A Dark Fantasy Spy

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A reverse coup where the Ministry of Foreign Affairs is wailing, the Ministry of Defense is in shock, and the Information Agency is fainting. Countless people are watching this historic scene.

Six foreign fugitives drove a tank (again, I emphasize, “voluntarily donated”) and arrived in the capital.

To greet the uninvited guests, the Federal Army’s mechanized unit and military police adorned the area.

After the withdrawal of residents and non-essential personnel, diplomats who had been pondering when they could finally leave this hellhole came out to watch.

The street in front of the Presidential Palace was wrapped in a cold silence.

A single armored vehicle and hundreds of federal troops. It felt like the legendary scene of a certain general with a long beard breaking through five gates in search of his elder brother.

“……”

The Federal Army staff glowered intensely at the rebels. With a sturdy mechanized unit like comforting beef soup and accompanied by shamans, they believed they could surely win against anyone.

At that moment.

“…Really?”

“Oh, yes. The Archmage…”

“Hmm…”

The commander who was whispering with the shaman’s side coughed ‘ahem’ and opened his mouth wide.

“Everyone, charge!”

With that, the federal army’s shamans mounted their carpets and charged in unison.

Backwards.

The so-called “reverse thrust,” an ancient magical technique passed down through the magic world! (There’s no such thing.)

As the shamans rushed backwards, the mechanized unit and military police stationed in front of the presidential palace also began to move stealthily. (??? : Sir! We need to pass; please step aside! / ??? : Who double-parked this truck? I might just run it over with the tank.)

After three hours of earnestly laying concrete and setting up barbed wire, the engineers, riding their forklifts, charged forward. Infantry troops slapped against the rear of the tank and marched forward with lively steps.

“…?”

“What is this?”

As the watching diplomats and journalists (foreign and hiding out of fear of being arrested) gasped in astonishment, a tank left idly in the vacant road began to turn its turret and suddenly fired a shot straight toward the Presidential Palace!

The windows shattered, and concrete, glass, and wooden splinters flew into the garden.

The turret belched fire, and the tracks crushed through the iron gates. Like Northern Vietnamese tanks demolishing the President’s Palace in South Vietnam or the armored division of a mustachioed dropout from the U.S. taking Paris in just six weeks.

At that moment, to celebrate the birth of the newly established coup regime, the six fugitives began to launch festive fireworks (125mm high-explosive shells) while knocking on the doors of the houses.

“Ah, damn it!”

The watching diplomats couldn’t hold back exuberant cheers.

Episode 19 – HELLDIVERS

“Why does this only happen during my term?” “What about the foreign relations I built up over 16 years?!” These screams were left behind as…

The tank, having pulled back (actually retreated), smashed through the presidential palace’s iron gates and proceeded straight into the garden.

Trees went crack! Statues crumbled!

Smashing through all sorts of landscaping, the tank advanced powerfully, unleashing a loud “bang!” as it crashed through the front door.

“Do-Choak!”

The federal soldiers guarding the presidential palace began to scream and ran away in all directions as the fugitives, armed with iron pipes and maces, leapt from the tank.

“Get the boss out here!”

One of the spies raised his voice in the lobby, the sound echoing throughout.

With a terribly angry voice (and an iron pipe in hand), he appeared to be quite furious indeed, for he was indeed very angry.

The tradition of hospitality is a local culture that elevates the owner’s honor.

Having driven for a full six hours (but the driver drove), they arrived to celebrate the birth of the new military regime, but it seemed the homeowner was nowhere to be seen!

Such behavior was incredibly rude for a host whose duty it is to greet guests! An absolute atrocity that was unacceptable to witness.

Angered by this terrible treatment, the guest, Frederick, donned his “Barbara” and grabbed the (prepared) iron pipe to call for the host.

“Kasim! Your son has returned! Here to deliver democracy to the Jamria Federation!”

“For liberty!”

Camila and Frederick kicked up trouble and stormed into the presidential palace, completely ignoring the sigh of the elderly magician.

Seeing this, the guards screamed even louder as they fled, displaying behavior most unmanly.

Bang! Crash! Damn…!

The guards, losing their discipline, were subdued by the dazzling skills of the iron (pipe), as the team captured the federal army executives to have a frank and earnest conversation.

“Where’s Kasim?”

“…? We can’t speak foreign languages—”

How could an officer not speak a foreign language?! Was there any more irresponsible statement than this? Shocked by the federal guard officer’s lack of excuse, Frederick couldn’t hide his frustration, having already experienced military service twice.

He remembered those days spent cramming for TOEIC and taking training to get dispatched overseas, desperately trying to learn as many foreign languages as possible. How could the officers of the Jamria Federation be incapable of even one foreign language?!

“No, how is this even possible!”

Of course, he once had his share of struggles mastering the local language, but it’s not what mattered right now. Because Frederick was in a position to critique rather than learn foreign languages.

Busy bees have no time to mourn, and grown frogs can scold tadpoles! (There’s no such saying.)

After tightening up the loose screws of the federal army officers with an 8-inch monkey wrench, Frederick decided to search for Captain Kasim directly.

Fortunately, the homeowner was waiting not far away for his guests.

“Government car…?”

In the back yard of the presidential palace. The familiar ringleader of the rebels seen on the news was busy tinkering with a car in the guests’ sight.

Gathering oil, gathering documents, stuffing all belongings into the trunk and seats, the scene looked like someone hastily preparing to go out.

The guests’ heads exploded at the homeowner’s outrageous behavior.

Oh my!

The guests arrive, and instead of coming out to greet them, he’s scheming how to leave?!

“Basic etiquette lacking! Extremely rude! What a disgrace!”

Akande, a local from the Mauritania Continent who had promised (never) the ultimate Jamria Federation experience for his foreign friends, was furious and smashed the window before charging out.

Like a tiger, he lunged forward and slapped the driver (the rebel) hard enough to burst an eardrum, while Lucia flipped the government car over to protest against the homeowner, and Francesca tied up Kasim, dragging him before the guests.

“Ugh, ugh…!”

“No, mister. I warned you six hours ago to run off, and yet you still linger in this hellhole? How insolent…”

“It seems he had no intention of escaping!”

Camila and Frederick surrounded the homeowner and unleashed a torrent of insults. How could he still be in the capital when he was warned to escape?! It’s evident he had no intention of leaving!

Just for reference, according to the warnings he was given beforehand, he had 24 hours to escape, meaning a whole 18 hours remained. But to them, 18 hours or 18 minutes did not matter at all.

They had driven six long hours! They even set off fireworks for him! Yet this rude homeowner was scheming instead of welcoming them!

(Of course, had they brought a regular passenger car instead of a tank and festival explosive magic fireworks instead of 125mm high-explosive shells, and a snack gift set instead of iron pipes, Captain Kasim might have grandly come to welcome them and opened the front gates.)

Such an atrocious dictator and an impudent host! He was someone hard to watch with open eyes.

“Unacceptable! An insult! It must be repaid with vengeance!”

Akande, who had promised a Jamria federation tour more glorious than Busan’s all-you-can-eat, was extremely angered.

Holding gas cans in both hands, he disappeared inside the presidential palace and poured gasoline, lighting the whole palace on fire along with the history that was nothing more than a symbol of dictatorship!

While Akande was diligently setting the presidential palace ablaze, Frederick was lost in ecstatic contemplation.

Conspiracy charges, implying assault on my feelings, and various outrageous crimes…Considering all possible charges, there was only one verdict.

As Frederick contemplated what to use among the iron pipe, the 8-inch monkey wrench, or the flanged mace (which Lucia should lend him)…

“Excuse me, everyone.”

The only cleric among the six fugitives, Saint Lucia, stepped up to stop Frederick, who was about to crack open the rebel leader’s head.

“The time we agreed upon was 24 hours. It has only been six or seven hours since that time passed. We still have about 17 hours left.”

“And so?”

“Attacking now would be a bit… cowardly, wouldn’t it?”

It was a call to not break the promises they made. Truly a moral lesson you’d find in a textbook! (Generally, promises shouldn’t be broken.)

Even the Archmage supported the saint’s opinion, so the spy who was about to perform a “head-smashing procedure” couldn’t help but groan in agony.

“Can’t we just catch him now and announce it later? Isn’t that what we all did in class — cramming for our essays the week before vacation?”

“…I wonder how smashing someone’s head compares to writing an essay for academic vacation assignments, but I think the saint’s opinion is greatly correct.”

At that time, a heated debate (about murder conspiracies) was ongoing regarding whether to smash the head now or in 17 hours.

“Then how about this?”

Francesca, a wise figure from the world of magic who had been quietly listening, cautiously raised her hand to suggest a plan.

Everyone smacked their foreheads! They decided to follow this brilliant proposal.

*

“Come on, do it right, Camila.”

“What do you want me to do? It’s my first time.”

“Have you never seen a welder? What do you mean with flames squirting out like a urinary incontinence patient’s? Give it a proper spurt! Huh? Poke it harder!”

Seemingly awkward with the welding mask, Camila adjusted it and began focusing on her task again.

Flames shot out, and red-hot metal melted charmingly.

While Frederick hovered nearby like a concerned foreman, Camila continued her work, wiping sweat as she maneuvered the welding rod here and there.

“Gah! My eyeball!”

The ringleader of the rebels cheered as he witnessed the inferno-like flames with his bare eyes.

The sparks that hit his skin were perhaps so beautiful that he couldn’t keep his feet still.

In the act of performing an exuberant tap dance, Captain Kasim elicited Frederick to kick a beam with a clang! He shouted.

“Damn it! You can wait fifteen hours to be freed, can’t you be patient? Camila!”

“Yes!”

“Finish the welding fast so we can head in. Enough roasting in this blazing sun; let’s get some sleep.”

Camila smiled brightly and got back to her welding!

Much like how various inventions emerged from the hands of soldiers with bent insignias, dozens of iron single-family homes (referred to as cages in civilian parlance) began to sprout in no time for Captain Kasim and the rebel ringleaders!

“Gah!”

“Ah! My eyes!”

“Damn it, this is illegal detention!”

Rebels celebrating the fulfillment of their dreams of homeownership screamed with joy, even with red, tear-filled eyes.

Celebrations erupted as the Jamria Federation, which had never provided free housing for decades, successfully achieved this feat within just five hours, thanks to foreign charitable endeavors!

*

After an extensive six-hour delivery of democracy concluded.

This was more accurate and faster than the six-week Paris trip of the mustachioed dropout king, the twenty-year journey of the North Vietnamese government in Saigon, or the destructive tours of a father-son duo of American presidents.

With prompt and precise delivery notifications, the local residents, full of excitement, flooded the streets in jubilation. They shot off fireworks into the sky (live rounds), danced along with police and military personnel (and retaliated), and visited neighbors, sharing warm human ties (while hunting down collaborators).

The ministers detained in the military facilities near Umsalaga were released. Members of parliament who resisted in the congress and generals who were dragged into military prisons for opposing the coup were also freed.

“…So, Kasim was finally ousted. So who’s taken over the presidential palace this time?”

“Well, general… the thing is…. the fugitives drove a tank into the presidential palace.”

Having endured harsh hardships for a week, the officials could only frown and express confusion. They already knew that Kasim had issued arrest warrants against foreigners. Even a statement was released less than two days after the coup’s success.

Yet what exactly transpired that allowed those foreigners to overthrow the ringleader?

Did Abas get involved? Or could it be the Kien Empire?

Perhaps the Archmage stepped in to handle it.

But why were they ousted in just six hours?

I heard they stole a tank.

A tank, of all things!?

Oh dear, this nation is in utter chaos…

So what do we do now? they thought hurriedly.

Gradually gathering their wits, the officials scrambled toward the capital. They felt the need to see for themselves what in the world had happened.

And what awaited their eyes was the scene of the capital of the Jamria Federation, Umsalaga.

“…Gah!”

“Ah, aaah!”

“Eww..!”

The ex-president grilled like a roast in the backyard, shrieking in agony, while the rebel culprits lay trapped in a metal cage.

-Flames roared…!

-Cinders crackled…!

The scene of the presidential palace engulfed in flames was one they could hardly believe.

As the dazed officials wept, speechless, in feelings of exhilaration (not really).

The magnificent dancing flames felt like a breathtaking spectacle, with diverse sparks twinkling against the night sky, reminiscent of blooming plum blossoms.

Ah, this is the mythical paradise where corrupt politicians go to exile after drinking too much (in Korean history, they’re called ‘Songgang Jeongcheol’)!

Drawing magic from ‘Barbara’ through the iron pipe, Frederick, while grilling Jamria chicken in the electric bath, took a puff of his cigarette and exclaimed.

“I never knew the Jamria Federation had such a beautiful firework culture.”

The ungrateful homeowner and rebel ringleader were sizzling, and the history of dictatorship burned away in a handful of gasoline.

“…Oh God.”

The official, gazing at the burning presidential palace, closed his trembling eyelids, murmuring in admiration.

Eli Eli lama sabachthani!

One official, shedding tears of joy (never), struck a chord within one’s heart. Camila gasped in awe, while the duke muttered curses, covering his face with his hands.

The six fugitive suspects drove the donated tank toward their hotel, leaving behind the hottest and most boisterous (due to gunfire) night sky of Umsalaga.

The six-hour “Delivery of Democracy” was thus successfully and properly completed.

This was the moment when the dictatorial government that had tormented the Jamria Federation for a week met its complete demise!

*

“Colonel Frederick Nostrim. As of this moment, you are dismissed from your position as Defense Attaché.”

“…What?”

Well, my career as an attaché has come to an end.