Ch.148Episode 8 – Say Hello To My Little Friend

# An Old Bar

A rundown bar, the kind rednecks would frequent. Jazz flows from the jukebox while tired, aging white men hastily down whiskey from shot glasses.

I open the door and enter.

*Ding-a-ling.*

The patrons briefly glance at the Asian man visiting the bar at this late hour, but only momentarily. They soon lose interest and turn their attention back to their drinks.

Having arrived at the destination specified in the secure email, I join a white man drinking alone at a table.

‘Long time no see, Michael.’

‘Oh, look who it is.’

My American friend smiles warmly and greets me with enthusiasm.

‘Good to see you in America, Mr. Kim. Or are you someone else today?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Mind if I take a look at your license?’

I take out my driver’s license from my wallet and hand it to him.

My American friend examines the driver’s license with the faded California state mark, then grins and raises his beer glass.

‘Eugene Choi. Who the hell is this? Some dead Russian rock star? Or a Netflix drama protagonist?’

‘How would I know? Probably some Korean-American who got his passport from our embassy, or some idiot who dropped his ID on the street.’

‘That’s hilarious. Anyway, welcome to America, friend.’

The former USFK soldier welcomes me to his homeland in fluent Korean.

I don’t know his hometown, his background, or his career. All I know is that he served at the Pyeongtaek US military base and that his name is Michael. Those two facts are probably true.

Probably.

‘Is this your hometown? I thought you were from Virginia.’

‘Well, hometowns change. But Texas is a pretty nice place. You’ll like it too.’

‘I’m not a cowboy.’

‘Why not get yourself a hat? A colleague’s father has a farm nearby where you could pet some horses. Do you know how to ride?’

‘No. And you’re not a cowboy either, are you?’

‘Actually, I’m a redneck. Got a divorced wife, a shotgun, and I live in a trailer with my mom.’

‘Stop joking. You drive your kids to school every morning.’

‘So cold.’

Michael downs his beer, smacks his lips, and leans back against his chair.

‘How was your trip to Cuba?’

‘Good. Though I never left the base.’

Buzz. An alarm. It’s an email.

I open my phone to check the email, then get straight to the point with Michael.

‘I need a favor.’

‘A favor? Sure. Buy me a drink.’

I ask the bartender for two bourbons. The bartender, showing his pearly white teeth, serves two glasses of whiskey with practiced hands.

While the bartender walks away with his tip, Michael takes a sip of bourbon, savoring it.

‘Good. Very good… So, what can I do for our 70-year alliance?’

‘I need to take a short trip to South America. Weapons and funds are ready, but the local situation is complicated.’

‘You want to use our company assets? Alright, I’ll see what I can do. But where exactly?’

‘Caracas.’

Michael’s face, which had been relaxed from the bourbon, suddenly hardens. It’s cold.

‘…Venezuela? You’re joking, right?’

‘No.’

‘These guys are crazy… Look, friend. They’re friendly with North Korea. What happens if you get spotted there?’

‘The target isn’t Venezuela. It’s the reds.’

I open my phone and show Michael the email I just received.

‘North Koreans are up to something in Venezuela. As you know, countries like Venezuela, Cuba, and Iran are friendly with North Korea. With the US imposing heavy sanctions, they’re banding together to try something.’

‘…I know. I know well.’

‘Middle Eastern and Latin American issues aren’t our concern, but North Korea is different. I’m going to investigate what they’re doing in Venezuela. When I find out, I’ll share it with your company.’

‘…Are you going alone?’

‘No.’

‘…A joint operation.’

‘So, will you help? Or just keep drinking?’

Michael strokes his chin with his thick hand, then nods with a flushed face.

‘What the hell. Let’s do it.’

‘Thanks, Michael.’

‘Stop by Germany when you’re done. I’m going there on business, and I’ll buy you a drink.’

‘Sounds good. Where should I meet you?’

‘Ramstein.’

‘I’ll contact you when I’m done.’

I shake Michael’s thick hand with both of mine as I say goodbye. My surroundings blur, and Michael’s smile distorts as if being sucked into a black hole. The table flips upward toward the ceiling. The world turns upside down.

‘See you in Germany, friend. And don’t get hurt.’

My vision darkens and my ears feel muffled.

Blackout.

# Episode 8 – Say Hello To My Little Friend

I lay in bed receiving an IV drip. Camilla and Francesca went outside to check the surroundings.

The only people left in the infirmary were Lucia and me. After the brief commotion, Lucia injected the IV into my vein and examined my condition.

“Hmm…”

“What is it?”

Lucia removed the blood pressure cuff from my arm with a strange murmur.

“Your blood pressure is returning to normal. However, since we can’t determine your exact condition, you shouldn’t overexert yourself for the time being.”

“What exactly counts as overexertion?”

“I think what you’re imagining is correct.”

She meant don’t fight. Damn it.

I covered my forehead with my left arm, where new skin had grown, and let out a deep sigh.

“We don’t know how many terrorists are left or when we can leave, and you’re telling me not to fight. Does that make any sense to you?”

“You sound just like the soldiers brought to field hospitals, ignoring what I say.”

Lucia, who had served as a healing priest, scolded me while organizing her tools.

I was about to retort to her scolding, but remembering how the table had shaken from her single punch, I kept my mouth shut.

“So when are you going to tell me about black magic?”

“Rest for now. Don’t think about anything.”

“How long do I need to rest?”

“Until the IV is finished.”

I decided to follow Lucia’s instructions without argument. This is absolutely not because I’m intimidated by her, but out of respect for her concern about my physical condition. Probably.

After tidying up around her, she finally sat down and, after staring at me for a moment, suddenly asked:

“Why do you fight?”

“What?”

“I’m asking if you really need to fight the terrorists.”

I turned my head slightly to meet Lucia’s eyes. Her eyes were blue like Camilla’s, but a slightly brighter shade.

After looking into Lucia’s eyes, as clear as an autumn sky, I turned away and bluntly answered:

“So I should just sit and wait to die? Who knows what they’ll do.”

“Fighting isn’t always the solution.”

“Maybe not. Depending on the situation.”

Talking to someone with different values is exhausting. And Lucia and I have different approaches.

I didn’t want to discuss this topic further with Lucia, but unfortunately, she was a saint of the Order. So I gave a vague answer that wasn’t really an answer.

“It’s tiring to attach reasons to everything people do.”

“…”

“But if Saint Lucia really wants an answer, all I can say is that it’s my job.”

Lucia said nothing. More precisely, she tried to say something but only moved her lips without actually speaking.

After hesitating for a while, Lucia finally spoke with evident concern in her voice:

“You could really die at this rate.”

“…”

“This is already the third time you’ve had a brush with death, isn’t it?”

Three times. That was certainly true.

First was the nerve toxin I was exposed to due to carelessness.

Second was the gunfight with the reconnaissance command that raided the safe house.

Third was this terrorist incident I got caught up in during my vacation.

Strangely, Lucia was somehow involved in all three incidents. She was beside me when I was exposed to the nerve toxin, she noticed when I was shot, and now she’s caught up in this terrorist attack with me. What a peculiar connection. Even a novel would be criticized for such coincidences.

Come to think of it, I seem to be the type whose life gets messed up when involved with saints.

Lucia is one thing, but Veronica is another matter entirely. If it weren’t for Veronica, I wouldn’t have been deeply involved with the Imperial Guard in the first place.

“…”

As I sat there pondering my connections with the saints, the saint herself posed a strange question.

“Aren’t you afraid of dying?”

It was quite a philosophical question. At the same time, it was a familiar one. Death was prevalent in this world.

Lucia stared at me without moving, and I met her gaze while sinking into thought.

Drip. Drip. The IV solution gathered in the drip chamber flows down the tube. New drops fall one by one.

“Well, I’ve never really thought about it. But I guess it’s not a big deal.”

“…You’re more composed than I expected.”

With those words, Lucia fell silent. She seemed lost in thought.

As I watched her profile, I smiled slightly and answered her question.

“Well, I’ll find out when I die.”

*

Lucia remained in the infirmary tending to the injured. Fortunately, my condition had improved somewhat, and the bleeding had stopped.

Around the time Lucia diagnosed that I could get up, Camilla and Francesca returned.

Francesca, who had been checking around the infirmary, put down her sword and rested, while Camilla handed me a water bottle she had found somewhere.

“Drink this.”

“Ah, thank you.”

After emptying the water bottle, I asked Lucia, who was crouching in a corner doing something.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m burning incense to mask the scent.”

“Incense to mask the scent?”

“There are therianthropes among the terrorists. They might track us by the scent of blood, so we need to mask it. I’ve been burning this for a while now. Didn’t you notice?”

I hadn’t. There was no smoke or smell.

Lucia, who was burning incense in a small glass bowl, said that it might have been hard to notice if one wasn’t paying close attention.

Camilla curiously examined the incense that was burning without producing smoke.

“Wow. Where did you get something like this?”

At that question, Lucia momentarily showed an expression of realization. It was an understandable reaction. That was the kind of incense smokers use to mask cigarette odors. It was probably something Lucia carried around regularly.

The military and intelligence agencies use similar items to evade military dogs or therianthropes when escaping, but in the old days they used incense. Nowadays, they don’t use such items anymore.

Of course, Francesca and I know that Lucia is a smoker. We both heard it from Veronica. But Camilla doesn’t know that Lucia smokes, and she certainly doesn’t know that this is an item used by smokers.

“…Ah, well…”

Honestly, I don’t care if an adult like Lucia smokes or does drugs. However, this community places great importance on appearances, and Lucia is a saint of a religion. Like it or not, she has to be mindful of others’ perceptions.

That’s why cardinals, bishops, and even Veronica, who has considerable power in the Order, don’t consume alcohol or tobacco in public. It’s an unspoken rule.

I stepped in to help Lucia save face.

“It’s a cosmetic product. It’s used to remove scents before applying perfume or when removing makeup. Think of it as a kind of basic skincare product.”

“Ah, I see. They have such things here. That’s convenient.”

Fortunately, Camilla believed my lie without question. It was half-true anyway, as it is actually used in cosmetics.

Lucia, who had almost lost face through her slip, breathed a sigh of relief, and Francesca smiled at her reaction.

I changed the subject while putting a bandage over the injection site.

“Alright, enough small talk. Administrator, you mentioned sensing black magic energy in the department store. Could you explain?”

“Ah, yes.”

Lucia, who had been smoothing her chest in relief, collected herself.

“At the very beginning, when screams were heard and the department store started to become chaotic, I sensed something ominous.”

“An ominous energy?”

“Priests of the Order receive mandatory education for several years before ordination. It’s a kind of training. Many drop out during this process, but those who are finally confirmed to receive ordination become deacons of the Inquisition from spring to autumn of the year they are ordained, receiving additional education.”

The Inquisition is the Order’s only intelligence agency. It handles everything from law enforcement to counterintelligence, security, protection, domestic and foreign intelligence gathering, and covert operations, wielding absolute power under the Pope’s protection.

Of course, that’s when the emphasis is on “intelligence agency.”

In reality, the Inquisition is difficult to view as a “pure intelligence agency” like the Imperial Guard or the Royal Intelligence Department.

The Inquisition is an intelligence agency of a theocratic state. The name itself says it all. Inquisition.

The Inquisition handles areas that other intelligence agencies don’t pay much attention to. For example, heretics, cults, demons, non-human races, extremist religious terrorist groups, and apostate clergy. Magic users were also included in this category in the past.

The 59th Saint of the Order pointed this out.

“Until the Alhambra Decree was promulgated, magic, sorcery, astrology, and alchemy were disciplines forbidden by the Inquisition. Of course, after the Magic Tower was established, the Order officially relaxed restrictions on magic-related matters, but black magic remains an exception.”

“Because it’s associated with demons.”

The alchemist from the Magic Tower, who had been quietly listening, joined the conversation. Francesca, polishing her small sword with a cloth, added:

“Actually, defining black magic as necessarily associated with demons is a bit complicated. Not only demons but also outer gods and demon races have deep relationships with black magic users. Black magic is an umbrella concept that encompasses all of these.”

“I didn’t know the Administrator was knowledgeable about black magic.”

“Black magic is a taboo subject even in the Magic Tower.”

The administrator of the Magic Tower Secretariat smiled lightly as she put away her sword.

“Some magicians with excellent magical aptitude join investigative agencies. Like the Magic Department investigators.”

“…Aurors?”

Camilla interjected with nonsense. I covered her mouth with my hand and focused on the information Francesca was providing.

“I know that the Magic Department tracks black magic users, expelled magicians, and criminal magicians. But what’s your point?”

“Occasionally, there are investigators who are highly sensitive to magical energy. They can identify culprits just by examining magical traces left at crime scenes. Investigators who somehow know when magic is used blocks away. You said the Hero suddenly felt unwell after the terrorists appeared, right?”

“Yes.”

“She might have a talent for that. Being sensitive to others’ magical energy and the surrounding environment is a rare trait.”

Francesca said this with a slight smile. Camilla’s eyes sparkled, perhaps excited by the suggestion that she had something special.

This was new information to me. Camilla’s ability to respond to changes in surrounding magical energy. It was welcome news, but unfortunately not the information I was seeking. After all, we can’t definitively attribute Camilla’s deteriorating condition to black magic.

I needed to understand exactly what relationship existed between Camilla’s ability and the presence of black magic. So I organized the new information and was about to ask Francesca for more details. Or at least, I tried to.

Until the saint suddenly opened the front of her clothes and put her hand inside.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Aaaah! Don’t look! You shouldn’t see this!”

“Aagh! My eyes!”

I was so surprised that I almost cursed, Francesca stood with her mouth slightly open in a daze, and Camilla jumped up in shock and covered my eyes. Meanwhile, Lucia continued speaking as she rummaged through her front.

“When you become a deacon of the Inquisition, you learn how to identify black magic. More precisely, how to distinguish between black magic, magic, sorcery, astrology, and alchemy. And one method is this.”

Lucia showed an object she had carefully stored in her front. It was a rosary emitting a soft indigo light, like a luminous blue galaxy cluster.

“…What is that?”

“It’s an object that detects black magic. Made from silver obtained by dwarves from rifts and consecrated.”

“…How do you use it?”

“You carry it with you and take it out to check in emergencies. It glows indigo when black magic energy is sensed. Of course, due to material supply issues and the scarcity of priests skilled enough to consecrate it, it’s not something that can be issued to all priests.”

Why would you keep such an important item there, you crazy woman?

I wanted to say something out of disbelief, but Lucia herself showed no sign of embarrassment. Rather, she acted as if it was completely normal, making the situation more awkward for those of us watching.

Lucia spoke with a resolute expression.

“This morning, it was fine until we entered the department store, but now it’s glowing indigo.”

“…Since when?”

“Since around the time the commotion started.”

The saint said:

“I can’t specify the type of black magic or who’s behind it, but it’s certain that black magic is involved. It’s probably related to the ominous something surrounding the department store. This is clearly an intentional and planned terrorist attack.”

“…”

“There might even be a black magic user inside the department store.”

*

A terrorist attack has occurred. Terrorists have occupied the department store. The building is surrounded by a black veil, cutting off contact with the outside world. Armed terrorists are plotting something. And black magic energy can be sensed.

Lucia, the 59th Saint of the Order, claimed that all of this was meticulously planned.

Lucia’s words certainly made sense. There was also clear evidence (the black magic detection device glowing indigo).

However, the administrator of the Magic Tower Secretariat seemed to have a different opinion.

She crossed her legs while sitting in a chair and spoke:

“No. That’s not it.”

“Administrator, what do you mean?”

“I don’t know about the rest, but I can’t agree that there’s a black magic user inside the department store. Magic doesn’t work that way.”

The alchemist from a prestigious magical family discussed the operating principles of magic.

“Magic is basically a technique where something acts as an intermediary to manipulate magical energy. Whether that’s a human, an orc, an elf, or a demon doesn’t matter.”

“An intermediary?”

“Think of it as a water filter.”

The alchemist explained that magic is ‘the result of drawing magical energy from outside, passing it through an intermediary (filter), and then expelling it again.’

“Of course, this isn’t an accurate explanation. It doesn’t consider internal magical energy, the characteristics of different schools, the nature of external magical energy, or the practitioner’s physical condition and training state.”

“Ah, yes. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“It varies by school and race, but generally, magic users have limits. In other words, there’s a threshold for what the body and mind can handle when using magic.”

I was familiar with this. Camilla was experiencing similar symptoms.

In the past, when magic began to be used militarily, there were reports of magicians deployed on battlefields suddenly experiencing extreme pain, fainting, or falling into unconsciousness.

Later research revealed this happened because magicians who didn’t properly recognize their limits continued using magic, but in the early days of magical research, this was simply attributed to mental issues. So the problem was temporarily solved by supplying stimulants (drugs) to frontline units.

Of course, nowadays, except in special cases, stimulants are not prescribed. You just need to train a bit and use magical energy more efficiently. It would be great if that improved Camilla’s condition, but unfortunately, no clear solution for her symptoms has appeared yet.

Anyway.

The Magic Tower’s alchemist mentioned the limits that all magicians possess.

“A filter can be replaced when its lifespan ends, but that’s not the case with magicians. If a magician using magic collapses, another magician can fill the vacancy, but they can’t prevent the magic being used from being interrupted. There’s a gap.”

It’s simple logic.

If a part-time worker loading and unloading at a logistics center runs away, they can be replaced by hiring another worker, but if someone flees during an exam, the person next to them can’t solve their test paper.

I’m not sure of the exact logic, but Francesca explained that it’s impossible for one magician to take over and use magic that another was using.

“That’s why the Protection School in the past considered coordination an important virtue. When someone next to you collapsed, you had to deploy a new barrier to fill the gap before a breach occurred. But this also had problems.”

“What problems?”

“As I said earlier, every practitioner has limits. There’s a limit to the magical energy they can manipulate. And even if that limit were infinite, if their attention wavers and they misallocate magical energy even slightly, the magic breaks down.”

“…”

“So maintaining a huge barrier without gaps, like now, is impossible no matter how many magicians you bring. It’s similar to how a person can’t maintain a constant speed while running.”

“Unless it’s a machine.”

The alchemist smiled brightly.

“Exactly. Unless it’s a machine.”

“…”

“The cargo that you and the Minister saw. Could it be a device maintaining the barrier?”

The moment I heard that hypothesis, I made a decision.

“Let’s go to the Art Hall. The cargo must be there.”