Ch.24Episode 2 – Heroes of the Continent

Ekaterina from the Counter-Intelligence Department recognized the foreign operatives.

Having worked in the Foreign Operations Department, I know something about the relationship between Counter-Intelligence and Foreign Operations. Agents and counter-intelligence officers aren’t close enough to recognize each other just by face.

This is because their areas of activity don’t overlap, so they rarely encounter each other.

Yet Ekaterina recognized the operatives.

How did she recognize them…?

“Major?”

“Y-yes?”

“Are you alright…?”

Camilla Lowell approached me with a perplexed expression.

“Ah, I apologize. I was just thinking…”

“Geez, you had me worried.”

She smiled slightly.

Lucia the priestess, who had somehow approached us, greeted us cheerfully.

“It’s been a while, Camilla.”

“Miss Lucia!”

“It’s been a long time, Major Frederick.”

“Yes… Nice to see you.”

We exchanged greetings while reporters with cameras calculating their angles for a scoop flashed their cameras from a distance.

Through the storm of camera shutters, someone’s voice was heard.

“The heroes have gathered in one place.”

Episode 2 – Heroes of the Continent

For two hours, I moved around the banquet hall fulfilling official duties.

I reviewed the official schedule with church officials, checked security with the Inquisition Department, and even lined up with diplomats to determine which countries to visit first.

Middle-aged men with thinning hair slicked back with wax to appear fuller kept bothering me.

“Major, could I have a word with you…”

“Ah, I’m sorry, Ambassador. I have an urgent matter to attend to…”

“Frederick? It’s been a while! You remember me, right?”

“Ah- y-yes, Consul!”

“Haha. I’m honored you remember! About what I mentioned last time…”

My heart pounded every time foreigners whose names I barely remembered thrust their faces in front of mine.

Amid numerous requests, proposals, and discreet bribes, there were only a few things I could say.

“I’ll relay that to the Foreign Ministry…”

“That’s beyond my authority… Oh! There’s the Ambassador…”

“Ah, no! I can’t accept something like this…!”

I politely declined with my best civil servant mindset.

Passing work to another department is a brilliant method that works in any world.

I don’t understand why they offer bribes.

I managed to block all attempts to stuff unnumbered gold bars and jewels into my pockets.

It wasn’t easy pushing away people old enough to be my father.

But I had a job to do, so I somehow managed to break free.

I moved carefully to avoid bumping into others, but…

“Ouch!”

This kind of situation always happens.

I habitually took out my handkerchief and handed it to the woman.

“Are you alright?”

“Ow… yes…”

The woman, slightly frowning, looked at the spilled white wine with regret and clicked her tongue.

Come to think of it, I’ve seen her face a few times in the Inquisition Department’s press room.

It wasn’t hard to notice this was intentional. Reporters desperate for a scoop don’t hesitate to do such things.

So I quickly pressed the handkerchief into her hand and tried to leave, but…

“W-wait a moment!”

The reporter grabbed my hand.

“Please, reporter, what are you doing?”

“How did you know I’m a…”

“I’m on official duty right now. Please let go.”

“Just one interview…!”

I escaped from the reporter’s grip using a hand technique I learned during agent training.

“M-Major…!”

“Yes- sorry. Just passing through.”

I hurried away as plainclothes agents quietly approached and pushed the reporter aside.

Suddenly, I wondered if this was what I became an agent for, and felt disillusioned.

I should have listened to my grandfather and stayed away from intelligence agencies. I got into this mess by trying to follow my father into the military.

“Major, I’m from Rohana Times…”

“Please, enough.”

Stop approaching me, you bastards.

*

The pen-wielding thugs were eventually dragged away by plainclothes Inquisition agents patrolling the banquet hall.

They all refused firmly at first, but turned pale and walked out on their own when IDs were shoved in their faces.

That’s the image of the counter-intelligence agency here.

They’re a group with power rivaling Cold War intelligence agencies. Even as the fervor of espionage has died down, they maintain a reputation comparable to the CIA or KGB.

Watching the reporters being dragged away, Pippin commented:

“The Inquisition Department is still the same.”

“They’ve been cracking heretics’ heads with scripture for hundreds of years, can’t underestimate them.”

Several plainclothes agents flinched at my muttering.

Seems they’re still sensitive about their head-cracking reputation.

Jake leaned against the wall, grinning as he said:

“Aren’t all agencies similar in terms of experience?”

“True.”

In this dark fantasy world, every country engages in press suppression and political purges as standard practice.

Even hundreds of years ago, countries maintained institutions like secret police and public security.

These evolved into today’s counter-intelligence agencies.

However, only a few nations across the continent can properly conduct intelligence operations (information collection-analysis/foreign operations).

For this reason, people have fantasies about intelligence agencies.

Even people living in the 21st century have fantasies about intelligence agencies. There’s a reason James Bond is so beloved.

But the reality is:

“I don’t want to work.”

“Me neither.”

“You idiots. Save that for when you’re at home.”

Pippin and Jake burst into laughter at my scolding.

“We need to be able to go home freely first.”

“How can we go home when we have to follow the Hero for years?”

This is frustrating.

“Hey, you’ll get leave for regrouping in between missions. Won’t you go home then?”

“Huh? We can go home?”

I pulled Jake and Pippin’s ears close and whispered.

These guys must be new to foreign operations.

“For security reasons, you have to go back for regular reports anyway.”

The two finally understood and exclaimed in realization.

Many people misunderstand, but being a spy doesn’t mean you can’t cross borders.

There are many ways to cross borders—overseas travel, work assignments, meeting with buyers—and if necessary, reasons can be fabricated.

“After this job, we’ll get a short vacation. As you know, our current situation is far from ideal.”

The operation team has only three agents.

Considering that operation teams typically consist of anywhere from a dozen to dozens of members, including agents and local collaborators, we’re basically a skeleton crew.

Wah, I’m a baby operative.

Give me people. Give me budget.

Maybe not that dramatic, but I need to talk with the Colonel.

By now, the Colonel should have completely taken over Military Intelligence and be handling the handover with the Director. By the time we return home, he’ll be the Director.

Pippin and Jake seemed to catch on and nodded.

“Ah, understood.”

“Good, good. Now give me your reports.”

The three spies huddled together and began talking.

I only handled official duties today, so intelligence gathering was their responsibility.

Pippin spoke first. Her mission was collecting intelligence on terrorism.

“According to an Inquisition official, explosives transported through a publishing house were delivered to church people.”

“Did they identify who?”

“No. There’s only witness testimony from someone who glimpsed it while going to work at dawn, so it’s not very reliable. The ledgers are double-entry, making fund tracking impossible, and questioning the publishing house staff yielded nothing.”

Hmm.

It seems the Imperial Guard Department 2 put considerable effort into this front company.

The operative in charge was executed for some reason, making tracking difficult.

Interestingly, both sides’ claims align suspiciously well.

The Imperial Guard claims it was the work of “church insiders,” while the Inquisition says it was the work of Imperial Guard “operatives.”

Imperial Guard Department 2 delivered the bomb.

A church associate received it.

And,

Imperial Guard Department 1 knew the terror plan in detail.

How does this make any sense…?

Anyway, now that we’ve caught Ekaterina, squeezing the church side should yield some answers.

“Have the witness draw a composite sketch. Once it’s done, distribute it to the agents.”

“Yes.”

As Pippin withdrew, Jake approached.

His mission was intelligence gathering within the banquet hall.

“Raul seems to be checking Rafael lately. Though his support is lacking, he’s trying to undermine Rafael’s image through this opposition.”

“Black propaganda…”

I didn’t see him that way.

Raul seems unexpectedly power-hungry.

“And the plots against Saint Candidate Lucia have intensified. The main instigator hasn’t been identified.”

“Why? Wasn’t it Veronica?”

“No. She’s being attacked from all sides. Veronica accounts for only a small portion.”

This intelligence differed from my expectations.

“Veronica isn’t attacking Lucia?”

“Considering both direct and indirect means, she accounts for only about 20% of the attacks.”

If the total amount of conspiracy theories attacking Priestess Lucia is 100, then those originating from Veronica make up about 1/5. I expected at least half, but the proportion is smaller than anticipated.

Come to think of it, I don’t have much information about Veronica as a person. At most, a few game settings? Even those are mixed with community speculations, so they’re not entirely reliable.

There’s plenty of information about Saint Veronica, but little personal information about her.

Worth investigating.

“Put a tap on Veronica. Monitor who she meets.”

“That woman is here, you know?”

I reflexively looked up and scanned the surroundings.

Fortunately, Saint Veronica wasn’t visible within a few meters.

This seems too serious to give orders casually here.

I quietly whispered in Jake’s ear:

“Let’s talk about that later and move on.”

“Ah, the date for the saint election will be set soon.”

The saint election.

I’m keeping an eye on it, but there’s no reason to get involved, so I’m just observing.

“I heard that too. They say the Hero’s appointment ceremony will be held after the saint election.”

“Rafael’s faction wants to hold the election as soon as possible, while Raul’s faction is arguing for a slower pace.”

“Even if a date is set, we’ll still have to wait a bit…”

“For what? The Hero’s appointment ceremony?”

“Yes.”

I nodded.

Even in democratic countries, elections are run like long-distance marathons. In this place with a chaotic system, things won’t progress quickly. Soon, bribes will pour into the pockets of election officials.

The longer the election is delayed, the more some people gain financial profits and others political advantages.

More church people benefit the longer the schedule is delayed. The cardinals were just discussing a similar topic.

After some quick calculations, it seems the vote will take quite some time.

“It’ll take at least a month until the vote. Let’s move on for now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jake continued to brief me on the intelligence he had gathered.

“…That’s all the important intelligence. I’ll submit the rest in a report.”

“Alright. Both of you take a break.”

After they left, I got up and started wandering around.

Having already handled major issues before the briefing, all that remained were minor cooperation agreements.

I walked through the banquet hall with a lighter step.

I made eye contact with our ambassador, and several secretaries followed me. In South Korean terms, they’re at least 4th grade civil servants. Considering that commissioned officers (captain/lieutenant/second lieutenant) are equivalent to 7th grade, I’m not in a position to treat them casually.

But I can.

Because of my special status as a Hero’s companion and the powerful figures backing me.

So I freely moved between tables with several diplomats in tow.

I shook hands with ambassadors I’d met earlier and passed diplomatic documents to the secretaries.

I had a drink with corporate executives discussing business, and joined economic officials discussing land, sea, and air trade and continental economics.

I took photos with famous singers who had performed, and handed persistent reporters over to plainclothes agents.

Only after making a complete circuit of the banquet hall could I finally catch my breath.

“Phew… Thank you for your hard work, secretaries.”

“Not at all, Major, this is our job.”

The secretaries in formal attire smiled with armfuls of documents. Their smiles weren’t genuine.

*

As the party atmosphere intensified, conversations became lighter, with casual jokes and small talk.

“Employment indicators have significantly worsened… Exports are sluggish…”

“When the domestic economy slows down, export uncertainty increases. Then, the real economy becomes even more difficult…”

“Maritime insurance rates have risen too much because of pirates…”

Economic officials and corporate executives gathered to discuss the continent’s shattered economy. This is what passes for small talk among these people.

Right next to them, military attachés from embassies were huddled together carving meat.

“I heard there was a breach in the northern front recently? They say it was due to the demon race’s wave attacks.”

“Well, not exactly a breach… The defense line was pushed back temporarily.”

“Oh my… Is the front line alright?”

“The frontline units were pulled back for reorganization, and the commanders were punished. That’s how it ended.”

“Haha. Many people must be waiting for the next personnel announcement.”

Northern front. Wave attacks. Defense line retreat. Unit reorganization. Punishment of those involved.

I stored these keywords in my head and checked if my fountain pen was working properly.

Defense and economy. The most important elements directly linked to security. I’ll collect these small pieces of intelligence and pass them to the Colonel, who will forward them to superiors, and policy directions for the next quarter will be determined based on this information.

This is typically what white agents do. Since their activities often overlap with diplomats, intelligence agencies either appoint their people as ambassadors or recruit from foreign ministries.

Originally, there’s only a thin line between diplomats and spies.

“Major!”

It was Camilla Lowell’s voice.

Looking around, I saw her waving from among church people. Priestess Lucia was right beside her.

“What are you all doing here?”

I slipped into the seat with a familiar smile. As I sat down, I scanned the faces. They were all people I had memorized from reports before coming to the church.

All familiar faces.

I greeted them warmly and joined the conversation. Since they weren’t particularly important figures, no valuable information was exchanged.

And as usual in such gatherings, people chatted briefly before dispersing.

In the end, only those with nothing left to do remained at the table.

A spy with no more tasks.

A Hero who had made all necessary appearances.

A Saint candidate uncomfortable with the event itself.

The three of us formed a kind of bond in our limited social circles and lack of interest in the event.

So light, casual conversation began.

“You look very tired, Major.”

“Haha, thank you for your concern, Priestess Lucia. Please don’t worry too much.”

“Are you taking your supplements?”

“Of course. How do you find the food?”

“It’s delicious!”

Camilla Lowell smiled energetically, and Priestess Lucia watching her had a gentle smile.

It was like the warm gaze of someone looking at an adorable child.

Seeing this, I could tell their relationship was indeed close.

Camilla Lowell, lonely after falling into another world, and Lucia the priestess, isolated from society after being subjected to plots.

Perhaps they feel a sense of kinship. Birds of a feather. Moreover, being bound by their relationship as Hero and companion, they’re expected to form a strong bond going forward.

As I watched Camilla Lowell and Lucia the priestess chatting amicably, I thought about what to write in my report and was raising my wine glass filled with water to organize my thoughts when:

“Frederick Nostrim?”

Someone called me from behind.

The informal address made me think it might be someone I knew, so I reflexively turned my head.

Something cold and blunt touched my neck.

And then,

-Psshk!

The pen pressed against my neck made a chilling mechanical sound.