Ch.348Episode 14 – One Religion, One Faith, Two Saints

# Winter’s Passing Chill

Though winter had passed, the early morning air was still quite cold.

At precisely 5 o’clock, amid the thick, hazy fog.

As the crimson flame of the candlestick melted into his pupils, Pope John XVI, hands clasped behind his back, slowly lowered his gaze.

On the desk, mountains of scriptures and documents were piled. On this rather modest desk—seemingly too plain for a Pope’s use—lay a single letter and envelope, with a dove holding a letter clearly impressed in the red wax seal.

Even upon close inspection, there was nothing remarkable about the seal.

Unlike the cardinals who imbued meaning by cramming various symbols into designs barely two finger joints in size, the dove holding the letter carried no particular significance. It merely certified that this was correspondence for communication.

In the Vatican, where everything moved at a glacial pace, Pope John XVI, leader of a religion, had never received such a plain letter. In fact, it was rare for him to receive any correspondence at all.

However, the name written at the bottom of the letter caught Pope John XVI’s attention.

Lucia.

The message written in simple handwriting was clear.

‘I wish to see you again.’

Pope John XVI stared intently at the letter.

The image of the Pope, supporting his chin and lips with his hand in deep contemplation, mingled with the crimson light streaming through the door crack. The elderly clergyman, lost in thought, seemed to have forgotten even to blink.

Then suddenly.

His hands, clasped as if in prayer, fell apart, and Pope John XVI’s lips parted.

“Where is Lucia now?”

# Episode 14 – One Religion, One Faith, Two Saints

There’s a term called “black company.”

It refers to businesses that don’t comply with established labor laws, demanding excessive work from employees or forcing them to work in harsh conditions.

Unstable employment environments, long working hours, workplace abuse, and closed community cultures.

The criteria defining black companies are diverse, and those who work in such places live with physical and mental fatigue, suffering, and chronic occupational diseases.

In that sense, intelligence agencies can be considered a nation’s representative malicious black companies.

Wages are only slightly higher than those of civil servants, but the working environment often rivals that of small and medium-sized enterprises.

Irregular work hours are commonplace. When emergencies arise, you can’t even go home. If you’re unlucky, you might have to endure years in remote or dangerous regions that others would never want to visit. The competitive work system and promotion structure are also cited as major causes of the toxic company atmosphere.

But even a mouse hole has its sunny days, and there’s always a way out even if the sky falls.

With over a decade of experience in intelligence work, I’ve not only learned to endure the harsh company life.

I’ve reached a level where I can find ways to enjoy it.

“Ah, the embassy as expected. They know how to eat like the honey pot team they are.”

At an Eastern food specialty restaurant in the center of Laterano, I picked up a generous portion of fresh sashimi and nodded in appreciation, repeatedly expressing my admiration.

The soft, chewy flesh fills my mouth.

The white, elastic meat, firm enough to push against my teeth, gets chopped by my molars. The sashimi, seasoned with sauce localized for foreign palates, dances on my tongue with its rich flavor.

“Mmm…”

After stuffing my mouth with sashimi and downing beer into my stomach, I finished my meal with frivolous exclamations.

Seeing me like this, the precious young master from England clicked his tongue as if witnessing a rare spectacle.

“Really, why do you eat like that? Can’t you eat more quietly?”

“Tsk! Don’t speak carelessly if you don’t know. Do you have any idea how delicious alcohol tastes when you’re skipping work…?”

“Isn’t drinking during work hours a problem to begin with…?”

With nothing to do and feeling bored, and growing tired of the hotel meals, I went out for breakfast with Camilla.

Hotel meals are always delicious, but one cannot live on the same food forever. After leaving the hotel, we set out in search of exotic cuisine.

Unfamiliar with local conditions and geography, I was worried about where to eat without being taken advantage of by hyenas targeting tourists. At that moment, I received a restaurant recommendation from an intelligence officer who had been stationed in Laterano for over three years.

And it was a jackpot.

“Wow, this is killer. I thought my teeth would fall out.”

The Eastern food specialty restaurant recommended by the intelligence officer was undoubtedly among the best I’ve visited in this neighborhood.

It was so delicious that it rivaled the sushi I had eaten with locals during a long-ago assignment in Japan.

“Japan?”

Camilla, chewing on fish meat, tilted her head.

“Ah, you mentioned you’ve been to Japan before?”

“Yes. I went there briefly for North Korean operations.”

When an intelligence officer from the agency goes to Japan or China, it’s almost certainly for North Korean operations. Of course, there are operations targeting Japan and China as well, but given the nature of South Korean intelligence agencies, North Korean operations take precedence.

Taking a gulp of draft beer as delicious as Namabiru, I lowered my voice so others couldn’t hear and began to share my story.

“There are external organizations like Chongryon in Japan, and the commies have built up considerable expertise in Japan over decades, but the real substance is not in Japan but in Eurasian countries like China or Russia, Middle Eastern regions like Iran and Syria, or South American countries represented by Venezuela.”

“Because they’re friendly to North Korea and generally have a lot to exploit?”

“Exactly.”

No matter how much movies and dramas portray the commies as shadowy figures capable of shaking the Korean Peninsula at any moment, or as human weapons who can single-handedly face dozens, that’s just a fiction created by the media.

Whether it’s the State Security Department, the Reconnaissance General Bureau, or the Cultural Exchange Bureau, no matter how skilled the commies are, it’s nearly impossible for them to bypass the intelligence assets scattered everywhere. The National Intelligence Service and the Defense Intelligence Command aren’t fools, and there’s considerable North Korea-related intelligence provided by friendly and allied intelligence agencies.

That’s why North Korean intelligence agencies generally operate in friendly countries that turn a blind eye to their activities (ironically, Chinese and Russian intelligence agencies also exchange information with the NIS) or conflict zones where they can easily hide.

Conflict zones are particularly competitive for assignments because they offer opportunities to make money through drugs or smuggling.

In that context, intelligence officers dealing with North Korea should logically compete to go to such dangerous regions, but as with most things in life, things don’t always follow logical patterns.

Ironically, the tier-one countries that South Korean intelligence officers want to be assigned to aren’t places like Syria but friendly nations like Japan.

The reason is simple.

“It’s good for leisure.”

I added while sipping my draft beer.

“The most painful thing about going abroad is the local food, but in Japan, the food suits our taste, and it’s close, making travel convenient. Adapting to the time difference is much easier too. The culture is somewhat similar, and there are many staff who speak Japanese, making it easier to apply.”

Of course, while applying might be easy, being selected as a Japan regional officer requires fierce competition. Japanese learned from school or travel is far from sufficient. Those who studied at prestigious Japanese universities and staff who have lived there for years start from a completely different position.

While there’s less competition for unpopular languages like Arabic or Spanish, Japanese has competitors everywhere. Similarly, Chinese for China and English for English-speaking regions don’t offer significant advantages.

Nevertheless, Japan remains a preferred posting for most intelligence officers.

“Well, even though I’ve described it negatively, there’s actually a lot to do when handling the Japan region. Developed countries are areas of interest for almost all intelligence agencies.”

If anything, I’m the outlier, having primarily traveled through China, the Middle East, and South America.

“If I had known this, I should have quietly accepted when my uncle offered to place me in Japan. Thinking about getting malaria and suffering terribly…”

“That’s all in the past now. Let’s finish this and go. It’s about time.”

“Let’s do that.”

I clinked glasses with Camilla and downed my beer.

*

After starting our small deviation by drinking in broad daylight, we headed to an event venue located in the center of Laterano.

Overshadowed by the canonization and inauguration ceremonies, the church has been hosting numerous international events since the beginning of the year.

Among the many diverse events, the grandest in scale is the ‘New Year Event Hosted by Foreign Expatriate Associations.’

Passing under the banner hanging in the hotel lobby, I could see the crowd filling the event hall.

“Wow, there are so many people.”

“In any culture, socializing is a major priority. When you’re in a foreign land without connections, you naturally gather with your compatriots.”

Today’s event was a social gathering hosted by the expatriate association, but it wasn’t just expatriates attending.

I muttered while glancing at the suited men moving around in small groups.

“Those are people from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.”

The suited men wandering around the venue were officials from the church’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

One might wonder why foreign ministry officials would attend an event for expatriates, but in such settings, the role of diplomats becomes extremely important.

Correspondents from the home country, trading company representatives who export goods, travel agency presidents who consistently attract tourists, scholars pursuing knowledge, artists dreaming of becoming masters.

Among expatriates, there are many with varying degrees of power. And those who attend such events to add prestige are mostly successful in their respective fields.

Therefore, the church’s diplomats participated in the event to maintain connections for smooth operations.

And the same applies to spies disguised as diplomats.

As soon as we entered the venue, a suited man loitering in the lobby widened his eyes. Then, with a smile on his face, he rushed over in one breath.

“Oh my, sir. What brings you here!”

“Ah, good to see you. It’s been a while.”

I exchanged friendly greetings with the suited man. Despite wearing no identification, we could recognize each other at a glance.

The suited man before me was an embassy staff member stationed in the church.

“I heard you’ve been very busy lately.”

“What’s there to be busy about? Civil servant work is predictable.”

“As a civil servant myself, I know well. This time, I’m indebted to the Abas people.”

“Between allies, there’s no need for such formalities…”

Only then did I look up to read the inscription on the banner.

‘Hosted by the Fatalia Expatriate Association, Welcome Ceremony for Homeland Trainees.’

Counselor of the Fatalia Embassy to the church.

And regional intelligence officer of the National Security Bureau.

After exchanging cordial greetings with the intelligence officer from an allied country, I skipped the pleasantries and got straight to the point.

“By the way, where is Ms. Ranieri?”

*

Many people overlook the fact that expatriate events are not purely civilian-organized.

While expatriates are legally treated as foreign citizens, there are also those who are not.

Citizens who maintain dual nationality or simply stay abroad for personal reasons are all citizens that the government must care for, and diplomats dispatched to the local area are the closest ones who can look after them, including expatriates who maintain their identity without forgetting their roots.

And as those in the know are well aware, embassies are essentially dens of spies.

Second and third-generation immigrants working in foreign government agencies, businesspeople running trading companies and travel agencies, those who obtained citizenship through military service, correspondents dispatched by media outlets and freelance journalists, and so on.

There are many people with the potential to “cooperate” with the “company” at any time, and for intelligence officers looking to hire new informants, such events are essentially job markets.

I boldly walked through the midst of Fatalia Republic’s intelligence officers bustling about.

Word of our appearance at the event must have spread quickly, as diplomats from both the church and Fatalia, as well as thirsty birds, began to stick to us persistently, becoming quite annoying.

I politely fended them off while striding through the venue.

And in the midst of it all, I succeeded in finding my informant.

“Here you are, Ms. Francesca.”

Surrounded by people, Francesca’s gaze slowly turned toward me.

Putting down her wine glass, she greeted me with a beautiful smile.

“You’re late? I see the Hero has come too.”

“The road was congested, so we were delayed!”

“Who are these people?”

Francesca introduced them, pointing to those seated at the table.

“These are professors from Fatalia. We connected at a magic university exchange event. This is Major Fredrik Nostrum, a military attaché working at the Abas Ministry of Defense. And this is Camilla Rowell, a colleague of mine and the attaché.”

Well, I’m sure you’ve all heard their names at least?

Francesca added with a smile.

The people at the table were professors affiliated with prestigious universities in Fatalia. In other words, they were faculty members from universities known worldwide.

Camilla greeted the professors respectfully, and I also checked the identities of the participants while pretending to greet them.

One professor involved in defense contract research and military magic development, three professors who received government medals for participating in magic stone refining technology improvement projects, and doctoral advisors whose stock was rising due to newly published papers.

Indeed, these were connections befitting Francesca, who had received calls from various universities and institutions.

Other intelligence officers might salivate at the sight, but I didn’t want to create friction with the Fatalia intelligence officers watching the table. Besides, these weren’t the connections I needed.

So I extracted just Francesca and escaped from the table.

“You’re busy from the morning.”

“It’s not particularly busy compared to the old days.”

Lightly playing it cool, Francesca lit a magic cigarette. Taking out the now-familiar hapo stone pipe, she lit it and, puffing out smoke, asked a question.

“By the way, where did the Hero go? I saw her branching off on the way here.”

“I requested that she give us some space. She’s probably eating somewhere.”

Camilla said she wanted to hang out with Francesca too, but she didn’t refuse my request to step aside as we needed to discuss business.

She was eyeing the buffet food, so I cautiously guess she went to inhale that.

“I’ll get straight to the point. The Grand Duke wants to meet Camilla.”

I immediately presented the main point to Francesca.

“The Grand Duke wants to meet the Hero…?”

“I don’t know the exact reason either. But he seemed very eager to meet her.”

“Did you ask for the Hero’s opinion?”

“Not yet. Do you have any guesses?”

“Guesses…”

With the pipe in her mouth, Francesca fell into deep thought.

The reason why the Grand Duke wanted to contact Camilla. Francesca speculated about it like this.

“The Grand Duke’s reason for wanting to meet the Hero is likely curiosity.”

“Curiosity?”

“Because she came from another world. Although it’s been well over 50 years since he retired from the magical community, the Grand Duke is still a mage. And mages are people who cannot resist curiosity.”

Francesca believed that the Grand Duke’s reason for wanting to meet Camilla lay in curiosity. It was an interpretation that his curiosity about knowledge and culture from another world drew him to her.

Of course, the Grand Duke wasn’t seeking to meet Camilla solely out of curiosity. Francesca put down her pipe briefly and added:

“Even if that’s not the case, there are plenty of reasons why the Grand Duke would want to meet the Hero. First thing that comes to mind is knowledge.”

“Knowledge.”

“You have some knowledge about magic too, don’t you, Attaché?”

I nodded.

Francesca’s voice continued.

“The Magic Tower basically has various schools. Among them, the ones with the deepest history are the Sorcery School and the Astrology School. But there’s another school that maintains the center of the magical society, right?”

“You’re referring to the Elemental School.”

The Elemental School. One of the three major schools of the Magic Tower and the one dealing with the broadest range of magic.

“The definition of elemental magic varies among scholars, but commonly, elemental magic is the foundation of various magics. That’s why mages of the Elemental School can wield diverse magics. And that’s also the limitation of elemental magic.”

Elemental magic is the foundation of most magics. Just as sorcery forms the basis of curse magic, necromancy, and astrology, elemental magic, along with alchemy, is widely used in various sectors of society.

The problem was that the scope of elemental magic was too broad.

“In elemental magic, there are many magics that are opposite to each other. A mage who holds flame cannot handle water, and a mage born with wind cannot move earth. But the real problem is that even mages with the same attribute find it difficult to interact.”

For example, let’s assume there’s a mage who handles flames.

There are many mages who handle flames, but the flames they can control are all different.

Someone’s flame might be powerful enough to devour trees, while another’s might be so weak it can barely light a pile of firewood.

Also, someone might handle white flames while another handles red flames. You don’t have to look far—just look at Camilla and the Grand Duke. They use the same ability, but their flames differ in color.

Francesca speculated that this was why the Grand Duke wanted to meet Camilla.

More precisely,

“He’s curious. Just how far the Hero’s abilities extend. Didn’t you see it too? The Hero’s flames that burned the trees of the Northern Rift that even the Imperial Army couldn’t touch, and devoured the Naroda Mountains.”

I bit my lip and let out a faint sigh. It was because I couldn’t guess the Grand Duke’s true intentions.

It was difficult to infer the thoughts of a grand mage, and Camilla’s abilities had not yet been clearly revealed. It had been months since news came that research was being conducted at the Magic Tower, but somehow there was no word that the research had concluded.

How should I analyze this? As I was contemplating various analytical techniques, I suddenly asked Francesca a question.

“But what does the Grand Duke intend to do with information about Camilla? Is he planning to write a paper or something?”

“I don’t know that either. However, although it’s just my personal speculation, there is one possibility.”

“What is it?”

“Apprenticeship.”

Francesca said.

“The Grand Duke, born with a talent rarely seen in history, who served as the first dean of the Elemental School. Similarly, the Hero, who is often compared to grand mages with talent alone, without any education.”

The descendant of the grand mage said.

“Perhaps the Grand Duke wants to take the Hero as his disciple.”

“…”

“It’s not an entirely implausible idea, is it?”