Ch.132Episode 7 – Daily Life

# The World of Dark Heroes

The world I’m in right now is a game world. To be precise, it’s the setting of a game called “Heroes of the Dark World,” which I started playing on the recommendation of a colleague who worked at an Eastern European embassy.

In the game, the protagonist—that is, the player—is called a “Hero.” It sounds like something straight out of a Japanese otaku game or web novel, but surprisingly, the game was developed by an Eastern European studio.

If you’re wondering why Japanese-style terminology is used in a game made in Eastern Europe, I don’t have much to say about that.

The truth is, there was no official Korean language support, so players created an unofficial translation. Unfortunately, one of the translators happened to be an otaku, which resulted in a mess of a translation that few would believe. By the way, that otaku is the very colleague who recommended the game to me.

Self-proclaimed Japanese culture expert. Commonly known as an otaku. He studied Japanese more diligently than anyone else among my colleagues because he wanted to go to Japan, but ironically, he was dragged to Eastern Europe because of his major. Poor guy.

Anyway.

In the “Heroes of the Dark World” setting, players are called “Heroes,” but after living in this world for 28 years, I’ve learned that the terms used for players differ depending on religion and country.

For religious reasons, the Church calls them “Heroes” or “God’s Representatives,” while in the Moritani continent, where different faiths have taken root, they’re known as “Mother’s First Child.” In some Eastern countries, they’re called “War Gods,” and in magical societies that don’t get along well with the Church, the unofficial term “Guardian of the Precepts” is commonly used. Of course, in countries under the Church’s influence, like Abas, they simply use the term Hero.

The reason why Abas, which isn’t even a theocratic state, insists on using a religiously colored term is primarily to avoid friction with the Church over something as trivial as terminology. Secondly, since the Empire, Fatalia, and most neighboring countries have been under the Church’s influence for a long time, there’s no need to change the term they’ve been using. While the second reason is significant, the first one carries more weight.

In a world where phenomena beyond common sense—magic, divine power, sorcery, mysticism—openly exist, “language” carries tremendous meaning. Priests and shamans receive power from gods by reciting prayers, and wizards use incantations to cast stable magic. Living in such a world makes you realize how much meaning is packed into a single word or syllable.

From people who make unfortunate political statements and throw themselves off balconies, to cultists who modify official prayers to worship outer gods—all sorts of strange incidents occur because of minor words or syllables. That’s why people in this world are sensitive about “language,” whether politically or religiously.

But like all pointless arguments, most language debates in this world arise from unnecessary pride.

Just like now.

“Section Chief—no, Major. We received a message this morning that the Church has filed a complaint with the Magic Tower through the Imperial embassy.”

“What’s it about?”

“They’re protesting the use of the term ‘Guardian of the Precepts.'”

“Here we go again.”

## Episode 7 – Daily Life

Though I quit my covert operations work, I didn’t become unemployed.

The Intelligence Department and Foreign Ministry are always busy institutions, and I was an intelligence officer working at a diplomatic mission. This means I couldn’t rest even if I wanted to.

“Major, about that private security company’s external director we contacted last week. He says things aren’t going well with the company employees.”

“What’s the holdup?”

“It seems they want to speak with you directly, Major. To be specific… their team apparently hopes to establish connections with the Saint. It seems they want to receive contracts from the Church, not just the Magic Tower.”

“So instead of trying to extract compensation from me as a diplomat, they want to contact Lucia or Veronica through me as a fellow Hero? All to get business from those religious folks. And the branch employees want to leech off that company if possible.”

“Yes, since the founder is from the Imperial military, they think it would be a shame to miss this opportunity.”

“An indirect operation targeting the Great Empire… Alright. Put the materials about that security company on my desk for now.”

I was living a more hectic daily life than ever before. The world had gone half-mad, making everything busier.

The Magic Tower was overwhelmed cleaning up the mess caused by the Abas intelligence agency’s sabotage, and the resulting turmoil in the magical community across the continent had dragged numerous countries into chaos.

The Church, which despised magicians more than anyone, was busy planting intelligence networks in the Magic Tower. Meanwhile, Fatalia, an ally of the Magic Tower, was sniffing around for opportunities to exploit.

Beyond that, there was the Kiyen Empire urging us to leave the Magic Tower quickly for fear of something happening to Camilla and Lucia; the Lushan Federation trying to revive its construction industry by securing major development projects from the Magic Tower; and the Kingdom of Abas maintaining a suspiciously silent stance.

Caught in this complex web, I was running around frantically recruiting informants and looking after my companions—how could I possibly have any leisure time?

It was enough to drive me crazy.

“Oh, and about the Hero’s medical examination. The Magic Tower says they’ve completed all the necessary procedures, and now we just need to wait for the results.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

While Jake and I were discussing various matters in the office, someone opened the door after a gentle knock.

“Good morning, Major.”

“Ah, Pippin, welcome.”

“Hi. Jake, what are you doing here? Why did you come in so early?”

“Pippin, aren’t you the one who’s late? As I’ve told you countless times, either wake up earlier or take wider steps— Oh shit, wait. Using combat boots to attack my joints is—”

“Die, you bastard!”

Pippin, who had arrived right on time, was trying to shatter Jake’s shinbone. It wasn’t anything serious.

I clicked my tongue as I watched my subordinates teasing each other as they did every day.

“Hey, you two. How have you been making fun of each other’s skin color and height for three years straight? Aren’t you tired of it? Stop it, you’re kicking up dust. You’re not acting your age… not acting your age at all…”

There were no special events to bring thrilling adventures that would break the monotony of daily life.

This place is always like this, and I’m no different from usual.

“What are you two going to do when I return? Can you manage?”

I checked the return date marked on the calendar and asked my subordinates. The answer I received was perfectly simple.

“Fall from power, ha ha ha!”

“Be quiet!”

“Good grief…”

It was the beginning of an ordinary day.

*

Though I was living an everyday life no different from usual, sadly, I was far from an ordinary person. That’s because I’m an intelligence officer.

Intelligence Officer.

Intelligence agencies have numerous titles, but all intelligence agency personnel are fundamentally intelligence officers. This is because everyone working in an intelligence agency basically deals with “intelligence.”

So today, as always, I handled countless pieces of information—or more precisely, raw intelligence.

The hospital director troubled by Lucia’s free volunteer work; doctors who wanted to witness Lucia’s healing with their own eyes; security company executives who, beyond compensation or penalties, wanted to secure business rights from Veronica through me; resident officers who, under the guise of socializing, gradually probed into military secrets and Camilla’s abilities; civil servants from the Magic Tower’s Secretariat Bureau who came with gifts asking me to put in a good word with Francesca Ranieri, perhaps trying to get her to accept their resignations; diplomats who invited me for a “casual meal” but kept bringing up work matters. Today, as always, I contacted numerous people. This is what I normally do as a military intelligence officer.

It’s the same principle by which we call someone working in the Ministry of Public Administration and Security a “civil servant,” someone working in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs introduces themselves as a “diplomat,” and employees of Samsung Electronics or Lotte Chilsung Beverage are called “office workers.” Therefore, everyone working in an intelligence agency can be called an “intelligence officer,” and when I need to introduce myself to someone, I prefer the title “intelligence officer” over “covert operative.”

“So calling someone who works in an intelligence agency an ‘informant’ or ‘operative’ would be a big mistake. To use an analogy, informants, operatives, and cooperators are like subcontractor employees, while intelligence officers and covert operation officers are the main contractor’s employees. Intelligence officers get upset if you don’t use their proper title. We’re people too, you know.”

“I understand. I’ll be careful!”

“Good answer. I like that.”

Of course, my not-so-ordinary daily life has changed 180 degrees recently.

As it happens, the cause of that change was right in front of me.

“Camilla, no problems today, right?”

“None!”

Camilla nodded with a bright smile. Her auburn hair swayed gently with the movement of her head. Perhaps because of her vibrant hair color, looking at her naturally brought to mind images of flames.

She said to me:

“I completed all the assignments you gave me yesterday. Psychology, forensic science, national intelligence studies, first aid, and general knowledge—all of them.”

Camilla is currently receiving training from me.

It’s not exactly the basic intelligence officer training course that intelligence agencies provide to new recruits… Rather, I’m teaching her based on the training I remember and the skills I’ve acquired while working in the field.

“Is this your summary?”

“Yes.”

“Let me take a look.”

We had agreed to combine practical training with theoretical education, but on days like today when I couldn’t make time because of my diplomatic duties, Camilla had no choice but to review theory on her own.

“Oh, by the way, I’m sorry I’m late. Today’s evening appointment took longer than expected…”

“Who did you meet?”

“Many people. Medical association representatives, private company executives, NGO officials, resident officers, civil servants, diplomats.”

“That must have been exhausting.”

Of course, I couldn’t neglect my duties as a diplomat. I am a civil servant, after all. Fortunately, Camilla understood that aspect with great generosity.

But I couldn’t just have Camilla reading books all day, so I gave her several assignments. Intelligence analysis training, to be specific.

“Camilla. Did you check the feedback I gave you on that exercise about locating the core members of that hypothetical Islamic extremist armed group?”

“Of course.”

“Hmm… good. I think it would be better if you could fix your habit of speaking too quickly. Other than that, there’s nothing particularly problematic.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

I nodded as I put down the notes she had organized.

“Your analysis report is above average. You’ve included appropriate annotations, agreed-upon terminology, and you didn’t forget to insert the confidentiality notice format correctly.”

Camilla had interned at SIS (Secret Intelligence Service, the UK’s foreign intelligence agency), widely known as MI6, for 11 weeks. It was a kind of recruitment-linked internship program where the British intelligence agency recruited applicants from university students about to graduate.

Her job was foreign intelligence analysis.

Of course, Camilla wasn’t analyzing truly “classified” intelligence to produce information like Pippin does; rather, she was responsible for converting much lower-level raw intelligence into processed information. Intelligence agencies don’t deal exclusively with classified material.

Intelligence agencies produce information from countless pieces of raw intelligence, and among them are many that can hardly be called classified even within the agencies themselves. For example, the demographic structure of a neighborhood, geological composition, international news on foreign media and Twitter, papers and journals published by academic societies, rumors spread by journalists who have stockpiled shares, and so on.

Raw intelligence can be easily obtained just by searching the internet. After all, the 21st century is the information age.

But intelligence agencies are institutions that transform even seemingly useless raw intelligence into “information,” and the magicians who make this happen are analysts. That’s exactly the kind of work Camilla was responsible for.

However—

“I did it a lot. But I quit without extending my contract because it was so boring…”

Camilla was someone who had quit because she found analysis work “fucking boring.”

“How can you quit a job just because it’s boring? Didn’t you find it wasteful? If they were willing to extend your internship contract, it means you worked diligently, and if they extended it twice, you’d almost certainly be hired. Wouldn’t it be good for you to get a job right after graduation?”

“Come on. How could anyone do such tedious work every day?”

“…”

I was about to say that I have to do that boring work every day, but I just kept my mouth shut. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. I decided to protect her ideals and innocence.

I organized the documents Camilla had worked hard on and sat across from her.

“Well, having internship experience definitely makes you good at information analysis.”

“So what am I not good at?”

I clenched my fists and brought them in front of my chest.

“Everything!”

“…”

“…”

“…Did you just imitate Salah ad-Din? From Kingdom of Heaven?”

“Oh, you know that old movie?”

Camilla calmly nodded.

“It’s a masterpiece.”

She’s definitely someone who knows her stuff.

*

“Um, Major? No, Frederick?”

“Just call me whatever you’re comfortable with. It doesn’t matter.”

“Come to think of it, I don’t know much about you, do I?”

Camilla tilted her head.

“I don’t know your occupation, where you lived, how you lived. I don’t even know your name.”

“Career military. Residence was single officers’ quarters on base. I’ve forgotten the base location, and my name is a bit hazy too. After graduating high school, I went to Korea University and joined the ROTC. I interviewed at the military headquarters in Gyeryong, received a scholarship, and was commissioned right after graduating college. My first post was with a division responsible for the GOP in Cheorwon, Gangwon Province, and the second was probably a coastal defense unit in Uljin.”

I spread my arms, smiled brightly, and asked:

“Do you need to know more?”

“You forgot your name? Your memory isn’t bad, though. Besides, how can a person forget their own name?”

“Well, I guess I had too many names and forgot.”

When I casually brushed it off, Camilla opened her mouth with a deflated expression.

“Are you going to keep teasing me like that?”

“I could do it all day.”

“Oh, really!”