Chapter Index





    # Hormoz’s proposal was simple.

    Maintaining the status quo.

    Acknowledging everything he currently enjoys in the north.

    “I wonder if ‘acknowledgment’ is the right expression, Guild Master.”

    “‘Tolerance’ or ‘tacit approval’ might be more accurate.”

    The Palm Tree Guild owns a significant portion of the northern black market.

    Distribution networks, supply chains, relationships with dealers, brokerage rights, commissions, and so on.

    Dark elves are a race born with gold in their hands and die in gold-woven coffins, and even before the minor criminal organizations were swept away by the military command, Hormoz’s Palm Tree Guild was the only group capable of systematic smuggling in the north.

    That is, until Francesca stepped in.

    Hormoz wanted to maintain what he enjoyed.

    “So I propose here and now.”

    In the desert where starlight flows.

    Inside a desert tent filled with the fragrance of fruit.

    “Please allow me to maintain the business that I currently enjoy, that the Palm Tree Guild oversees in the north.”

    Hormoz, the master of the Palm Tree Guild, proposed.

    “In return, I promise to provide you with continuous information during your stay in the north.”

    ## Episode 12 – The Most Powerful Magician Ever

    After a long silence, someone finally spoke.

    “…Hmm. I’ve heard what you have to say.”

    I casually began, reaching out to fix my hair.

    Whether due to the spatial transformation magic or the cold northern weather, the night air was chillier than expected. The sweat I’d worked up while enjoying refreshments, meals, and shisha by the bonfire was cooling rapidly in the breeze.

    After wiping away the dried sweat and tidying my hair, I summarized Hormoz’s words.

    “The business that the Palm Tree Guild conducts in the northern black market, the distribution and supply networks, relationships with dealers, brokerage rights, commissions… You want all these things to be maintained in exchange for continuously providing us with information during our stay in the north. Is that right? Did I understand correctly?”

    “Precisely.”

    How greedy.

    I nodded silently, pretending to contemplate. Francesca quietly sipped her coffee, while Hormoz tilted the teapot to refill his cup.

    I watched with amusement as Hormoz calmly drank his mint tea.

    Francesca spoke up.

    “That’s quite a mutually beneficial proposal, Guild Master.”

    Mutual benefit (互惠) refers to the exchange of special advantages or conveniences between two parties. When both sides provide benefits to each other, we call it a mutually beneficial relationship.

    This term is commonly used in economics and diplomacy. When explaining international trade, scholars express that mutual benefit is inseparably linked to the principle of equality, and diplomats count reciprocity (互惠性) among the fundamental premises of diplomacy.

    If I treat others well, others will treat me well too.

    That’s the reciprocity diplomats speak of. In other words, mutualism.

    As both a diplomat and intelligence officer, I’ve found that reciprocity shows its true value not when the other party extends goodwill, but rather when they act like complete jerks.

    “Each thing you enjoy in the north has significant value, Guild Master.”

    Francesca set down her teacup and looked around.

    “The tent that withstands the desert night is made of expensive silk imported from the East, the distribution network that can bring food from your homeland across the sea, and the personnel who assist you.”

    Rare treasures were scattered everywhere her gaze fell.

    Starting with the very place we were sitting.

    Spatial transformation magic, said to be possessed only by descendants of ancient royal families and great magicians. The war for independence left deep wounds in the magical community.

    The death of disciples like children, the loss of brilliant masters, burned archives and lost knowledge.

    Magicians lost much during the war, and millennia-old lineages were severed in the flames of conflict. That’s why magic couldn’t surpass science, and why magic towers were treated as pushovers in international society.

    The reality was that no matter how badly they behaved, magic towers couldn’t make a peep when the Empire rolled out its tanks.

    Spatial transformation magic was one of the lost magics, a brilliant relic of the past when great magicians united to resist oppression.

    It means its value is beyond measure.

    “Spatial transformation magic alone holds considerable value. If the person who created this magic was one of the great magicians, then merely expressing your willingness to sell it to one of their descendants would have them selling their souls to purchase it from you.”

    “……”

    “Even if the creator wasn’t a great magician, had you brought it to the Magic Tower, the Oracle herself would have arranged the transaction. That’s how valuable spatial transformation magic is. That era’s legacy is. It’s an irreplaceable heritage for magicians. You were aware of this fact, weren’t you?”

    Hormoz nodded in affirmation.

    “That’s correct.”

    “But you didn’t do that.”

    Francesca continued.

    “You didn’t sell the spatial transformation magic. You turned down gold that would last a lifetime, enough gold to build a massive palace of magical stones and still have enough to take to the afterlife. Why is that?”

    “Because it was a gift from my benefactor. Selling a gift wouldn’t be right, would it?”

    Hormoz said this with a gentle smile. If those words hadn’t come from a dark elf’s mouth, I might have applauded.

    Hormoz was saying something he didn’t mean, and everyone present knew it. Even Hormoz himself made no effort to hide the fact that he was lying.

    Francesca sipped her coffee while staring at Hormoz.

    “Everything you currently enjoy, Guild Master, everything the Palm Tree Guild owns in the north—all of it can be valued. It can be converted to money.”

    “That’s not entirely true. How can the relationship between merchants be exchanged for money?”

    “You mean the merchants who would switch allegiance without blinking if someone offered a higher price?”

    Francesca snickered. Her mouth was smiling, but her gaze remained ice-cold.

    Despite her cold stare, Hormoz maintained his pleasant smile.

    “I don’t mind if you think that way, Guild Master, but information is different.”

    Clack. The porcelain cup made a sharp sound as it was set down.

    “Information is an abstract, intangible asset. I consider it inadequate compensation.”

    “Information can be priceless, more valuable than a thousand gold pieces depending on its use.”

    “Perhaps. But it can’t be immediately converted to money, nor can it even be used as toilet paper in a pinch.”

    At that moment, I felt a surge of indignation.

    “Hey, that’s going too far…”

    Toilet paper? Really?

    Though it wasn’t directed at me, as someone who makes a living from information, it was a comment I couldn’t easily ignore.

    But Francesca continued as if I didn’t exist.

    “Guild Master. Trade and negotiation involve exchanging equal value. So your proposal is difficult for us to accept.”

    “……”

    Hormoz continued to look at Francesca with a smiling face. However, his golden eyes had sunk into a cold, chilling gaze.

    The atmosphere of the conversation was far from pleasant, feeling cold despite sitting around a bonfire. Now. This is the right moment.

    “Well.”

    I sat up from my half-reclined position and began.

    “Now that we’ve exchanged our positions, let me mediate.”

    *

    I slowly recapped both sides’ positions.

    First, Hormoz.

    “Mr. Hormoz, you want to maintain your position in the north and the Palm Tree Guild’s business. You’ve expressed concern about whether the recent crackdown on criminal organizations by the military command might disrupt your business.”

    What Hormoz wants is ‘status quo.’ The dark elf wants what he enjoyed yesterday to continue today and tomorrow.

    Next, Francesca.

    “Administrator, what you want is information, correct?”

    “Yes.”

    What Francesca wants is ‘information.’ Information about the merchant suspected of selling black magic to terrorists and fleeing to the north.

    At this point, I recalled the fundamental cause. The reason why Hormoz and Francesca are here like this.

    First, Francesca needs to find the person who sold black magic. She’s a direct victim of the terrorism herself, and the Church is on high alert because Lucia is involved.

    The problem is that the Inquisition has caught the scent. The fact that black magic was involved in the terrorism is too clear, so the main suspects are naturally magicians. This is where the problem arises.

    A ‘magician’ is suspected in a terrorist attack where ‘black magic’ was used? The Inquisition won’t let this slide. Currently, with Pedro as the head of the Inquisition, there’s no immediate problem (it was largely thanks to Pedro that our presence at the terrorist site wasn’t publicized), but as soon as the next Inquisition head is appointed, they’ll thoroughly investigate the terrorist incident.

    Moreover, the next Pope will be Raphael, who comes from the Inquisition. When this bastard becomes Pope and the Inquisition head changes, it will be nothing short of a disaster for the Magic Tower. The entire Church will fall into the hands of hardliners.

    For reference, Raphael becomes Pope just before Lucia’s canonization ceremony that Pedro mentioned earlier. That is, around the time all our work in the north is completed.

    If the culprit hasn’t been identified by then, Raphael will immediately go after the Magic Tower. He’ll probably start by telling the world that Lucia was attacked at the terrorist site.

    No one knows what will happen after that. There could be inquisitions in the streets like in the old days, people might throw stones at any magician they see, or a holy war could be declared.

    Whatever happens, it would be a disaster for the Magic Tower. So Francesca must find the person spreading black magic before Raphael becomes Pope. No matter how much she hates the Magic Tower and Fatalia, she is still a magician after all.

    In short, Francesca has spotted smoke rising from a mountain. She needs to find the spark before the mountain that is the Magic Tower burns down completely.

    Conversely, Hormoz’s position was slightly different.

    “……”

    Hormoz was literally struck by lightning while sleeping.

    He was raking in money by dealing with petty criminals in the north when suddenly soldiers barged in, trampling stalls with their boots and setting fire to neighboring shops.

    In a normal situation, the press would be foaming at the mouth, but unfortunately, we’re under martial law.

    Moreover, Hormoz isn’t a tax-paying legitimate merchant but a foreign smuggler.

    Would people who put bullets in their own citizens’ heads spare a foreigner? I doubt it. I’ve never asked Imperial soldiers, but I’ve never seen bullets discriminate by age, race, or gender. They wouldn’t avoid an elf either.

    So Hormoz can’t help but be afraid. He doesn’t know when Imperial troops might raid. He values money over his life, but he might lose both.

    Yet retreating and closing shop is impossible. Nomads are sensitive about honor, and dark elves are sensitive about profit and loss. The stigma of fleeing at a loss would follow Hormoz and the Palm Tree Guild forever.

    Better to die than that. Hormoz himself probably thinks so too.

    In other words, Hormoz is in a dire situation. If he doesn’t put out the fire that’s fallen on his foot, all that awaits is ruin.

    “…Hmm.”

    Of course, all this omits the positions of Hormoz’s backers who connected the northern black market with the Mauritanian continent, the military command that has no plans to crack down on criminal organizations for the time being, and the many stakeholders including the Abbas intelligence agency supporting me.

    But that’s my concern.

    Only one thing matters right now.

    After pretending to be lost in thought for about four seconds, I pointed to Francesca and Hormoz and said:

    “Let me ask you both one thing. Mr. Hormoz, do you have any other proposals besides information?”

    “If the guild has the capacity, and if I can obtain it, I can offer anything.”

    The dark elf discussed business.

    “Dark elves don’t engage in losing business. We are a race that honors contracts in money matters no less than dragons or dwarves.”

    “Do you have anything to say to the Administrator?”

    “I do.”

    Hormoz nodded and raised his teacup.

    “Before the military command intervened.”

    And began in a light tone.

    “Our guild’s employees reported seeing magicians they’d never seen before appearing in the black market. They couldn’t identify them, but they all came to sell goods. I’m certain those people were magicians from the Magic Tower.”

    “……”

    “Isn’t that right?”

    Francesca neither confirmed nor denied. That seemed answer enough for Hormoz, who finally exhaled softly and set down his teacup.

    He spoke in a rather serious voice.

    “The black market is one of the businesses I focus on. If you won’t back down, negotiation is impossible.”

    Hormoz was aware that Magic Tower magicians had been frequenting the black market. And that Francesca had moved them. It wasn’t particularly hidden since it was meant to be noticed. This was as expected.

    But one thing about Hormoz’s hardline stance bothered me.

    “You focus on the black market here? You personally?”

    Hormoz mentioned that he focuses on the black market. And he clearly said that ‘he’ focuses on it, not ‘the Palm Tree Guild.’

    It’s a subtle difference, but I sensed something in that part. Something difficult to explain in words. Yes, this is a kind of intuition.

    A benefactor who saved his life, spatial transformation magic exchanged for something money can’t buy, a guild master stubbornly staying in the dangerous north, the northern black market, Hormoz’s backers…

    As these thoughts connected, Hormoz spoke.

    “It’s a contract. A few years ago, I made a contract with someone I serve. Thanks to that, I’ve been able to conduct business in the northern black market for a while.”

    “……”

    Hormoz made a contract with someone. That someone is probably his backer.

    The person who tacitly allowed, or actively helped, Hormoz operate in the northern black market. In return, Hormoz is paying some kind of price. A contract is only established when there’s give and take.

    There’s something I vaguely sense but can’t clearly identify. I lack information.

    Instead of questioning Hormoz for more details, I decided to store this in my mind and move on. If I probed further, he would become suspicious and withhold information.

    The basics of conversational technique involve making the other person unaware of what you’ve extracted from them.

    “I see. I’ve heard Mr. Hormoz’s position. Administrator?”

    “Yes.”

    “Do you know anything about Magic Tower magicians operating in the northern black market?”

    “Well?”

    I wiggled my finger.

    “Do you have a way to withdraw those magicians?”

    “I could ban them from entering the black market, but we don’t have the resources to control individual deviations. We can’t control everything.”

    Francesca took a firm stance.

    She dismissed the magicians’ smuggling as individual deviations. At the same time, she mentioned that control is impossible.

    While her words said one thing, she was essentially declaring that she had no intention of withdrawing from the northern black market. After all, Hormoz had guessed that Francesca was behind the Magic Tower magicians, and Francesca didn’t even offer a token denial.

    At this point, I identified the core of all the problems surrounding this meeting.

    “So the black market is the issue.”

    The black market.

    Hormoz’s core interest and my weapon of attack.

    Hormoz avoided providing information for fear it would harm his business, and I stirred up trouble in the black market by bringing in the military command and Victor. With Francesca at the forefront.

    And Hormoz, whom we met today, had no intention of giving up the black market.

    I turned to look at Francesca.

    “Administrator, do you have no intention of backing down?”

    She answered.

    “Absolutely not.”

    That was all.

    A brief but clear answer.

    *

    As the negotiation reached an impasse, the atmosphere heated up. The conversation was visibly becoming overheated.

    A break was needed. Around that time, the Palm Tree Guild suggested taking a short recess.

    To be precise, it was the deputy guild master who suggested it.

    “Thank you for accepting our proposal. It seems we’ve unintentionally inconvenienced our guests.”

    The neatly dressed goblin bowed deeply while apologizing to us.

    As soon as he bowed, I waved my hand and said to the goblin:

    “There’s no need for the Deputy Guild Master to apologize.”

    “No, this is not only my personal apology but also an apology from Hormoz, the master of the Palm Tree Guild and your host today.”

    Following the deputy’s suggestion, we and Hormoz decided to take a break separately.

    It’s called a break, but it’s essentially a tactical timeout. Hormoz is probably pondering what proposal would work.

    The same goes for us.

    The goblin politely showed us to a room.

    “This way, please. I’ll guide you to your room.”

    The room was very spacious and cozy. Actually, it wasn’t even a room. It was a separate tent.

    The cream-colored rectangular tent, reminiscent of a ger, was pitched high.

    Plush carpets covered the floor completely, and a brazier stood in the center. Water for tea was boiling, filling the tent with a subtle fragrance.

    I grabbed a cushion from the pile in the tent, tucked it under my side, and plopped down on the carpet.

    “Ah, comfortable.”

    “……”

    Francesca looked at me with disapproving eyes.

    “What are you doing? Sit down instead of standing.”

    “I’m not in the mood to relax, Officer. Do you want to rest here?”

    “We’re guests.”

    Hormoz welcomed us as the host. We are Hormoz’s guests, and according to long tradition and custom, he cannot harm us in any way.

    Protecting guests is the host’s duty. Even if the guest is an enemy or a fugitive.

    If someone tries to harm a guest, the host must protect the guest from external threats. That’s the obligation the host bears. Once accepted as a guest, a guest is a guest, unless they were turned away at the door. Of course, guests shouldn’t harm the host or do anything disrespectful.

    “So sit down. We can’t talk while standing.”

    “Haah….”

    Francesca sat down opposite me.

    I tilted the steaming teapot to fill a cup, then smelled it.

    Hmm. It’s definitely jasmine tea. Nice. I sipped the normal tea without the terrible mint taste and casually asked Francesca a question.

    “Are you really not going to withdraw from the black market?”

    “No.”

    Francesca was resolute. A very consistent answer.

    Without even looking at Francesca, I continued my questions while nonchalantly drinking tea.

    “Even though he’ll give you the information you want now and continue to provide information if you withdraw from the black market?”

    “The cost-benefit doesn’t work out.”

    Francesca started calculating.

    “Receiving information in exchange for leaving the Palm Tree Guild alone isn’t profitable.”

    “It wasn’t money we were going to receive in the first place.”

    Initially, Hormoz gave an ambiguous answer that he might or might not sell one piece of information. And now Hormoz promises to provide information continuously if we accept just one proposal.

    It’s an attractive offer.

    Not just one piece of information, but multiple pieces. No special price to pay. Just let Hormoz continue to be the tiger.

    After all, the military command has no plans to continue the crackdown. Hormoz just doesn’t know that.

    So it’s good for us. Information comes rolling in even if we do nothing.

    I mentioned this fact and gently probed Francesca.

    “We have nothing to lose.”

    “Why do you think there’s no loss?”

    Francesca asked. Looking up, I saw Francesca sitting in a languid posture, looking at me.

    As a pair of violet eyes turned toward me, Francesca’s lips curved into a smile.

    “If we just went with this and the negotiation broke down, clashing with the Guild Master, we could push out the Palm Tree Guild as planned and take both money and information.”

    Francesca smiled brightly.

    “That’s a loss. Money and information. I’d have to give up one when I could have both.”

    “……”

    “I want both.”

    “You’re quite greedy.”

    I quietly laughed and tilted my teacup.

    After taking a sip of jasmine tea, I carefully set down the cup and took out a cigarette. Somehow Hormoz knew I was a smoker. He even provided an ashtray, not just a water pipe.

    I pulled the ashtray closer and, with a strong Imperial tobacco in my mouth, fell into deep thought.

    And so silence fell.

    “……”

    “……”

    With only the sound of boiling tea water spreading quietly. The silence was broken when the ashtray was about half full and the tobacco in my hand had burned down to almost just the filter.

    “…What are you thinking about, Officer?”

    “Just… contemplating what to say later.”

    “What kind of proposal are you considering that requires so much thought? Were you always such a deep thinker?”

    Well, I don’t know if I think a lot or a little.

    But one thing is clear.

    I put out my cigarette in the ashtray and stood up.

    “A way to satisfy both you, Francesca, and Hormoz.”


    0 Comments

    Heads up! Your comment will be invisible to other guests and subscribers (except for replies), including you after a grace period.
    Note
    // Script to navigate with arrow keys