A Dark Fantasy Spy

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I stepped outside after finishing my training, only to find the country had collapsed.

And quite spectacularly, at that.

A captain staged a coup and seized power, while the esteemed president fled abroad.

All the ministers were seized and locked up in military bases, and in Parliament, armed rebels clashed with armed lawmakers, leaving us as the biggest jokes in the world.

The astonishing fact is that all this chaos unfolded in just a week’s time.

“…”

I closed my device and stared blankly at the sky.

Is this even a country, damn it?

—

Episode 19 – HELLDIVERS

The military coup that occurred seven days ago sent ripples far and wide.

Just the sight of headlines like ‘Impact of the Jamria Federation Coup on the World’ in prominent foreign news outlets was enough to demonstrate that.

The Jamria Federation was one of the few countries on the Mauritania Continent that maintained a democratic façade. Its collapse meant the destabilization of the entire continent.

“The military is getting restless.”

Leoni said.

“It seems the Federation’s military can’t resist the urge to join in on the rebellion. Now, even the most trivial factions are throwing a fit, wanting a piece of the pie for themselves.”

Displayed on the situation board was a map of the Mauritania Continent.

Surrounding it were potential threats. Armed groups including military factions, rebels, tribes, and terrorist organizations were densely listed from the past several decades.

Clevenz studied the map marked with red dots. Then, he slowly parted his lips.

“What about the missing officer?”

“Not yet. The local staff is still trying to verify, but operations aren’t easy.”

This meant that the intelligence work in the Jamria Federation was in a serious snag.

“We’ve even mobilized neighboring branches, but with non-essential personnel evacuated from the embassies, there’s no sharp method left.”

Immediately after the coup broke out, the dreaded fear of ‘civil war’ spreading once again loomed large.

Governments pulled their citizens and administrative staff out, leaving only minimal personnel needed to maintain embassies, which temporarily stifled local intelligence networks.

Of course, both home countries and nearby branches intended to send information officers to quickly fill those gaps soon enough. However, what mattered now was not when the intelligence network would come back online.

In the underground situation room of the Military Intelligence Agency.

As Clevenz gazed at the situation board, he suddenly remarked,
“Do we have any confirmation on whether Frederick is dead or alive?”

Silence fell.

The situation room, equipped with eavesdropping prevention measures, was so quiet that even the sound of hair falling could be distinctly heard, rendering the stillness frighteningly unnatural.

“……”

As the eyes of the commanders converged, Leoni, staring at the distant situation board, let out a deep sigh.

“If communication comes through the emergency contact line, we’ll get a location. It won’t even take five minutes to pinpoint the officer’s whereabouts for the rescue team to retrieve them.”

“I know that, but what if the emergency line isn’t operational, or there’s no way to reach the officer? It’d be pointless. If that happens…”

“They’d be treated as missing in action.”

“……”

“And if we wait too long, they might be classified as fallen.”

“What are we going to tell their families?”

The information officer replied curtly.
“As per the norm.”

The investigator sighed.

Some exhaled in frustration, while others accepted the oppressive atmosphere with indifference.

Leoni continued to gaze at the situation board with a facade of calm. Knocking her nails on the table, the information officer returned to the main topic.

“…For now, we have to search everywhere we can. We sent a Griffin over the border 13 hours ago, so it should reach them soon. I hope something comes up from the Federation military’s communications.”

While waiting for the signal intelligence report, the overseas director reviewed reports submitted by the remaining agents in the Jamria Federation. Clevenz and other commanders flipped through documents as well.

Flap, flap.

As the sound of pages turning filled the atmosphere, the counter-terrorism unit leader, adorned with a colonel’s insignia, spoke up in confusion.
“Um… I believe military coups led by junior officers have occurred from time to time on the Mauritania Continent. There have been cases where rebellions instigated by superiors also succeeded. But this coup is a bit puzzling.”

“What piques your curiosity?”

“It’s about Captain Kasim, the commander leading this rebellion. From the materials, it appears he worked directly under the president and, astonishingly, belongs to the same tribal group. So why did he instigate a rebellion?”

The counter-terrorism unit leader pointed to the document detailing the identities of the figures behind the Jamria Federation coup.

In response, the colonel sitting across adjusted his glasses and replied in a gentle tone.
“Captain Kasim hails from the Haranan Tribe while President Ayad was born within the Achini Tribe. As you mentioned, Haranan and Achini were geographically, socially, and politically allied.”

At least, they were until a few months back.

“This year, after President Ayad amended the electoral laws with re-election in mind, he purged individuals from the Haranan faction, souring the relationship between the two tribes. The fallout from the ‘Nabuktu Incident’ required cooperation from the opposition to manage and thus, President Ayad found himself needing to compromise with many tribes.”

He aimed to serve more terms as president, hoping to remain palatable without offending his tribe, but ended up ripping off his allied tribe.

The angered allied tribe then declared, “Damn it! This is too messed up to handle!” and revolted against the president.

“Weren’t there any options that didn’t involve ignoring the opposition?”

“Indeed. The recent assembly where the ruling and opposition lawmakers marched in armed protest serves as a prime example. Many elderly members among them were once warlords themselves.”

It was the sort of place where only true men could survive—or else they had to die.

The bizarre ecosystem of the Jamria Federation was something even the fragile natural ecosystems of Abas couldn’t touch.

Hearing the conversation, one of the commanders pulled out data obtained from an open-source intelligence group.
“So what about claims of foreign collusion? Our officers, alongside a saint, the head of a magic tower, a hero, and a warrior, were said to be conspiring with the president…”

The commander asked with a serious expression, but the colonel waved his hand dismissively, labeling it as mere propaganda from the rebels.

“That’s just a pretext for the coup.”

“A pretext?”

“The ambitions of foreign governments coveting sacred lands and resources, coupled with the greedy, immoral rulers blinded by greed… That’s the easiest justification for warlords or rebels. Since President Ayad is notorious for his corruption alongside his inner circle, it was a remarkably effective form of incitement.”

“…This is bound to end poorly.”

How could they touch such a range of individuals, including the defense attaché, priest, delegation head, hero, and warrior? Neither the cult nor Al-Yabd would simply let it slide. And since they had meddled with the defense attaché of a foreign nation, avoiding diplomatic conflict would be impossible.

Of course, such concerns only applied to those who adhered to normal ‘common sense.’

The reckless men of the Mauritania Continent had a way of thinking that couldn’t even be compared to the timid men of other continents.

“Regardless, they probably won’t consider the repercussions. The Haranan Tribe has historically been close to the Kien Empire.”

So the notion was that they’d coolly ditch their old partner (Abas) and swap to a sleek new sports car (Kien).

It was a remarkable thought, no doubt. You had to be some sort of idiot to entertain such notions.

The military intelligence officers exchanged glances, wonder evident, before they tilted their heads and questioned the colonel.

“Are you familiar with the local circumstances?”

Explaining the foolish thought process of the coup forces, the colonel shrugged.
“I’m not in charge of the Mauritania Continent. I was just briefly stationed there under the director some time ago.”

“The director? Ah… Director Leoni.”

It turned out she was quite the expert in upheaval.

The fact that Leoni had once poked around the Mauritania Continent as part of a grand imperial maneuver had become a widely known secret by now.

Finally, one of military intelligence’s great mysteries was revealed: her toe-curling personality had origins in such experiences.

“The consequences of the Jamria military coup will be massive for nearby countries.”

“We need to promptly intervene in the political affairs of the Jamria Federation as soon as the rescue of the missing officer is completed…”

It seemed that the military intelligence officers were already preparing for a counter-coup in the Jamria Federation under the justification of preventing the entire Mauritania Continent from becoming a dictatorship’s party place (albeit already half an imperial assembly).

Though there was logic behind the need to implement democracy, questions regarding why terms like ‘assassination,’ ‘sabotage,’ ‘bribery,’ ‘espionage,’ and ‘war’ kept cropping up remained a lingering mystery.

(Nobody would have understood whether it was the American president who loved to break things or a Russian neo-tsar ordering the chaos in Africa and the Middle East like a hot pot on a stove. Or perhaps the French president, who had a breakdown over the saboteur’s actions in Niger.)

At that moment.

“Director.”

A fearless executive barged in without knocking, rushing toward Leoni.

Then, as if wanting to share a secret friendship, he began whispering confidential information that piqued the curiosity of the commanders around him.

“What? Is it for real?”

Suddenly, Leoni’s face contorted, glaring fiercely at the executive.

“Yes. It just came through intercepted communications.”

“This is bullshit…”

Leoni muttered under her breath. Clevenz, reviewing documents, caught on to the strange signs.

“What’s going on?”

“The officer’s location has been confirmed.”

It was news that they had located the son of Schrödinger (or not), whose survival status remained dubious.

Leoni kicked the situation room door and stormed out, looking furious rather than relieved by the news.

Clevenz followed suit, pushing his way through the door, and the commanders, seeing their superiors leaving, quickly followed suit.

And, not long after, the military intelligence officers discovered that Schrödinger’s major (whose survival status was unverified until observation) was indeed alive.

The problem was.

“……”

“……”

“……”

“……”

“Why the heck is he invading the capital?”

This insane idiot was crawling into the enemy stronghold established by the coup forces.

“Damn…”

That day, the military intelligence agency’s medical unit received an unconscious patient (two directors).

—

I walked out after my training, and the world had turned upside down.

“They say a coup broke out. Some captain led the troops and captured the capital in four hours.”

“……”

“The president fled abroad, and it looks like the ministers were all captured and detained. I heard there was a brawl between the lawmakers and the rebels in Parliament, but considering they’re all warlord types, I guess they’re just thrashing about before they die.”

“……”

“Oh, and all five of us have warrants out for our arrests. They told us to leave within 24 hours, but we ignored it. We’ve been charged with treason, espionage, assault, threats, and various other offenses, but don’t worry too much. Even a single conviction of treason would lead to the death penalty.”

“…Is that something I shouldn’t worry about?!”

Camila screamed as if wounded.

Oh no, we’re all going to die! This is all the professor’s fault! How can I be labeled a criminal?!

Endless discussions began as the five wanted fugitives and their useless old mentor huddled together for a marathon meeting.

The topic was singular.
What on earth do we do now?

“How about asking for help from the embassy?”

The first suggestion was a remarkably rational proposal. Basically, let’s run to the embassy.

“The diplomatic mission is an extraterritorial zone. If we flee there, we could escape.”

“I share the same opinion.”

However, that was too sensible of an idea.

The Mauritania Continent was the wild itself, where common sense simply didn’t apply.

“Do you think those who put bounties on diplomats will refrain from storming the embassy?”

Exactly.

In the first place, if one were a law-abiding citizen with a sense of decency, they wouldn’t have instigated a military coup.

For the morally bankrupt people who previously feasted without a care, the embassy was just another target to breach if it didn’t align with their whims!

“Let’s escape over the border.”

Next came the traditional suggestion steeped in history and fundamentals.

Fleeing abroad was a favored method for every criminal and exile!

But that was vetoed as well.

“Other countries? You’re suggesting we illegally cross the border without passports while there’s a warrant out for our arrests?”

Even merely crossing the border unlawfully was a serious crime. For a fugitive, crossing without a passport?

That was a guaranteed ticket to getting shot dead. No joke.

Suggestions flew around wildly, from seeking out angels to dashing off to the Ivory Tower, to requesting help from Al-Yabd, until Camila, on the verge of tears, lamented through sniffles, “You do that while I just cry!”

At that moment, the spy elder, seasoned in navigating the Third World’s chaos, squeezed his wisdom and experience to find a breakthrough!

“Given the circumstances, let’s charge into the presidential palace.”

It was the kind of nonsense that would even make America, who was normally obsessed with handing out democracy for free (and by force), jump out of their skins!