A Dark Fantasy Spy

---

Amidst Camila’s wailing, I sprawled on the carpet in the sky, lost in reminiscence.

“Oh, what a delight…”

The sun was warm, and the breeze felt refreshingly cool. There could be no better weather for recalling the past.

Let’s rewind time a bit. So, starting from the cause that led the duke to throw Camila right in the middle of the desert.

In our circle, whenever a bizarre or suspicious incident occurred, regardless of who was at fault, we often settled on ‘habit’ as the culprit, and it generally fit.

Today’s story begins, once again, from the mouth that brings trouble.

Episode 18 – The Man Club

Just as the duke opened his mouth, Camila jumped up in shock.

“I’m innocent, Professor!”

It seemed even she thought this was a bit out of line. She tried to prove her innocence to avoid punishment from the archmage.

Purity can be proven with tears, and sincere tears hold legal validity, but unfortunately, her opponent was a wizard of a hundred years, so this time, logic and rhetoric were necessary.

So, if you ask whether she would win… Camila’s answer was always, “I will win.”

Because she was a Cambridge student. Logic and eloquence were her strong suits against a professor, an SIS interviewer, and an analyst.

“Innocent? Then why did you burn someone with magic?”

“That’s not true!”

With her palm open, Camila firmly declared, “It’s not true!” with a serious face.

“I only burned the warehouse! The injuries were caused by poachers who got burned while trying to salvage ivory!”

That was a fact.

Officially, the team’s mission was to ‘block illegal arms trafficking,’ but in reality, the operation on-site was just ‘arresting smugglers.’

Some might say, “You only had to catch the arms dealer, why bother with the smugglers?” But smugglers weren’t simpletons who only dealt with weapons. If it paid, they’d even sell organs or buy and sell people as slaves. In the real world, slave trading is still ongoing in the so-called Third World.

Therefore, amongst the criminals Camila captured, there were professional poachers.

For reference, they were the type who cut ivory off elephants while they were still alive. The reason was rather ridiculous. They claimed freshness mattered.

To prevent rampaging elephants, shamans would break their spines and then cut the ivory with chainsaws, leaving the elephants, dead or alive, abandoned on the plains. It showcased the depths of humanity, soaked in greed and desire.

“Those guys were really terrible….”

Camila presented that point as her justification, meaning they were “worth what happened to them.”

Of course, Camila had only intended to burn the warehouse. If the poacher hadn’t jumped into the fire, yelling, “No! My ivory!” and causing a fuss, he wouldn’t have ended up with third-degree burns.

Thus, the claim of ‘deserving what they got’ was quite appropriate.

Nonetheless, the duke had to reprimand his disciple sternly.

“Before using magic, check to ensure there’s no collateral damage two or three times. What we wield is not a weapon, but magic.” I had clearly warned you. It appears the child heard my words in one ear and out the other.”

“…….”

“Fine. I will overlook this incident. As the child said, it was the poacher who brought this upon himself. Who could stop a criminal willingly walking into a fiery hell? Especially if it’s out of greed.”

The duke acknowledged that it wasn’t her fault and was lenient. Winning one round made Camila smile brightly.

The question moved on to the next, and the duke’s assault continued.

The archmage lifted a newspaper, raising an eyebrow as if signaling to look at this ridiculous article.

“But where did you learn to chant incantations you weren’t taught? I heard you recited something while dealing with a bank robber.”

It was magic I had never heard of in my life.

As Camila, confronted by the duke’s question, began to sweat profusely.

“Uh… well… I didn’t actually learn it formally….”

Her voice was barely rising, as if she wished to find a mouse hole to hide in. Even the sharp-sensed archmage could barely understand her without concentrating.

Stammering and avoiding the question, Camila eventually offered excuses that weren’t quite excuses.

“I couldn’t use it in the first place. It didn’t activate properly….”

“You seem to have picked up some trivial skills that vagabond mages might use.”

Fortunately, the duke didn’t seem inclined to scold her.

He emphasized that any spell seen for the first time must be practiced sufficiently before being used in the field, and Camila promised to make sure she would from now on.

As one question ended, the next one concerned her ‘criminal actions.’ The duke sighed deeply, having put down the newspaper.

“I can understand that you broke the law. Sometimes while chasing criminals, you may unintentionally cross legal boundaries.”

“…….”

“Just don’t break the law again in the future.”

“Yes, Professor.”

Her answers were certainly commendable. I clicked my tongue internally as I sprawled on the sofa, munching on snacks.

Camila had to endure a scolding from the duke for a while. He repeatedly emphasized the basics a wizard should possess.

From my perspective, having eaten army rations for twenty years, what the duke was doing was akin to giving military education.

Indeed, it was true. The duke was conducting military-style training on Camila.

“Being clumsy at the start and finish of using magic, and the middle stages being inelegant are great mistakes for a wizard. Wizards have been taught to maintain composure and judgment since ancient times….”

Goodness. How he could speak such simple, just, and rational arguments was sleep-inducing; it was like a principal’s long sermon.

Do older folks have some disease where if they don’t drop life lessons or advice every moment, they feel their mouths grow thorns?

Our drunken executive had been this way, as had the division commander and the school head. Standing people in the scorching sun while lecturing.

And now the duke was repeating the same behavior, a mystery humanity has yet to solve and a challenge modern science should address quickly.

At that moment, the duke casually threw a playful reproach.

“And if you’re going to do it, at least do it properly. Just how fragrant was that odor while boiling excrement?”

“…!”

At that exact moment, Camila could hardly find the words, overwhelmed by injustice.

If only a gasoline truck hadn’t toppled over the mountain. If only residents hadn’t looted gasoline from the overturned truck. Then her boiling sewage incident would have been a ‘nonexistent memory.’

“Ugh, ugh…!”

“Why, why are you doing this, child? Don’t cry. Stop. Don’t you want to stop those tears?”

“I-I’m innocent…!”

As Camila, choked with emotion, began to plead, the duke, who had been quietly listening, couldn’t help but nod along.

Listening closely, it seemed she wasn’t entirely at fault, after all. To be fair, one could argue it was blaming the residents who looted the gasoline from the overturned truck…

‘Oh my! How can those poor refugees be blamed for taking a bit of oil!?’ would be the outrage from folks who, even in the searing heat of Africa, after being bitten by mosquitoes (plagued with malaria, dengue, yellow fever, and other infectious diseases – not an option, but a passive), would boil sewage for three hours and immediately rush to loot the gasoline.

And bearing the bruised face from such mosquito bites, continuing to complain about this,

The duke, observing Camila with warm sympathy, turned to me to question, and that was precisely why.

“Was there no way for you to acquire gasoline?”

“Me? Why me?”

“…?”

In fact, Camila had also suggested such. To go out and buy gasoline.

But the nearest gas station was 60 kilometers away (specifically, over a mountain – thinking about where the truck had the accident led to the answer).

There was a method to fly there, but Camila refused to be absurd, questioning how one could fly through a place like an Afghan valley by mere human effort.

After explaining this to him, the duke furrowed his brows slightly.

Then suddenly, he began berating Camila.

How could she complain without even attempting anything—

“I didn’t teach you to be like that.”

“You must be cultivated in spirit before being taught magic,” and so forth.

“…Uh, huh?”

“…Huh?”

Overwhelmed with a barrage of reproaches directed at her, Camila stared at the duke blankly. I too gazed at him, blinking in astonishment.

For reference, between the gas station and the refugee camp, lies a mountain.

The mountain that Camila had referred to as the “Afghan mountainous terrain” was a place where even US helicopters couldn’t fly occasionally.

Why couldn’t helicopters fly there? To rotate the rotors, they need to combust fuel, but the altitude of that mountainous area was so high that it lacked lift and oxygen. That was genuinely the case.

Years ago, we once had to cross over a mountain quickly for some snacks, and as we flew over the mountain, I realized the air was thin, and the helicopter bobbled like an 80-year-old grandpa. Wow… that day, I really thought we were going down together with my CIA friends.

Immediately after we crossed the mountain, the aircraft quickly stabilized, but tormented by the fear of crashing, we gripped each other’s hands tightly, not knowing the faces of one another (if they had been white, I could have seen, but since they were black, I couldn’t recognize them) and endured the ordeal.

The sight of a group of us, in a three-colored hybrid dragon (Caucasian-Black-Asian), rolling and crawling on the ground was probably puzzling to the US troops, CIA operatives, and our older team members.

The duke, of course, knew nothing of such circumstances.

1. Afghanistan doesn’t exist in this neighborhood.

2. The place we brought her to was the capital, Umzalgah, in the middle of a hotel.

3. He did not pay attention to the mountain terrain behind the refugee camp and came straight here,

Indicating that in the duke’s eyes, the disciple was merely a ‘troublesome brat who didn’t want to do heavy lifting but stirred up trouble at every turn.’

“…….”

With her two eyes sparkling desperately signaling for help, Camila looked to me, but I conveniently glanced away, ignoring her.

Thus—

“I’m going to fix your rotten mental state. You will combine training in magic with spirit cultivation.”

“Gaahhhhh-!”

A fusion furnace for human modification had been birthed in the scorching red desert, where minds were melting so much they could practically boil!

*

As everyone knows, Alexandra Petrovna is a person from an era long past. She had already surpassed 100 years, so this is hardly surprising.

If we take the year 2020 as a reference point, a century ago would be 1920. That was the year just after World War I ended, when a certain mustached gentleman was embarking on his political ambitions.

Thus, based on syllogism, one could argue that the duke resembled a character like Hitler.

I know. I also understand that this sounds like nonsense. But anyone witnessing this scene would undoubtedly exclaim, “Oh! It appears that the esteemed Führer has fired something other than his head!”

“Please save me! Help me, Professor!”

“No. Just a bit more, hold on.”

The duke, adhering to the syllogism comparing him to the Hitler of Kien Empire (not), utterly ignored his desperate disciple calling for help as he lay sprawled on the carpet.

Down below, Camila was darting about, trailing clouds of sand like a comet.

From his vantage point above, the archmage, watching his disciple struggle, casually tossed advice her way—advice that was hardly advice.

“If you don’t deal with it quickly, it’ll backfire on you. Quickly try using magic.”

With her teacher’s heavenly instruction, the disciple began to cry out, “How am I supposed to use it when you restricted my power?”

For reference, Camila’s magic had been limited by the duke. Whatever trick had happened, it somehow turned her flames, which had once shot out like pillars of fire, into mere campfire embers.

In truth, the duke was merely tossing a torch at Camila, shoving her right into a swarm of monsters. That “cloud of sand” in the distance was built by the moving creatures; thus, saying “swarm” was no exaggeration.

While watching the thrilling chase unfold, the duke called for me suddenly, as if he had something to ask.

“What will you do when you run out of ammunition during a battle?”

When ammunition runs out, what can you do?

“Receive supplies, seize enemy weapons, or fix bayonets. You’d find a method to keep fighting.”

“Did you hear that?”

The duke spoke towards Camila, who was below.

“Even a soldier who cannot use magic will seek a way to engage in battle. Yet you, with your enemies before you, choose to run instead because your body isn’t in prime condition.”

Her shout while being chased by monsters echoed, “What do you mean, how am I supposed to fight against so many monsters?”

“Hey, you cheeky brat! Did I cut off your arms or forbid your magic?”

“But you’ve diminished my magic to a pathetic level!”

“That too is magic. Use what you have to fight.”

It was a command to do as told. If asked to do it, she should just do it.

Ultimately, Camila had to fight the monsters, even while crying.

“Huuhhh…!”

The sight of Camila wielding her pathetic level magic against the monsters was truly fresh and new. Given that we were used to seeing her explode things left and right.

“Whoa. Wow….”

I was momentarily dazed, watching her fight.

Then something happened.

Splash.

The duke placed several newspapers atop the carpet. They were reports covering various incidents involving the group.

After staring at them, I made eye contact, and the enigmatic silver-haired archmage began.

“Not only that child, everyone seems to have caused various problems, both big and small.”

“…….”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

He asked me to spill the beans on what everyone had been up to, essentially proposing we snitch.

I smiled brightly.

“Oh, that’s a funny story….”

*

Violence with a reason descended upon the group!

Starting with Francesca.

“Ranierri’s child.”

“…Grandma?”

After a long time, a meeting between the archenemy’s great-grandchild and the archmage took place. Although Francesca attempted to pay respect first, the duke waved her off with a hand gesture.

“Enough. What sort of formalities are there between us?”

“Understood. But may I ask why you have come here?”

“I have heard interesting news lately. It seems a new potion has been developed.”

“A weapon designed to eliminate the persistent problem of monsters in Mauritania, based on alchemy.”

Having introduced the topic of alchemical weaponry, the duke smoothly continued on to the ‘new type of magical weapon.’

“You’ve created magical tools too?”

“That’s right. If you’re curious about the principles and usage, I can take you to my makeshift workshop….”

“I heard it has been tested on people.”

At this point, Francesca felt something amiss, though the duke’s benevolent smile quelled her unease.

“Oh, that’s not something I can talk about yet….”

“I see. You underwent tests at the Magic Tower and Ivory Tower. I’ve read through all of them.”

“Then…?”

“It seems that a result only obtainable through practical application is required. I came to ask for your intention as a fantastic opportunity arises.”

The duke hardly regarded it as a ‘suggestion,’ and naturally, Francesca accepted right away. An offer from the archmage to a wizard, especially one who was also the descendant of an ally, could hardly be sinister. If he called it a good opportunity, it surely came with worthwhile value.

…That probably was what Francesca thought. It’s just how mage mentality works.

“What happened?”

“Just as you expected, she accepted it. Starting with the potion discussion seemed to have been effective.”

“Given that she is fundamentally an alchemist.”

Thus, a new face joined the furnace of human modification.

“What on earth is happening here!?”

“I don’t know! Throw a reagent or something, Francesca!”

“I don’t have any! Grandma took them all away!”

“Then use a golem!”

“That too is gone!”

“Oh, really! How thorough you are! Can’t a wizard ever get amnesia?!”

While Camila and Francesca struggled in the precarious human modification furnace (which also hosted monsters), a seasoned hunter started searching for his next target.

The next target was Lucia.

“Ah, you’ve come, Your Highness.”

“You knew I was coming.”

“I heard the news.”

Lucia greeted the duke as if she had been waiting for him. The duke, knowing the situation, did not show any different expression.

“It appears that the eyes of the Inquisition roam everywhere. Well, there’s no need for discretion between us, so let’s get straight to the point.”

“Speak.”

“That I have taken Camila as my disciple should be known to the saint. The disciple and Ranierri’s child are training together, and I am worried about possible injuries.”

“Injuries, you say?”

“I wish you could assist.”

The duke, fearing a potential mishap with Camila and Francesca’s training, asked if Lucia could lend a hand.

After a moment’s thought, Lucia agreed readily, stating she was more than willing to help in such a case.

-‘Yes, I will do it.’

And then.

I took off the headset I had been wearing and set it down next to the listening device.

“What happened?”

“Yes, it went well. Priest Rebecca.”

The Inquisition’s Priest Rebecca nodded as if glad. She instructed an Inquisition Officer waiting in the room to report to the Holy See.

Needless to say, the duke could not harm Lucia arbitrarily. Proposals with harmful intent toward her were equally unimaginable.

But with the approval from the Holy See, things could take a different turn.

“It seems the Lateran is significantly upset?”

“Rather than saying the saint is angry… It may be more appropriate to express concern. The saint’s actions during the recent capture operation were somewhat….”

“Violent?”

“…I will say they didn’t align with a religious person’s virtues.”

The Holy See had been horrified by Lucia’s recent behavior.

She used a mace to beat a cultist to pieces? That was understandable. It wasn’t a heretic but a filthy person worshipping demons. Even if she smashed his skull with a hammer, the Holy See would likely say, ‘Oh dear, did our Lucia smash a head? Good girl! Good girl!’

However, beating an innocent person to a pulp with a mace, even if they were criminals, was an entirely different story.

The horrific accident, where a man’s spine was bent in half (though he survived), did not get reported, but afterwards, the events continued to be broadcast live. At the moment a mace hurled a person out of a window, causing a wingless falcon to crash through the glass.

Of course, Lucia was adept at punishing only criminals, but this wasn’t some killing spree from a first-person shooter game.

How were viewers supposed to discern whether the guy falling was an arms dealer or a warehouse manager?

According to the testimony of Mr. ‘Be’ from Lateran closely connected to the news, it was said that upon witnessing the broadcast, Cardinal Raphael (the Pope) froth at the mouth, and the entire circle of cardinals and bishops raised their hands to smack their foreheads. He admitted to feeling cold sweat running down his back.

“To be honest, it was shocking.”

“That day, all the priests in the cathedral gathered and panicked, rushing to wake those who had fainted.”

In short, the Holy See needed to fix Lucia’s habits.

Placing their last hope on exorcism, they gathered magical energy and spun the saint gacha (fail, and go to purgatory; succeed, and go to heaven), only to find they had drawn lucky Veronica.

Having sensed the disaster, Raphael bet all his hopes on the teachings of the archmage, even despite his title as the former Inquisition Director.

Most likely, to Raphael, she appeared like a divine messenger sent by the heavens.

Anyway, the third person thus joined the furnace of human modification.

“Now, there’s only one left.”

The fourth target was Akande.

The duke found him to be a somewhat unfamiliar ‘real new face.’

“Who is this first-time appearing person?”

“Um. How should I label this? A nude performance artist? A tattooed pig? Or maybe a warm-hearted home invader?”

“I don’t know about that, but he certainly looks quite delinquent. And tattoos, you say….”

Perhaps because he was old-fashioned, the duke found Akande, covered in tattoos, difficult to accept.

Well, would there really be people who are positively inclined towards tattoos?

I pointed at the file containing Akande’s personal details and supplemented my explanation.

“It’s not for show. They’re akin to magical tools infused with power. War cries inscribed by ancient Al-Yabd soldiers during their resistance against the Holy See’s expeditionary forces. I suspect they might be of such origin.”

“Oh, really?”

“However, many records on Al-Yabd have been lost. Additionally, Akande himself does not even know exactly where the tattoos on his body originated.”

Details about the tattoos lingered in obscurity.

“We will continue the investigation.”

“I see. So how shall we take this person with us?”

To be honest, there was no need to take Akande along. Unlike the other three, he was much quieter.

“He’s a nicer fellow than he appears. He just looks like a serial killer, that’s the issue.”

He consumed much more than Camila, wasting food, struggled to communicate efficiently, would stray off-course during battle, and occasionally brought home abandoned animals, but apart from that, he was genuinely decent.

“Does he really bring back animals?”

“Yes. Perhaps because he’s a nomad, he occasionally brings stray animals.”

He did bring one or two back occasionally, but absolutely rarely.

“Then he must also bring back dogs and cats.”

“Of course. If it’s abandoned by the roadside, then anything. Chickens, goats, sheep….”

“…Those typically have owners.”

“In a war zone, they likely don’t.”

Death comes equally to all. Warlords, civilians. The owners of animals are no exception.

The duke nodded as if he understood.

“In that case, would he also bring back cats and dogs?”

“Of course, both cats and dogs….”

Wait a minute.

Suddenly, clarity struck me.

“Take him at once!”

“W-What?”

“This guy needs to go right now!”

We could not have a cat daddy. That was a breach we simply must prevent!

I needed to capture him at all costs. Fueled by burning determination, I took the initiative on the cat daddy (never taken before) Akande capture (not) operation. Catching him was extremely simple and easy.

“Hey! Tattooed pig!”

“You called?”

“I have some strong monsters gathered in one place, want to join?”

Having suddenly risen from pulling weeds near the refugee camp, he stood up straight.

He chose to enlist of his own volition.

“I’m fighting-!”

And so, within half a day.

An awe-inspiring furnace of human modification, where minds were boiling and hearts were racing, achieved an astonishing 100% recruitment rate!

A great achievement. I found it hard to believe that I had accomplished this in just half a day.

Down in the desert, the cacophony of troublemakers and monsters weaving a fantastic symphony (of screams) echoed.

Above, with the sun shining bright without a cloud in the sky.

It was truly a beautiful scene.

“…….”

At the moment I was lost in the sound of screams (one of which was joyously triumphant), while concentrating with my eyes closed, the duke turned to speak.

“So, is everyone gathered now?”

“Yes. I suppose, right?”

Camila, Lucia, Francesca, Akande, and I. Our group now consisted of these five; indeed, we had all assembled.

The duke nodded readily.

And then, as if it were no big deal, without a hint of gravity, like discussing lunch options, he began speaking casually.

“You’re the only one left to go in.”

“Excuse me?”

“Alright, off you go.”

What the—

Before I could even utter a momentary protest, the duke moved first. With a gentle push of his outstretched hand against my back, a soft wind swirled around my body, slowing my descent.

I fell from the carpet.

The duke, in what seemed the most logical tone, proclaimed, “There are companions waiting there, so it makes no sense for you to be here.”

Shut it, you Hitler wannabe. I want to stay here!

“Surely, we should share survival and hardships together. Right? Isn’t that obvious?”

Sharing survival and hardship? It was nonsense. Why say it as if it were the most natural thing? If my nephew dies, it’s not like I’ll die along with him!

I wanted to shout a barrage of curses but sadly, magic only prevented falls, leaving conversation unpermitted. My hollow echoes ended up lingering only within my throat.

I flailed my limbs as I fell.

Towards the human modification furnace below.