A Dark Fantasy Spy

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Drug.

Satisfaction of the soul igniting fantasy and vigor.

A fine crushed crystal point (a Western criminal’s slang for 0.1g of methamphetamine) is the source of power, and a single flake peeled off with a clean razor is the source of clarity.

Satisfaction of the soul and the source of power. The undulating green waves over the vast land are the source of clarity, a fruit of the farmer’s blood and sweat.

That is the value of a million gold pieces.

“…Ah, it’s lunchtime. Everyone stop working and head to the dining area!”

With a booming command, the farmers wiped their beads of sweat and straightened their backs.

“Already lunch?”

“Hey! The sun is high overhead. Can’t you see those play fields over there? We still have a long way to go.”

“Take it easy, take it easy. We’re all just trying to make a living here…”

The farmers exchanged meaningless banter, walking out among the sprouting crops.

Behind their large and small backs sprawled a massive 300-hectare farm.

This is the Punsoden sugar palm plantation.

As the name suggests, the farm’s primary product is Damtnaut, but in reality, it is a place cultivating opium, the main ingredient for heroin.

Why is opium cultivated hidden as an ordinary farm? This arises entirely from the unstable situation on the Mauritania Continent, and a good example exists.

According to a 2023 report published by the UN Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC), Myanmar has surpassed Afghanistan as the world’s largest producer of opium.

A coup d’état by the military that couldn’t recognize the election result. This triggered a pro-democracy protest. After a ruthless crackdown, civic organizations and armed groups from ethnic minorities resisted, and it was natural for the flame of civil war to engulf Myanmar.

The drug industry thrived on the ashes.

Jobless people flooded the streets, and both the military and paramilitary groups pointed their guns at each other, needing funds. This seed, sown amid obscurely aligned interests, spread throughout Southeast Asia, reaching Central Asia, East Africa, and Europe.

The result was as follows.

“Meal time is 30 minutes! 10-minute break, then the afternoon crew back to the workplace, while the morning crew heads home!”

“Only 30 minutes to eat? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“It’s not like it’s our first day. What are you complaining about? Just get to eating.”

“Forget it. I’m leaving after the morning shift.”

“If you work the afternoon, your pay doubles. Why not just stay?”

“Ah, I’ve got things to do.”

The farmers, not making as much as they had expected, still earned a decent wage.

“Ugh, it’s hot. Anything unusual at the post?”

“Just a bunch of local kids causing trouble earlier.”

“Report to the commander, and radio for the afternoon crew to come up. You go deliver the goods.”

“Again?”

“They said every two weeks.”

Armed gangsters are enjoying decent profits from exports.

“Sir! Delivery!”

“Oh, our Yayou has come! Sent from the farm?”

“Yep!”

“Good, good. I’ll give you some candy, so go play with Adukay. And…”

“Don’t tell anyone, right?”

“Smart kid indeed. Such a cute one~”

“Hehe.”

Badge-wearing gangsters fill their pockets with taxes.

A castle made of white powder—a place great for everyone, except for the relatives of addicts and public servants in areas wrecked by drug influx.

This is like a happy world.

And happiness and unhappiness are just a thin line apart.

Episode 20 – Who Threatened with a Knife?

The café on Kunjjojo street can truly be called a landmark.

Coffee beans grown and harvested from the savanna carry the essence of nature, delivering a delightful aroma and taste. The painful history of colonial rule is melded into the meal menu, filling the hungry stomachs of travelers from across the sea with a familiar sense of satisfaction, while the low prices cater to light wallets.

Is it just the food and drink that are excellent?

No. If it’s delightful for the mouth, it ought to be pleasing for the eyes and ears too. Enjoying a good view is a privilege held only by window seats.

The windowless window is one of the prime spots to savor not only coffee and meals but also the sounds of the road, dust, and the gazes of passersby.

“Welcome!”

“Long time no see. I came for lunch.”

A farmer visited the café on Kunjjojo street. The café owner greeted him with a warm smile and approached the farmer, who had claimed a corner seat and was quenching his thirst.

“What brings you here? You only ever come in the evening.”

“Something came up.”

“Are you okay skipping the afternoon work? You’ve been going to the farm almost every day lately; it’s a bit too much, don’t you think?”

“Just bring me some coffee.”

“Oh, of course! Because you’re a regular! By the way, alcohol?”

The farmer silently shook his head.

Waiting for a steaming cup of coffee, the farmer looked out the window. However, even after the coffee was served, he didn’t bring up any particular topics.

No orders, no movement.

He simply sat there smoking a cigarette and sipping his coffee, as if waiting for someone.

“What are you doing? Just staring blankly into thin air alone.”

“Just bored.”

The café owner tilted his head in confusion at that response but, upon asking, received only a reply of ‘killing time.’

Not a very satisfactory answer, yet there was no time to dwell on it; a truck had just arrived to deliver vegetables.

The café owner left for the back alley, without having the chance to mull over his questions.

Then a new guest entered the café.

The man who stepped out from the alley looked around widely.

With one hand holding a phone and in conversation, he crossed the street and entered through the main door.

Despite the lack of warm welcomes or staff to greet him, the guest didn’t appear flustered at all facing the chaotic café.

He walked over to a corner seat.

“Weren’t you quitting smoking? Last time you said you’d quit.”

“I’d rather cut my life short. How can I quit smoking?”

At the absurd reply, the guest burst into laughter. The farmer offered him a seat.

“Is the farming going well?”

At the light question, the farmer nodded with a smile.

It was a look almost full of pride.

“The harvest is good. We’ll surely get at least three times more than this time last year.”

He measured the size of the crops with the hand holding the coffee cup.

“Look how big they are. Quite substantial, aren’t they?”

“You won’t have to worry about seeds to sow for next year, huh?”

The guest chuckled. The farmer also laughed, as if in agreement.

“I think we’ll collect quite a bit. By now, we should almost be done packaging.”

“I saw trucks lined up heading that way not long ago.”

“The truck that came nine days ago? That was probably banana leaves bought from the farm.”

The farmer began recounting tales he had heard from dexterous half-dwarf humans.

“Banana leaves are the packaging material. According to the packers, they wrap them up in those. Once it’s handed off from production, they need to pack it up right away. The guards kept hurrying them, so it was like…”

The guest listened quietly. Even when the farmer grumbled, he only nodded. No compliments or questions came forth.

During his silence, countless pieces of information were exchanged.

The farmer poured out facts he’d come to know, some trivial, others significant. Of course, based on the farmer’s perspective.

“One of the guards is getting married to a village girl soon. But that girl, believe it or not, has her eyes set on another man…”

“Isn’t there an abandoned barn if you keep walking west from our farm? That used to be a pharmacy for making ‘painkillers.’ If you go, you’ll find empty oil drums, piles of firewood, discarded hydrochloric acid barrels, and pipes lying around, but it hasn’t been in use for years. However, a few days ago, someone delivering said workers from production were spotted milling around that barn at dawn.”

“I can’t say for sure, but… there’s a rumor going around that the farm manager has been passing ‘rubber’ to goblins. Those greenskins waving red flags, claiming they’re in a revolution or something. They say he’s been secretly offloading them to them, sneaking it out in the skirts of their wives, while here we are, after a hard day’s work, tossing ourselves into a creek and getting yelled at, ‘Do you have anything hidden or not?’ All while he’s been doing that… it’s just absurd.”

Finally breaking his silence, the guest remarked.

“So? What does the higher-ups say?”

“Ugh… Can you expect to hear anything from those playing in the dirt?”

The farmer licked his lips and added.

“I heard a rumor that someone from above is coming to check out the farm in a day or two, but they probably won’t come to yell at the manager.”

“Who’s coming?”

“Why, you know? The one with a bulging belly walking around, resting it on the belt.”

Ah, the commander.

Murmured the guest, nodding as if he understood.

After sharing a brief lament or grievance, the farmer lowered his hands beneath the table. He seemed to have something to say.

“Um… Teacher? There’s something I need to tell you.”

The anxious gaze of the farmer subtly turned towards the guest. However, the other man didn’t even spare him a glance.

Should I speak or retreat?

The contemplation lasted long.

But no matter how he thought about it, there was no other road to take than this.

“Actually, something came up, so I might not be able to help you any longer.”

As the farmer hesitatingly opened his mouth in the uncomfortable silence, the guest immediately slipped his hand into his pocket.

He pulled out his mobile phone.

“Just a moment.” Raising a hand to ask for patience, he glanced at the mobile phone. After tapping on the keyboard for a while, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and raised his eyebrows.

“What did you just say?”

“That I might have to quit…”

“Ahhh! Right, you did mention that.”

He drawled the last word, one hand stroking his chin while the other tapped the table.

“You say something came up and you’re quitting? That’s understandable to me….”

The guest beamed as he drummed the table.

“A farmer growing opium under a warlord has something to worry about?”

“….”

“Anyway, it’s not even your farm, is it? You’re just a hired hand there. If you’re sick, it’s fine to take a break, and if you’re tired, it’s no issue to not show up for a day. No one’s going to say anything for sipping coffee instead of working.”

Unless…

“Are you scared that you might get caught pocketing a little extra?”

There was no answer.

Only silence.

Even with his glazed-over eyes directed at him, the farmer couldn’t meet his gaze. More precisely, he was unable to.

“Seriously now… who threatened you with a knife to make you work in an opium farm? Tsk.”

“…….”

The guest clicked his tongue in pity and pulled something out of his bag.

It was a considerably thick envelope.

“Your reward.”

The guest slid the envelope towards the farmer.

“I added a little more, so you shouldn’t feel shortchanged.”

The farmer hesitated for a moment but then peeked into the envelope and opened his jacket.

The amount was easily six times more than what he would earn from harvesting opium from 5 AM to noon that day. There was no reason to refuse, and it was not easy to do so either.

After the bills disappeared into the farmer’s inside pocket, the guest lit a cigarette and made a proposal.

“Two days from now. When that guy comes to the farm, contact me immediately. On the morning of the same day, I’ll transfer 2000, and once confirmed, I’ll send another 4000 right on the spot.”

“Y-You’re really giving that much?”

“Why not? I’m a family man. If my son wants to go study abroad, I need to save up!”

Even 4000 is far from enough.

The guest added with a laugh, as if it were nothing serious, patting him on the shoulder lightly.

“See you next time.”

With a farewell, the guest swiftly departed.

For a while after that, the farmer continued to sit in the corner, smoking a cigarette. Suddenly, as if realizing something, he jumped up from his seat.

“Who should I tell about that….”

He hastily leaned his head out the glassless window, but the figure he was looking for had vanished.

The man stepped out from the main road and walked into the alley.

Holding a briefcase, he trudged along lifelessly.

With a phone pressed against his ear.

“Yes, it’s me. Just confirmed with the supplier. Two days from now, the Punsoden farm. Jimbabwe-Ghulamre will be coming for an inspection via the road, as the intel correctly stated.”

“—Good job. It’s confirmed that the target is indeed coming for inspection, right?”

“Ah~ why do you say that? I confirmed it several times with the direct team and me… This time, we can definitely catch him, so don’t worry and just get the federal government people organized properly. Please, I beg you. If we end up in a mess like last time with some undercover bastard, then we’re the ones in the dumpster!”

“—Got it…. Understood. Any unusual circumstances?”

“Ugh— The supplier manager is being childish and demanding to work, but I’ve soothed him for now. But I don’t think it’ll be reusable for long…”

“—Already? There’s still plenty of time until cut-out.”

“What can I do if he says he can’t get it done? It was never a long-term deal anyway, so let’s just take this batch and cut ties.”

“—If the officer is managing the informant, then given that situation, I’ll report to the headquarters. Just return in good time.”

“By the way, Citron? As a busy person, I would appreciate you organizing my return dates…”

“—…Oh, hang on. I got an urgent call. Sorry!”

“Hello? Hey, you son of a—”

An obscene curse followed right after the call was abruptly cut off.

The man looked at the phone with a blank expression. His hands trembled, and his face became pale as a ghost.

Crack!

The screen shattered, and startled rats began scurrying away due to the loud noise.

“Isn’t this a bit much, damn it!”

Overcome with rage, the man spat out foul curses.

“Let me go home, you bastards!”

Frederick Nostrim.

It had already been three months since he was sold across the Mauritania Continent in place of his younger sister.

Even with a full 100 days passed, he was still unable to escape the desert.