Ch.25Episode 2 – Heroes of the Continent

I can’t feel any strength in my body.

I can’t speak or move.

Even when I open my mouth, no voice comes out, and my limbs are trembling weakly.

A seizure.

And so, I collapsed onto the table in an unsightly position.

My head hurts.

I’m dizzy.

I can’t breathe.

My vision blurs, and convulsions begin.

This feels familiar somehow.

Hemolysis. Blood coagulation. Subcutaneous hemorrhage. Anemia. Organ damage. Headache. Dizziness. Respiratory distress. Abdominal pain. Full-body paralysis. Blurred vision. Speech impairment. Convulsions. Seizures. Blood vessels. Lymph nodes. Acetylcholine. Nervous system infiltration. Respiratory failure. Atropine injection. Oxime injection.

Countless keywords flash through my mind.

Simultaneously, a few words come to mind.

VX. Sarin. Soman. Botulinum toxin. Novichok.

I instinctively realized it. Knowledge learned through two lifetimes supported my coherent thinking.

So, I’ve been…

Poisoned with a nerve agent.

Episode 2 – Heroes of the Continent

-Clatter.

Camilla Lowell put down her utensils. Her stomach was full, and drowsiness was washing over her.

When asked if something was wrong, she simply smiled and said no.

Though smiling on the outside, her mind was in turmoil.

Understandably so, as just a month ago, she had been an ordinary university student.

She was born in a family home in London, England, and had been attending university.

Considering the average property prices in London and the prestige of her university, she was far from ordinary in others’ eyes. But Camilla Lowell considered herself an ordinary person.

Camilla Lowell is a 23-year-old university student.

She is an ordinary person.

That’s why she found it difficult to accept the situation unfolding before her eyes.

“Hey! Keep his mouth open! Don’t let him commit suicide!”

“Stay still, you bastard!”

People who had been quietly sipping wine moments ago were now pinning someone to the floor and putting them in shackles.

“Call a healing priest!”

The soldier who had been conversing with her just moments ago was now face-down on the table, trembling violently.

No, he was having a seizure.

His darkened skin and purple-tinged lips made him look like a frozen corpse, and his grotesquely contorted appearance resembled the transformation into a zombie from a movie.

Someone who had been laughing and talking just a minute ago was now dying.

He was the person in charge of her security.

He was a comrade.

*

It seems I’ve been hit with a nerve agent.

A poison needle disguised as a ballpoint pen. How romantic a weapon.

Someone once told me it was commonly used by the Reds. Was it Grandfather? Father? Or the instructor?

I can’t remember.

After more than 30 years, the memories have faded.

Someone approached from behind and stuck a poison needle in my neck. Judging by the symptoms, they used a nerve agent. An assassination. The perpetrator was probably one of those who set off the bomb. I had my doubts, but it turns out I was the target.

Whoever they are, they’re damn impressive. An assassination at a banquet hall. They must have waited for hours until I was vulnerable.

Yes, they’re a damn impressive bastard. With this much effort, I deserve to die. Though that bastard has probably swallowed poison and died by now too. See you in hell.

Who could have done this? The Imperial Guard again? I might not know about nerve agents, but poison needles disguised as pens are hard to come by. Must be an Imperial Guard operative.

Why carry out the terror attack? Did they dislike me?

Perhaps it’s a political operation for the Emperor’s plan to swallow both the Order and the Hero at once.

Perhaps it’s excessive loyalty from the Imperial Guard’s Second Bureau to gain the Emperor’s favor.

Perhaps the First and Second Bureaus of the Imperial Guard conspired to take me down.

Perhaps Veronica or someone from the Order saw me as an obstacle and wanted me dead.

Perhaps.

Even as my consciousness faded, I kept trying to understand the terrorist’s intentions.

I thought of the terrorist whose face, name, and affiliation I didn’t know.

Amid these thoughts, I suddenly felt a sense of futility.

What’s the point of thinking about this? I’m going to die soon anyway. Since I was hit near the lymph nodes, I’ll die within tens of seconds at the latest.

My vision has already gone dark, and only my consciousness remains.

It hurts like hell.

It feels like being stabbed all over with a greatsword. My head throbs with pain, my intestines twist, and I can barely breathe.

I’m just on the verge of death.

Actually, if there were an antidote, I could save my life. I might end up with permanent damage to my central nervous system if I’m unlucky, but I could survive nonetheless.

If only I had atropine and oxime injections.

But such things don’t exist in this world. If I really wanted treatment, I’d need to find a healing priest of at least bishop rank.

Note that’s the “minimum” rank required.

Intelligence agencies aren’t stupid; they’ve developed nerve agents that are difficult to neutralize by grinding down science majors.

Of course, if a healing priest of bishop rank or higher were to pour healing on me, it would be a different story. But someone with that much holy power isn’t easy to summon.

Unless I’m extremely lucky and such a healing priest happens to be right next to me, I’ll just have to die.

If someone notices I’ve been poisoned with a nerve agent and finds such a person before I suffocate, I might survive.

But I don’t think that’s going to happen.

*

“Please…! Just…!”

Lucia held the collapsed major and poured holy power into him.

She had experience serving as a healing priest in the military and had occasionally treated patients with serious illnesses or those suffering from poisoning.

That’s how she noticed he was poisoned, and she poured holy power into him.

It didn’t work.

“Why…! Isn’t it working…!”

Lucia isn’t well-versed in medicine. It’s not that she’s stupid. All healing priests of the Order are like that.

When a flick of the finger can make a cripple stand up straight, and a patient on their deathbed can get up and tap dance, there’s no need to study medicine. That’s why medical professors and healing priests constantly belittle each other as blockheads and nerds.

Anyway, she didn’t know what kind of poison it was. So she mistakenly assumed it was a poison commonly found in nature.

Although Lucia had exceptionally high holy power compared to her peers, her strength alone was insufficient to resolve the situation.

Some shouted to call a healing priest, others yelled that they needed to get outside—it was chaos.

Only the intelligence agency people seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation, with expressions that said, “We’re screwed now.”

As someone was dying in the banquet hall filled with screams and shouts,

“Excuse me.”

A hero appeared.

*

Is this my first time dying from poison? My consciousness keeps coming and going.

Is this what it feels like to be under the influence of sleeping pills? It might actually be a good sign.

The fact that I’m regaining consciousness despite the nerve agent paralyzing my breathing suggests some kind of treatment is taking place.

Honestly, while I want to live, fear is the stronger emotion. The cessation of breathing means oxygen supply to the brain has been cut off, suggesting a high probability of permanent damage.

Well, I don’t want to worry about something that hasn’t happened yet.

That’s a problem to solve when the time comes.

Holding onto my hazy consciousness, I pondered deeply.

Why is all this happening?

Why try to kill me with a bomb?

Why go as far as using a poison needle to kill me?

Why was I pushed aside to save my life?

Why was I warned about the terrorist attack?

I thought about it.

I kept thinking.

Then suddenly, a question occurred to me.

The terrorist attack.

Yekaterina intervened at the perfect moment, just before the bomb exploded, saving my life. This means she clearly knew the means, method, location, and timing of the attack.

In other words, she already had detailed knowledge of the attack plan.

But,

Why was there no information about the second attack?

*

“W-who are you…?”

“Oh my, are you Camilla Lowell?”

Black hair cascaded like a waterfall.

A woman in white priestly robes smiled gently, her tear mole adding to her charm.

As the soft light emanating from her palm touched him, his blackened skin gradually returned to normal.

The treatment that showed no improvement despite Lucia pouring holy power was rapidly progressing with just a gesture.

A miracle.

A miracle had occurred.

His skin had regained its color, and a doctor who rushed in began performing artificial respiration.

The unnamed woman who had completed the emergency treatment slowly rose from the floor.

She spoke.

“I am Veronica, the 58th Saint of the Order.”

The Saint smiled.

It was a brilliant smile, like a beautiful painting.

“Nice to meet you, Hero.”

*

Something.

Something is happening.

Numerous figures are intertwined like a spider’s web around the bomb attack.

The Imperial Court. The Royal Family. The Order. Military Intelligence. The Inquisition. The Imperial Guard. Counter-espionage Department. Counterintelligence Department. Foreign Operations Department.

Three nations.

Three organizations.

At the center of this whirlpool of different desires is the Hero.

The more I think about it, the more I feel like I’m being swept away in a torrent.

My head hurts.

Perceptions that don’t lead to thoughts, judgments that don’t become thoughts—they all wander through my mind as mere musings.

I’m dizzy.

Unnatural thoughts continue to flow.

…Come to think of it,

All the circumstances are unnaturally connected.

…Clearly, during the bomb attack, the First Bureau agent calculated the exact timing to save my life.

Since I’m someone who seeks information, not a mind-reader, I don’t know what Yekaterina was thinking when she saved me. I can’t grasp the intentions of the Imperial Guard.

But one thing is certain.

During the bomb attack, the First Bureau knew the “detailed” terrorist plan inside out.

However, after the bomb attack, the First Bureau’s intelligence-gathering capability dropped significantly. They didn’t even know when the next attack would occur or what means would be used.

Timing is crucial here.

Intelligence-gathering capability was shattered “after” the bomb attack.

The “why” is no longer important.

What matters is “how.”

How did a bomb go off in the center of the Order? How was an assassination possible at an Order event venue?

How did Yekaterina know about the terrorist plan? How did the Counter-espionage agent not know about it?

Yekaterina belongs to the First Bureau’s Counterintelligence Department of the Imperial Guard; how did she know about the attack?

The embassy agent belongs to the First Bureau’s Counter-espionage Department of the Imperial Guard; how did he predict the attack?

These are the “First Bureau.”

Spy catchers. Security police.

Although I come from the Foreign Operations Department, I know that security police use informants remarkably well. In other words, moles. In our terms, straws.

The First Bureau inserted a mole into the terrorist organization. They either planted their own agent or bribed someone to cooperate.

Valuable information is based on reliability, and reliable information comes from “trustworthy” people.

In fact, Yekaterina acted as if she knew all about the bomb attack plan. Considering how the Inquisition and Military Intelligence were in panic, the Imperial Guard’s intelligence-gathering and analysis capabilities are remarkably impressive.

But those capabilities failed to predict the second attack. They knew nothing about the means, method, date, or time.

If I were the terrorist, I would have suspected an information leak as soon as the bomb attack failed. And I would have found and killed the mole. I would have done the same.

If the First Bureau was tracking terrorist movements through a mole, it makes sense. The assassination attempt failed, and the mole was killed, so naturally, their operational capability was shattered.

The mole must meet at least four conditions:

Someone who has known both the Imperial Guard and the terrorists long enough to earn their trust.

Someone with access to the terrorist plans.

Someone who knew that bombs would be used in the attack.

And someone who was purged after the attack failed.

…There’s only one person who fits this description.

Someone who “brought in” the bomb, “handed it over” to someone from the Order, and had “high” enough clearance to access the terrorist plans.

Someone who was executed after the attack failed.

An agent whose body was found in a sewer a week after the attack.

Neither black nor white, but an ambiguous gray.

The Imperial Guard’s Second Bureau operative in charge of “Locust Publishing,” Yuri.

*

“His breathing has returned to normal now.”

The doctor wiped sweat from his brow with his sleeve as he explained the condition.

“The treatment is complete, but we should monitor the patient’s condition a bit more after he regains consciousness. Since the poison was injected through a blood vessel in the neck, we need to check if there’s any damage to the brain…”

“Hup.”

Veronica poured holy power into the head area. A bright light filled the hospital room, startling the doctor.

As mentioned repeatedly, healing priests lack medical knowledge.

“He should be fine now.”

Veronica said in a calm tone. Her confident attitude could make anyone mistake her for a medical specialist.

Camilla Lowell bowed to her, Lucia gave a slight bow with a sour expression, and Veronica received their greetings with a bright smile.

Only Pippin and Jake sensed that something unusual had happened.

“Ah, are you the Major’s subordinates? Nice to meet you, I’m Veronica.”

Pippin and Jake awkwardly shook hands with Veronica.

After briefly greeting everyone in the room, Veronica left.

Looking at the door she had exited, the two spies opened their fists.

There was a note inside.

*

I seem to be breathing properly now, but every time air enters my lungs, it feels like my body is being torn apart.

My abdomen throbs with radiating pain as if being burned, and my lungs feel like each fiber is being ripped out. The area around my neck where the poison needle struck is in excruciating pain.

It hurts.

“…!”

What will happen to me now?

Will I wake up with all my limbs intact?

I seem to have discovered important information that needs to be conveyed. If only I could speak.

“Ma…!”

I wonder if the kids are okay?

Jake might be fine, but I’m worried about Pippin. He clearly isn’t cut out for fighting.

I hope Camilla Lowell isn’t too shocked. She’s been having a hard time lately. She shouldn’t be shaken by something like this.

Did Lucia the priest heal me? In games, you can quickly raise holy power by allocating stats, but I don’t know how it works here.

“Major…!”

Someone seems to be calling me.

Is it Mother? Or Grandfather? Perhaps Father?

…That doesn’t seem right.

They’re people I’ll never see again.

“Major…!”

My eyes opened.

“Major….”

Camilla Lowell was shedding tears that rolled down her cheeks.

Lucia the priest rushed off somewhere urgently, and I could hear commotion from a distance.

I tried to speak, opening and closing my mouth, but no voice came out.

“…”

“Pardon…?”

Camilla Lowell brought her ear closer to me.

Holding onto my hazy consciousness, I stammered out words.

“It hurts, damn it…”

It hurts like hell.

*

A summer night.

Dawn when everyone is sleepless.

An urgent message arrived at the Military Intelligence headquarters, which was on high alert.

It was a report that the assassination attempt on the operative had failed.