I’m an Immigration Officer!

“Khak— cough, cough!”
He tried to hold it back.

He really did.
But the cough tore out of him anyway, raw and violent.
Karton’s body convulsed, and the crystal orb slipped from his hand, crashing onto the floor with a dull thud.

“Minister!”
His secretary jumped in panic, rushing over with a handkerchief and a glass of water.
“I’m fine... just swallowed wrong,” he wheezed.

But the coughing didn’t stop.
Maybe it was because he’d lost his temper for the first time in years. Even gulping down the water didn’t help — his breath came in ragged bursts, his body trembling from the strain.
“Dammit... cough! The doctor’s gonna lecture me again.”

“Where’s the medicine? The medicine—where is it?!”
The secretary frantically searched the desk, eyes wide with panic.
And then — a pale, slender hand appeared behind her, calmly placing a small vial on the table.

“Take this,” said a calm, detached voice. “It should help your breathing for a while.”
Too calm for the situation.
“What the hell is this— cough! —now?”

“Snail extract blended with herbs. My homeland uses it to treat throat infections.”
Karton didn’t hesitate.
He snatched the vial and downed it in one gulp.

Miraculously, the coughing stopped.
“Haaah... I’m getting old. Can’t even get angry without breaking down.”
He leaned back, breathing heavily. The owner of the long fingers watched him quietly and then murmured:
“I swear, I’m the only one who takes care of you, old man.”

“And you’re the only damn person who barges in without an appointment and always at the worst possible moment... Chief Immigration Officer.”
Karton looked up at the tall woman in front of him — exotic features, striking presence.
Hailyn Metaharashin, Chief of the Immigration Office.

A native of the western deserts, she picked up the fallen orb and replied with a smirk:
“Not the worst moment. I got front row seats to a fantastic show.”
She meant him. His fury. His explosion.

It had been years since Karton had burned this hot with rage.
He’d followed the doctor’s orders to the letter, kept his emotions tightly leashed. But not this time. Not with this.
“If you had that much fire in you, you should’ve unleashed it during the Cabinet meeting,” she teased.

He shot her a glare, half in disbelief.
“Oh please. You don’t get to say that.”
Who was it again who’d gone full crusade for two hours straight in front of the Queen and the Director of Oversight?

“The Chief Inspector spent five years holding our southern border!”
“And you want to end his career over one damn letter?”
“Execution is for bribes and corruption — not this! There wasn’t even a testimony, let alone a trial!”
He sighed at the memory.
At least things hadn’t spiraled into total disaster.

The Queen — propped up by the Church — had pushed for execution:
“This man, Nathan Kell, insulted the Holy Order and the Pope himself.
This is a diplomatic catastrophe. The Chief Inspector must be executed.”
And the so-called “evidence”?

A complaint letter from the Holy Order.
It claimed the Chief Inspector had “denied entry based on personal bias, labeling the pilgrims as a military force — contrary to protocol.”
Utter nonsense.

Karton hadn’t wavered.
Even with the papal seal on the letter — a religious order dictating disciplinary action on a foreign state official? That was unthinkable.
And just how did the Pope hear about this so damn fast...?

Even with a Saintess involved, the timing didn’t add up. There hadn’t been enough time for word to reach the southern branch and circle back via diplomatic mail.
Thankfully, others noticed that too.
With the support of multiple department heads — especially those within the Foreign Ministry’s inner circle — Karton’s defense had weight.

The Queen’s demand was rejected.
For now.
Instead of execution, a tribunal would be held in the royal capital.

The Queen still had allies — the Minister of Oversight, the Minister of Finance... they had her ear.
“Those bastards. They’re lining up behind her now.”
He spat the words, then muttered bitterly:

“At least none of my people bent the knee.”
Which meant, of course — somebody else’s people did.
Karton muttered like a man choking on something heavy:

“This country... what the hell happened to it?”
The Kingdom of Crossroads he had once known — it was gone.
It wasn’t always like this. Divided. Fragile. Flinching at foreign pressure.

Back then, the kingdom had a nickname:
The Little Beast.
A small nation guarding the crossroads of the world. A target, yes — always. But it had teeth.

Empires tried to tame it. Theocracy tried to own it. Spies and emissaries flooded in.
But they never succeeded.
Because there had always been one thing standing in their way —

A ruler willing to say “no.”
Someone who would choke down diplomacy if it meant protecting their people.
Someone like...

“Back when His Majesty Rio Castor still ruled the kingdom himself...” Karton whispered.
The Master of Every Road.
Rio Castor.

Back when Karton was still Director of Intelligence, not a minister — he’d seen the king's true face.
It was fifteen years ago.
The Holy Order had just lost their Great Crusade in the south and demanded the northern border be ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) opened under the pretense of “pursuing fugitives.”

And the king had replied:
[As per our treaty, I will grant passage — if your intentions are peaceful.
But if your blades cross my border... if you use your strength to trample the accords my ancestors died to protect—]
[Then I will burn everything. Not a single grain of rice, not one wagon wheel, not an inch of road will be left.]
[Yes, we are weak. Compared to you, we are nothing. But we are strong enough to destroy ourselves.]
[Make your choice: violate the accord and cross the dead valley, or turn back to your own land.]
It was a threat that shattered mountains.

And the Holy Order backed down.
Because they knew — the little beast would destroy itself before letting anyone else devour it.
But now?

That “little beast” looked more like prey than predator. Weaker than a rabbit on the field.
“There was a time when we didn’t do surrender.
And now look at us — the Queen’s a damn mouthpiece for the Church.”
Karton clicked his tongue, bitter and tired.

Hailyn dropped into a chair and thumped her chest with a clenched fist — a desert people's gesture of mourning.
“It all started going downhill after... His Majesty ended up that way.”
Her voice was low.

“When a father buries his own son — they call it a curse, don’t they?”
Karton didn’t answer right away.
And when he did, it was a single word:

“A tragedy.”
She nodded.
“A tragedy.”

There was nothing more to say.
No one could’ve predicted it.
Not the fall.
Not the silence that came after.

The day they buried the prince, they buried King Castor’s fire and clarity with him.
“Let the Queen handle it... Do as she sees fit...”
And that was it.

What remained was an empty husk of a king… and the woman who chose not to comfort him, but to take the reins of power for herself.
No one even remembered how long it had been since he’d last left his chambers.
Hailyn exhaled softly.

“If only he’d had another son. He could have appointed an heir and clipped the Queen’s reach. But there’s only the one daughter.”
“A daughter,” she added, “who’s lived her entire life under the Queen’s thumb.”
When the man holding the throne is just a shadow clutching a portrait of his dead child, the kingdom he rules inevitably becomes someone’s next meal.

And so, the Kingdom of Crossroads slowly became something it was never meant to be.
Neutral in name only.
Just like what was happening now.

“In this climate,” Hailyn said with a dry smile, “those who don’t try to impress the Queen are the strange ones.”
Karton let out a hollow chuckle.
“People like you and me, huh?”

“Exactly. Unless His Majesty rises again, this kingdom will be yanked around until there’s nothing left.”
She said it calmly.
But her eyes were hard.

“A dark age is coming. I can feel it.”
Silence fell. Thick and heavy.
“...I really, really hate how right that sounds,” Karton muttered.

“If there’s a golden age, there’s bound to be a downfall too,” Hailyn replied. “We can’t stop it entirely. All we can do... is slow it down.”
She reached out and gently ran her fingers along the crystal orb on the table.
“Delay the fall as long as possible — and hope that, when the time comes, the next generation brings the golden age back.”

Karton’s eyes followed her gesture.
And he understood.
He understood exactly who she meant by “the next generation.”

There was one thing he hadn’t asked earlier. And now he did.
“...Will he be alright?”
“Who?”

“You could’ve said something to him. Just one word. ‘Hang in there.’ Or ‘We’re watching you.’ Anything.”
Hailyn laughed — a light, teasing sound that echoed off the walls.
“Oh please. Don’t get all sentimental on me. That boy’ll be fine. I believe in him.”

“Optimistic of you. Especially with how twisted this entire situation is.”
“The messier things get, the more important rules and order become,” she said evenly. “Think back. Even the Queen couldn’t push through her decree at the cabinet meeting.”
He had to admit, she was right.

Even in a world spinning off its axis, even with madness clawing at the walls — there were things that couldn’t be torn down so easily.
“There are people like us,” she continued, “who are duty-bound to protect those principles. And to protect the ones who uphold them.”
Karton nodded slowly.

“Just like King Rio Castor did... once.”
Hailyn’s voice was quiet now.
“And just like the Chief Inspector.”

Even in this fractured, chaotic age —
there were still people who wouldn’t bow.
And maybe, just maybe —
it was time for people like them to be protected, too.