Francesca provided a reasonable explanation.

“The gangsters crossed over the central divider with their vehicle. While we were chasing, we also broke the law for a moment.”

Camila quickly added on, “I thought the speed traps were just for decoration!”

“It’s a point of pride!”

I tore at my hair. Why on earth were they all like this? Did they accidentally eat something wrong?

Though Camila, Lucia, and Francesca created chaos everywhere, I was just thankful they hadn’t yet descended into legal disputes.

However, the noise of explosions, gunfire, screams of fear, and complaints from neighbors about the fire (surprisingly, local police issued an evacuation notice, yet those idiots didn’t run) piled up into hundreds.

The media claimed we had used excessive force. Dozens of articles lamented, “Look here! Outsiders are beating up our citizens!”

It wasn’t just the politicians causing issues.

In a community rife with tribalism, village elders and headmen were all elderly men. Naturally, they would look down upon pale-skinned folks disrespecting their territory as well.

Crucially, these “older men” were involved not only in community affairs but also in state governance. Elders’ councils, much like “jirgas” in Afghanistan and Pakistan, typically exert immense influence over the government, and many governmental officials in the Middle East and Africa also support the stances of their tribal elders. Mauritania was no exception.

Suddenly, whispers arose among the tribal elders.

????: “Huh? What are those white folks doing?”

????: “Aren’t they beating up Kasam’s second wife’s son from the adjacent village?”

????: “How dare they set fire on our sacred ground!”

????: “Hey! Chase those bastards away right now!”

What would happen if this chaos erupted? In no time, the government officials would be showered with reprimands.

How many times had I trekked up the mountainsides and bowed to the elders because of this?

That’s why I could only yell in anguish, “Please! Just resemble that tattooed pig even a little! Please, just once!”

“Umm…?”

The tattooed pig soup bowl, a.k.a. ‘Shamir’ Akande.

Slumped on the ground, plucking weeds, he perked up at the sound of his name.

“I… was called?”

“I did call. But what are you doing? Why are you weeding?”

“For the goats’ feed. They must be very pampered. I need to make it plump.”

Despite his size, he was indeed diligent and probably the least problematic member in our group.

To reiterate, it’s not that he was problem-free, but rather that he caused fewer problems than the others.

(Out of the ‘assault’ claims from the arrested criminals, a third was down to Akande; the rest were all accounted for by Lucia, and occasionally, Francesca and Camila would crop up as well.)

“Honestly, it’s still hard to believe.”

I looked at Akande feeding the goats and shook my head in disbelief.

“The mutton-busting, serial-killer-looking dude here is somehow the most harmless among you lot?”

“You can’t judge people by their appearance.”

Camila chided me in a stern tone. She was right.

An accurate statement.

“Camila.”

“Yes?”

“Snacks are confiscated for a month.”

“…Gahh!”

Startled, Camila fell over like a cardiac arrest patient. Francesca rushed to catch her but ended up letting go, seemingly shocked by her weight.

“Ugh!”

Ignoring the rolling Camila, I called the trio together and shouted with all my might.

“Please! Just once! Just for a moment! Stop causing incidents!”

“Is this a man’s club or what? How should we deal with the criminals’ antics!? Did you mean to make a fool of someone?!”

“……”

“With faces and limbs all blue, if those Smurfs saw them, they’d think they were friends climbing out of the television!”

“……”

“If you wanna hit someone, at least drag them somewhere visible to avoid being caught, or just hit where it’s not obvious! There are plenty of spots that won’t show a bruise easily – like the thighs or the butt!”

Exclamations of awe erupted in unison from the three of them.

“…Ah.”

“…Oh.”

“…So that’s how.”

“It means if you can’t hide it, don’t even bother trying!”

Ah, I could go mad. What in the world was wrong with them? Had they all gone crazy together?

Ever since the altercation with the elder of Al-Kair, they seemed completely bonkers. Were they declaring a war on crime just because they could? With their behavior, it felt like a declaration of war against terrorism was in order.

“Hah.”

I let out a deep sigh, wishing the ground would swallow me up as a bubbling mix of emotions and limitless despair threatened to drag me down into oblivion.

What on earth was I to do with these people? If this continued, I’d truly face complaints.

“Y’know…. I guess if you’ve all understood enough, let’s disperse. I should probably take my leave.”

“Where will you go?”

“To get a strapping.”

I had a meeting set with government officials.

I felt tired already.

“Hah…”

As I exhaled what seemed to be my umpteenth sigh, I began to walk towards the local Ministry of Foreign Affairs building.

—

Honestly, when the embassy contacted me saying, “The local Ministry of Foreign Affairs is calling for you,” I had a certain level of expectation.

The day of reckoning had come.

The moment of settling the debts that had been accumulating for a while had finally arrived.

On my way to the capital, I found out who had called for me. The Director of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, apparently.

“Whoa…. What does it feel like to have your vision black out upon hearing that?”

Is today my funeral day?

I never thought I’d end up receiving verbal abuse from a foreign Ministry of Foreign Affairs Director.

Of course, as a diplomatic official, he wouldn’t outright curse me, but the diplomatic jargon was often subtler and more insidious than a Taiji punch. Getting pounded by that for hours was bound to leave my spirit battered.

Moreover, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs officials had requested not just me but also my companions to come along. Apparently, the Director wished to have a word with us. At that point, I knew they had truly set their sights on me.

Turning the car around, I picked up the others and headed back towards the capital, I was filled with anxiety as I stared out the window.

Countless thoughts flooded my mind.

Would we be able to return alive?

I wondered if I might actually be banned from the country.

Since I was technically a diplomatic official, should I prepare for a tearful farewell?

It wouldn’t be unusual for the Director to unleash a tirade against us. After all, our string of incidents had been nothing short of dynamic. Although I expected more backlash than greetings right from the onset.

And yet, the reality was different.

“Thank you. Truly, thank you so much.”

“What?”

The middle-aged Black man, supposedly a Director of the Foreign Affairs Ministry, tossed his rimless glasses aside and gave a gentle smile.

Not only that, he even reached for a handshake and grabbed our hands one by one, shaking them warmly.

“Thank you. Your efforts in preventing arms trafficking have improved the security situation remarkably in the provinces.”

“What?”

“The criminals are all scared and fleeing. They think there’s a building-high flame towering above their heads, or a mace about to rain down on them, or a stone golem and a tattooed warrior showing up at their door!”

“What?”

“Ha ha! You must be surprised. We were shocked too. We never thought this would truly have an impact. Honestly, we were quite skeptical!”

Even lost in his bewildered ramblings, the Director continued smiling genuinely.

“Hahaha!”

“…….”

As he clutched my hand, flapping it around, I merely stared vacantly at the space ahead.

“Those warlords may not be retreating just yet, since their interests are at stake, but personally, it won’t be long. Peace is soon to return to the Federation. It’s as if blessed by the Earth God. Ah, of course, had it not been for your efforts, we wouldn’t even have had this slight victory.”

So to sum it up…

Though they hadn’t managed to eradicate arms trafficking across the entire Mauritania continent, it had diminished in the “some provinces” of the Jamria Federation due to the chaos my companions had unleashed.

→ The warlords, maintaining a “What? You think we’re afraid of enforcement?” stance, were still present, but the smaller criminal organizations retreated.

→ Why did they retreat? Because they recognized their own insignificance. They figured it was best to remain hidden during the concentration enforcement period.

→ Whether this temporary peace will lead to lasting peace remains uncertain; yet, arms trading had indeed decreased.

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs officials seemed quite satisfied.

Like genuine devotees of Al-Yabd, they even spoke of the blessings from the Earth God.

They had even prepared a party in our honor!

“Come, come. We’ve prepared a modest little party, so let’s wrap up the day together happily. This is our way of treating you as guests and benefactors, so enjoy yourselves.”

The Director guided us to an annex where they occasionally hosted visiting envoys.

Although they claimed to be followers of Al-Yabd and wouldn’t touch liquor, they assured us that we could indulge to our heart’s content.

This was strange.

Despite the utter fiasco that Camila, Lucia, and Francesca had stirred, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs Director made no mention of it.

When I subtly asked whether my companions’ antics had brought any trouble to their government, he burst into laughter, responding with:

“Oh, don’t worry about that. The council of elders agreed not to raise any issues over it.”

“…Even in the jirga?”

“Oh, you know about the jirga?”

Actually, there had been some issues, but among the elders, they’d ultimately reached a consensus not to raise objections. The reasoning was simple.

Akande was not a foreigner but a local born and raised on the Mauritania continent, a devout believer of Al-Yabd, and had he judged the behaviors of the other three, he too would have been held accountable.

In essence, tribalism instilled a sense of “We’re one of you” spirit, and thanks to Akande, we were spared.

While it certainly wasn’t intentional on his part,

As I nodded in bewilderment, the Director lowered his voice slightly.

“Of course, your courteousness also played a significant role. The jirga didn’t anticipate any kind of apology from you.”

“Ah….”

It seems the effort exerted while being loaded down in the mountains wasn’t in vain after all.

The local officials, shining with joy, felt thankful, while I was left utterly dumbfounded.

I mean, if enforcement led to better outcomes, what exactly was up with Africa and the Middle East?

At that point, I couldn’t continue holding onto my disbelief.

“Frederick?”

Knock-knock. When someone tapped my shoulder, I turned to find Camila standing there.

With an expressionless face, she silently raised her thumb and pointed behind.

“Lucia and Francesca want to see you on the rooftop for a moment.”

“…….”

“Come with me.”

That evening.

Among the officials, discussions flowed regarding the whereabouts of the four who hadn’t returned for over thirty minutes.

But the colossal Akande, approaching two meters tall, had devoured a camel by himself, so the conversation failed to gain any significant traction.

—

There’s a saying that “Good people’s indifference leads to the flourishing of evil.”

This saying from a Nigerian civil war film still vividly sticks in my mind even after all these years.

I had witnessed the incessant victories of countless evils while seeing the good turning a blind eye.

Even now.

“Water.”

Splash. I filled a cup gingerly. As Camila, who had been munching on snacks, gulped down her water and slammed the cup back down wildly.

“Water.”

“…….”

After the successful crackdown on illegal arms trafficking, several governments, starting with the Jamria Federation, praised the satisfactory results.

Various foreign Ministries stated, “While it can’t be ruled out that this might be a temporary phenomenon, we support the decisions made by the governments determined to eradicate illegal arms trafficking and will do our utmost to assist in any way possible,” delivering a flabby and naive statement.

“Water.”

But the thing about human speech is that ‘a’ and ‘o’ can produce entirely different meanings.

Whether the local governments were drinking from a skull bucket or kimchi soup didn’t matter one wit regarding the supposed unwavering commitment from foreign governments.

What truly mattered was the growing perception that they were perhaps on the winning side.

That’s precisely why I had been demoted to a water shuttle for Camila.

There didn’t exist any intelligence officers or defense attaches in the scene; only a bio-robot that filled cups upon hearing the command “Water.”

“…….”

With a soulless expression, I vacantly stared into nothingness.

As Francesca strolled by, she cast a glance at me and spoke.

“Colonel- I think my shoulders are feeling heavy.”

I was now serving as a massage machine instead of a water shuttle.

My pitiful and miserable state. This was the way I was living nowadays.

Damn it.

“…You say I’m being enslaved over a little trouble you caused.”

“Don’t forget you embarrassed me in front of hundreds of others.”

Francesca’s blunt admonition seemed to register, but I chose to ignore it. My grievance ran too deep.

I was caught in an unending pity, unable to articulate my thoughts. It was then that Lucia returned, announcing her presence among the last group of individuals.

“I’m back.”

“Lucia! You’re late?”

“I stopped by the refugee camp on the way back.”

“As expected, you’ve been busy, Saint.”

“Busy enough to not acknowledge it… Ah.”

Having exchanged greetings with Camila and Francesca, she turned to me with a warm smile.

“Oh, you’re here. This is quite coincidental. I’m in need of a helping hand.”

“…Huh?”

What the heck was that supposed to mean?

My expression must’ve caught her attention, as Lucia calmly elaborated on a rather horrific and grim task.

“The restroom at the refugee camp was clogged. I need to clear it out, and when I asked the administrators, they said they’re aware of how to handle it, so would you mind helping?”

“…….”

I pondered deeply; was there no possible escape? And then I despaired.

That last incident with toilet cleaning still loomed over my head.

Lost in thought, Camila silently shoved something into her pocket. It was toothpaste.

“Put some under your nose. I could smell something foul.”

“…Thanks, I guess.”

“Hey~ Save the thanks for later. We don’t need such formality between us.”

“Oh, Hero, you should come along too.”

“…?”

Caught off guard, Camila’s eyes widened as if a lightning bolt had struck her. In disbelief, she turned to Lucia to ask what that was supposed to mean.

Lucia explained that on their way back, they had heard worried murmurs from people, leading them to inquire.

It turned out that a gasoline transport truck had overturned on a mountain slope.

With gasoline leaking everywhere, locals had swarmed in, collecting the fuel with whatever containers they could find—rubber basins, Jerry cans, pet bottles—yet there were even military canteens that had been salvaged from who knows where. In short, it had been looted.

This was nothing more than a classic raid occurring in a typical Third World village.

“And so, it seems it’ll be hard to ignite without magic.”

“…Cough.”

At that sudden notification, Camila nearly passed out. She looked utterly shocked.

As if to snap her out of it, she began flailing around like a newborn fawn, with tears streaming down her cheeks like raindrops.

“Ah, stuff like this is rare even in Africa….”

“It’ll certainly wake you up!”

Confounding issues spilled out on the ground. They sounded like English, but I couldn’t place what it was—definitely seemed to contain some choice curses.

Regardless, whether she was cursing or not was entirely beside my concern.

“Let’s go, Chun-sik. It’s time to work. From now on, your name is Chun-sik, not Camila.”

“Ahhhh….”

With a beaming grin, I yanked Camila along toward the labor site.

Coincidentally, it felt like I could spend hours setting fire to feces today.

—

The saying goes, “Today is a good day for work.”

Indeed, it proved to be right—yet the fortunate feeling escaped us.

“…….”

I stared blankly into the void while Camila wore a face that looked as if she had lost everything.

No one found the courage to speak.

Not me.

Not her.

And not the person before us.

“…….”

“…….”

“…Why are you burning dung in this place?”