Ch.397Episode 16 – The Six Million Dollar Man

Corporations hate war, but warlords love it.

The longer a war continues, the more pie falls into the warlords’ mouths.

So warlords can’t help but love war.

War makes money.

And there’s no one in the world who hates money.

Episode 16 – The Six Million Dollar Man

Approach warlords with friendly inclinations toward Abas and establish good relations. Simultaneously, draw in their military power to eliminate hostile warlords.

That’s the essence of this operation.

Inside the safe house arranged through our informant.

I pointed to the symbols of three warlords pinned to the board and said:

“There are three major warlords representing this area. Asen, Sanya, and Hasan.”

The Asen tribe is the largest warlord among the neutral tribes, and the Sanya tribe is the largest warlord among the pro-imperial tribes. For convenience, I’ve designated these two warlords as “Group 1” and “Group 2” respectively.

And finally, the Hasan tribe. The boss of “Group 3” warlords, known for their pro-democratic state inclinations.

“This operation begins with gaining the trust of the Al-Hasan tribe. We start from the bottom, work our way up to win the heart of the Hasan tribe leader, and eventually recruit the entire Group 3.”

Using friendly warlords to intervene in local conflicts is a method favored by intelligence agencies of major powers like the United States and Russia. The National Intelligence Service and Intelligence Command have used similar methods.

Of course, the pioneer in this field is the British Empire. Divide and rule, represented by splitting and sowing discord, was Britain’s specialty when they ruled their colonies.

We’re going to use exactly that method.

“Hmm… I understand the plan.”

The intellectual from a prestigious British university nodded while crossing her arms. She was an intelligence officer hopeful who had experienced the realities of Africa and the Middle East through medical volunteer work and even interned at a British intelligence agency.

“Create discord between Group 1 and Group 2, represented by Asen and Sanya. The purpose of the discord is armed conflict. Once military confrontation begins, the power of both warlords will weaken, and Group 3 will seize the opportunity to absorb their pie and grow stronger. Is my understanding correct so far?”

“Precisely.”

Camilla kept her arms crossed. She looked somewhat dissatisfied, making me wonder if she didn’t like my plan, but fortunately, that wasn’t the case.

With a dissatisfied look, Camilla pushed out her lips and began to grumble.

“But why, of all the many examples, did Britain have to come up?”

“Well, obviously… because it’s Britain.”

“Oh, really!”

The British civilian raised her voice at the (former) East Asian intelligence officer. Why? What? It’s the truth.

I ducked to avoid the papers fluttering through the air.

“Well, well, what a great patriot we have here. What’s there to be proud of about creating the most independence days around the world…”

“Are you done talking?!”

“Camilla, do you have no conscience? Burning fields that farmers have painstakingly cultivated in African lands that your ancestors set on fire. Aren’t you ashamed?”

I continuously teased her while dodging the raging Camilla. If my colleagues from the Intelligence Command who knew me well had seen this, they would have whispered, “What’s wrong with that bastard? Did he eat something bad?”

But seeing Camilla’s bouncy reactions, I was sure those guys would have joined in and added their own comments. Her reactions were just too entertaining to watch.

After our squabble, it took us quite a while to return to our seats. While Camilla was cooling down, I dusted off the documents.

“Anyway, the goal of this operation is to lead Group 1 and Group 2 into armed conflict to weaken both forces. As you said, increasing Group 3’s influence is also an objective.”

“I understand the content. But there’s something that puzzles me.”

“What specifically puzzles you?”

“The armed conflict part.”

Having cooled down, Camilla returned to her usual self and asked a sharp question.

“How exactly do you plan to draw Group 1 and Group 2 into armed conflict? Even warlords would avoid fighting if they have something to lose.”

Good question.

“Take a look at this.”

I handed her a photo I’d taken from the board.

“This photo was taken last year by a war correspondent who worked in this area. It’s Sanya tribe territory, but the people in the picture are Group 1 fighters under the Asen tribe.”

The photo showed armed locals patrolling a village. Residents, presumably from the Sanya tribe, were watching the fighters with wary eyes, and an Asen soldier, clearly an orc even from a distance, was threatening residents with a large knife.

Seeing that scene, Camilla immediately furrowed her brow. Half because she’d seen something unpleasant, half because she wanted to examine the scene in the photo more closely.

“You said this was taken last year?”

“Yes.”

“This doesn’t seem like a one-time occurrence. Looking at how some people are watching the armed men with unsurprised expressions.”

An accurate analysis.

As Camilla suspected, the relationship between Asen and Sanya is terrible. Petty conflicts between the two tribes are frequent, and there have been several battles between the warlords this year alone.

I shared intelligence with Camilla as she examined the photo.

“According to my informant, there was a battle just last month.”

“Ah, I know about that. I read a brief article in a local newspaper a few days ago. There was a major battle in the province, and government forces intervened to quell it.”

“That’s a lie. As far as I know, government forces didn’t move until four days after the battle broke out.”

“What exactly happened?”

“It’s complicated to get into the specifics of justifications and such…”

I took a sip of tea and bluntly stated:

“Recently, the Sanya tribe forcefully demanded that the Haranan tribe, affiliated with the Asen tribe, join their warlord group.”

“Suddenly?”

“Well, it turns out there are phosphorus and nitrate mining sites in Haranan tribe territory.”

Phosphorus and nitrate are raw materials for gunpowder. They’re used in ammunition production and explosive manufacturing. That’s why most countries control the distribution of phosphorus and nitrate.

This was something Camilla knew well. She had once written a report on bomb terrorism by non-state actors. That report had caught her professor’s eye, earning her a recommendation letter for an internship at a British intelligence agency.

Fragmentary information came together in her mind. The knowledge and information analysis experience from her internship supported her thinking.

Having quickly completed her analysis, Camilla delivered the correct answer without much deliberation.

“The Asen tribe was mining raw materials for gunpowder in that area to produce ammunition.”

As she knew, it was very common for rebels to produce their own ammunition.

Bullet heads and casings can be easily obtained from overseas. If raw materials are supplied, self-production of ammunition is possible.

Her speculation continued.

“The Sanya tribe couldn’t supply their own ammunition, so they tried to secure a source. Is that right?”

“Correct.”

I shared additional intelligence with her, obtained from Viktor.

“The Sanya tribe first tried to persuade them with money, but when that didn’t work, they sent armed units to semi-threaten them. Unable to give up the mine, Asen eventually handed over some of the produced gunpowder under semi-coercion.”

“And then? What happened after that?”

“It’s obvious.”

Asen stopped supplying ammunition to Sanya.

That was the result of the last armed conflict.

*

As the example shows, the relationship between Group 1 and Group 2 was close to the worst possible. They would wage war if given the opportunity. That was the Military Intelligence Agency’s analysis, and I agreed.

After hearing the report, Leoni decided to use this situation to Abas’s advantage. She judged that by crippling Group 2, which was close to the Kiyen Empire, she could cut off the Empire’s hand.

And this operation is the hammer to cut off that hand. I’m the one wielding the hammer.

“So this mission must succeed at all costs. If you mess this up, you’re not just disqualified as an intelligence officer, but disqualified as a human being.”

“Ah, Osamu Dazai! The great writer!”

Camilla made a fuss about recognizing the novel reference.

For a moment, I thought she seemed quite nerdy, but if I said that out loud, I suspected I’d be met with a breath attack rather than flying papers, so I decided to keep quiet.

Anyway.

We sat around the table set up in the safe house kitchen and continued our discussion. There was a table in the living room too, but with many windows and thin curtains, it was difficult to avoid external surveillance.

Well, we could just buy and hang new curtains. Let’s think about that later.

“To instigate conflict, we need the help of the Hasan tribe. But realistically, why would these guys meet with foreign nobodies? That’s why we need to work our way up from the bottom.”

My plan was simple.

First target a tribal chief who has a close relationship with Sheikh Nasir Al-Hasan.

Build rapport and persistently express our desire to meet the Hasan tribal leader, and eventually, the Hasan leader will send someone after catching wind of it.

It might seem like a flimsy plan, but in a way, it’s the standard approach. It has less risk than direct contact.

Originally, scams are more effective when introduced by someone you know rather than a complete stranger. Intelligence agencies use similar methods when recruiting people.

“We’ll operate in the territory of the Al-Bas tribe, which is under Hasan’s command.”

I marked a red X on the map showing Group 3’s territory. It was Al-Bas’s sphere of influence.

Putting down the pen, I cited information from the Royal Intelligence Service. It was intelligence shared by the regional intelligence officer who had read the Hasan tribe’s fighter recruitment poster scanned at dawn.

“Currently, Group 3 is recruiting combat personnel. They’re even promising special treatment to valuable resources like mages and shamans.”

“That’s content from their propaganda. Are you planning to use that?”

“Something like that.”

Infiltrate Camilla, a mage the warlords are looking for, as a fighter. While it seems effective and attractive, this plan was too dangerous.

Sending an untrained civilian as an informant? If the higher-ups found out, they’d berate me for being crazy. Having Camilla in danger wasn’t a desirable situation for me either, so this plan was absolutely unusable.

Of course, there was an alternative.

“Now, Camilla. From now on, you’re my bodyguard.”

“What? Me?”

Camilla was startled and pointed at herself.

“A bodyguard! I don’t know anything about being a bodyguard. Even during my internship, I was mostly in the office and rarely went into the field. How am I supposed to be a bodyguard?”

“I’m not asking for professional bodyguard services like a protection officer. Just ‘pretend’ to be one.”

“Is there a reason?”

“Mages are rare personnel.”

Mages are valuable personnel. Advanced countries like Abas may have proper education systems and a stable supply of mages to the labor market, but the Moritani continent doesn’t.

Just as engineering graduates from prestigious Indian universities look for jobs in foreign companies or consider immigration, mages and shamans born on the Moritani continent often move to developed countries to make a living.

So there are only two types of mages left on the Moritani continent.

Locals who lack education and talent and just get by. Foreigners who walk into hell of their own accord to chase after employers who pay generously.

Camilla would use the latter identity.

“Here, someone who has a mage as a bodyguard is either extremely wealthy or powerful. You can tell just by looking at how warlord leaders keep mages or shamans as close aides.”

“Ah. So you want to appear as someone with high social status?”

“Exactly.”

I handed her light clothing that could blend in with the locals. It was local attire that adventurers in the Moritani continent wear over their casual clothes.

“You’ll need to act like a somewhat materialistic character. You know the image that comes to mind when you think of mercenaries? Money-loving and fond of alcohol. Of course, drinking is impossible here for religious reasons, but you can show it in other ways.”

“Will that really work? Honestly, I’m skeptical…”

“Intelligence officers operating undercover as cartels in Latin America use even more extreme methods. There are cases where, with company permission, they accept contract killings from cartels.”

But I had no intention whatsoever of having Camilla do such things.

She just needs to put on airs. Like arrogant mages.

Before leaving the house, as I was burning all the documents, Camilla approached me dressed in the clothing I had requested.

“I’m ready.”

“Good.”

I gathered the photos of the military confrontation between Asen and Sanya taken by the war correspondent. They were materials needed for the operation.

After getting into the vehicle with the interior organized, I started the engine and left the house. Camilla, who had carefully checked the lock on the front door, took the passenger seat.

Our destination was the occupied territory of the Al-Bas tribe, relatives of Group 3’s Hasan tribe.

As we headed toward the tribe’s checkpoint, I shifted gears and began explaining.

“From now on, I’ll be operating under the identity of a freelance war correspondent.”

“A war correspondent.”

Camilla wiped dust off the window with her finger and murmured.

“I’ve met war correspondents a few times during medical volunteer work. I know them as knowledgeable experts who cover conflict zones. Are you confident you won’t be exposed?”

“Of course.”

Just as Camilla had met war correspondents during her medical volunteer work, I too had met numerous war correspondents during my activities as an intelligence officer.

So posing as a war correspondent is entirely possible.

“Journalist is actually a cover identity commonly used by intelligence agencies. It’s easy to meet informants for interview purposes. War correspondents are similar.”

“Hmm, not that different from what I’ve seen in movies.”

“It’s more intense than in movies. When I was stationed in Africa and the Middle East, I saw many journalists, not just foreign ones but Korean ones too. What they do is no joke.”

“Are there Korean war correspondents in civil war zones?”

“Of course. People don’t realize it, but there are quite a few. I even have acquaintances who are war correspondents.”

Was it South Sudan or Lebanon? When I went to support a Korean military unit deployed as UN peacekeepers, I met several Korean war correspondents on site.

Initially, our relationship was that of informant and intelligence officer, but somehow we became acquainted, exchanged greetings, and became friends. Since I got along well with people who were at least 10 years older than me, employees of news agencies who were close to war correspondents often asked what kind of relationship we had.

I wonder how they’re all doing now.

Lost in memories while continuing to drive, Camilla, sitting in the passenger seat, suddenly asked a question.

“Hey, I have something to ask.”

“Feel free.”

“Can we really contact warlord leaders by posing as war correspondents?”

A reasonable question.

I thought carefully and answered cautiously.

“Hmm… I can’t be 100% certain about making contact. There are too many variables. But there is an option with the highest probability.”

“What is it?”

“Do you know the saying ‘a clever rabbit has three burrows’?”

A clever rabbit digs three burrows.

If a warlord cares about propaganda, they might respond to a war correspondent’s interview request, but honestly, I wasn’t confident we could definitely make contact. Even if we succeeded in contacting the warlord, it was uncertain whether they would provide valuable information.

But what kind of workplace is an intelligence agency? It’s a den of paranoid individuals who deploy people even when they know things will go wrong, and prepare alternative plans in anticipation of failure.

Since there was a possibility the plan could fall apart, I naturally had another identity prepared.

“Arms dealer.”

I answered while keeping my eyes fixed straight ahead.

“If the war correspondent identity doesn’t work, I’ll push forward as an arms dealer.”

“Arms dealer? You’re going to pretend to be a black market broker?”

“Yes.”

While accelerating down the open highway, I explained the nature of conflict zones.

“In conflict zones, you can find weapons just by going to the market, but what warlords demand are proper military weapons, not the guns scattered around marketplaces. Rifles, machine guns, sniper rifles, mortars, anti-tank guns… military explosives and shells. The greedy ones even spend big money to acquire armored vehicles.”

“……”

“But brokers who deal in such merchandise aren’t that common. Equipment used by regular armies rarely enters the black market. Even when it does, quantities are limited. We’re going to target exactly that point.”

Camilla’s expression noticeably darkened. Was she displeased with the plan to supply weapons to a conflict zone, or did she think the plan lacked feasibility?

After much consideration, it seemed to be the latter. The contemplative Camilla opened her mouth.

“Where do you plan to get the weapons? Are you thinking of bringing them from Abas?”

“We can’t bring Abas military equipment into the Moritani continent. That would invite tracking from the Imperial Guard or other intelligence agencies.”

In the current situation where we need to be cautious, surveillance from foreign intelligence agencies must be avoided at all costs. To begin with, the illegal export of Abas military equipment is an operation that neither the parliamentary intelligence committee nor the defense committee would approve, and the General Staff Headquarters and Ministry of Defense, which oversee the Military Intelligence Agency, would vehemently oppose such a decision.

Should we borrow Viktor’s hand then? That’s impossible too.

Viktor is supporting the Group 2 warlords led by the Sanya tribe on behalf of the Kiyen Empire’s Ministry of Defense. In such a situation, it’s realistically impossible to support Group 3 warlords led by the Hasan tribe.

Of course, there’s always a way out even if the sky falls. I do have a plausible plan to procure weapons. But since we’ve decided to operate under the identity of a war correspondent for now, it’s right to put that plan on hold for the moment.

“……”

But Camilla’s expression showed no signs of brightening.

While holding the steering wheel, I kept glancing at the rearview mirror even as we passed through the highway.

“What’s wrong? Are you worried?”

“How could I not be worried? Anyone can see this is a reckless plan.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it reckless…”

It seemed Camilla thought the plan lacked feasibility. Since it wasn’t good to leave her in a troubled state, I added a detailed explanation to alleviate her concerns.

“Camilla. Take a look at this photo.”

“…It’s the civil war zone photo you just showed me. The one taken by the war correspondent, right?”

“Yes.”

Camilla examined the photo handed to her. It was a photo taken last year by a war correspondent, capturing the conflict between the Asen and Sanya tribes.

“Look at the guns and equipment those fighters are carrying.”

“……”

Following my words, Camilla carefully examined the photo. The tribal fighters were each equipped with guns and gear, but even to her untrained eye, the equipment was seriously inadequate.

Locals in civilian clothes with worn ammunition belts slung over them, clutching well-used rifles. Their gear and weapons were far more outdated than those of the Islamic extremist armed groups she’d seen on Twitter. Just looking at the guns, they all seemed to be carrying rifles that might have been used in World War II.

After thoroughly checking the photo, Camilla began to look at me. As if to say, “So what?”

“The equipment is poor. And?”

“You don’t get it… Listen carefully, Camilla.”

I passed on a tip commonly used among intelligence officers operating in the Third World to this intelligence officer hopeful who had never served in the military.

“Those of us who operate in Africa or the Middle East must check the armed status when first contacting paramilitary organizations. That way, we can tell how much interest and investment these guys put into their equipment.”

“Couldn’t that be determined through preliminary research?”

“In theory, yes. But does the world ever run according to theory and principles?”

It’s common in the Third World for someone to embezzle funds that were clearly allocated for military expenses on paper, or to sell purchased equipment to the black market at bargain prices. If regular armies do this, why wouldn’t warlords?

That’s why intelligence officers basically need to assess the level of armed groups through visual inspection.

Are these guys properly equipped as reported, or have they sold off their equipment at will? If the preliminary assessment internally stated “armed level is very poor,” but visual inspection reveals equipment rivaling regular armies, then the intelligence officer must quickly figure out what these guys are plotting.

As I continued my explanation, I added nonchalantly:

“There’s also the possibility that the intelligence our company obtained is wrong. But such cases are rare. So the key is to understand what kind of armed level they have based on intelligence. Of course, it’s also to avoid the worst-case scenario.”

“If the situation contradicts the intelligence, it would be difficult to analyze.”

I shook my head at Camilla’s words.

“There’s no need to rack your brains in the office analyzing paramilitary organizations. That’s something you do when analyzing complex regular armies. The level of warlord groups is all pretty similar, so they can be assessed immediately. There’s a pattern, you could say.”

“Can you tell me what that pattern is?”

“I’ll tell you after we see it firsthand. The checkpoint is coming up soon.”

Anyway, back to the main point.

“What I want to say is this: these guys have poor armament levels and are desperate to acquire weapons. So if I approach them disguised as an arms dealer, they’ll take the bait.”

“That’s a realistic plan. Even if I were to assume I was a warlord leader, I would arrange a meeting if an arms dealer approached.”

“You? I doubt it.”

“Why do you say that?”

At Camilla’s puzzled voice, I pointed to the photo with a chin gesture and smirked.

“Those guns the fighters are carrying. They’re similar to what your ancestors used, aren’t they, Camilla?”

“Ah, these guns? Hmm… now that you mention it, they are similar. My great-grandfather was deployed to a battlefield once. They look similar to what I saw in photos from that time.”

“War? Must have fought in the colonies. Where did he fight? India? Africa? Afghanistan?”

“……”

“I’m joking, why so serious— Wait, wait, stop! I need to use that photo, why are you trying to burn it!”

At that moment, a bus driver with passengers on the roof witnessed the vehicle ahead swerving and honked his horn loudly.

Of course, I didn’t hear it at all as I was busy snatching the photo from Camilla’s grasp.

*

There was a brief incident where a bus driver pulled up next to our vehicle, lowered his window, and hurled insults in the local language, but we managed to reach our destination safely.

After driving for several hours straight, we entered the territory of the Al-Bas tribe. It was territory under the control of the Hasan tribe warlord, the representative of Group 3.

The main road was occupied by armed forces. They were fighters belonging to the Al-Bas tribe, affiliated with the Hasan tribe. They blocked the road and raised flags to signal us to stop. I placed the prepared documents on my knee and obediently reduced speed according to the signal.

“……”

At that moment, a soldier carrying a worn-out bolt-action rifle approached the driver’s side. Just looking at that, the equipment state could be described as the worst possible. A few 5-round clips inserted in cloth scraps instead of proper ammunition belts, no bulletproof vests to be seen anywhere, and only one radio at the checkpoint.

At least they were wearing military uniforms. If they didn’t even have that, I might have mistaken them for armed robbers on the street.

I thought to myself as I lowered the window:

This is a complete mess.

“May the peace of the Earth Mother be with you. Where are you coming from?”

I fully lowered the window and handed him my passport and documents. It was a transit permit stamped with the local government’s seal.

“Hmm…”

The fighter’s expression immediately soured as he checked the documents. The fact that the government had put a bounty on the warlord leader’s head was enough to indicate how bad the relationship was between the local government and the tribe.

However, since the occupants of the driver’s and passenger seats were clearly pale-faced foreigners, he didn’t nitpick and let us through.

“You may enter, but please present a transit permit issued by the tribe next time.”

“The tribe? Where can I get such a document?”

“Go into the city and visit the tribal building. They will guide you. It’s the building with the flag you see over there.”

The fighter extended his finger to point at a flag fluttering at the checkpoint. It was a symbol with the Hasan tribe’s emblem drawn on it.

“May the peace of the Earth Mother be with you.”

I returned the greeting and raised the window. The fighter raised his hand, and upon receiving the signal, another fighter manually lifted the vehicle barrier.

Fantastic.

That’s how we passed the first checkpoint and entered tribal territory. There were countless checkpoints at every path leading deep into the territory. Each time, Al-Bas tribe members requested us to stop and conducted inspections, but perhaps having received communication from the first checkpoint, they didn’t say anything special even after seeing the government-issued documents.

After passing the third checkpoint, Camilla, who was looking at it through the side mirror, sighed deeply.

“There was a government military checkpoint just 30km outside, and here rebels are operating checkpoints. What’s happening to this country…”

“This is the style of civil war zones, isn’t it?”

I chuckled and navigated through the rough terrain.

“Looking around as we came, the tribe’s situation doesn’t seem good. The fighters’ armament is weak. The people look weak too.”

Narrowing her eyes at the sunlight pouring into the passenger seat, Camilla lowered her hood and picked up the conversation.

“According to reports published by international organizations, the food situation on the Moritani continent doesn’t seem good. Foreign governments and aid organizations are providing assistance, and the local government is implementing agricultural promotion policies, but food prices have skyrocketed due to the recent famine.”

Not good news. Usually, when food becomes scarce, irritated people start running around with guns. Fighting for a sack of grain is commonplace, and hijacking aid organization trucks to drag them into their territory is frequent.

How on earth are they planning to send Camilla and the children to such a place? The thoughts of those above are truly unfathomable.

I drove the vehicle deep into Al-Bas tribe territory. About an hour after passing the third checkpoint, a new checkpoint appeared.

But something was strange.

“……”

My hand operating the gear momentarily hesitated. The state of the checkpoint was unusual.

Typically, intelligence officers operating in the Third World assess equipment levels when encountering paramilitary organizations or passing through checkpoints. This is because the equipment itself of frontline checkpoint units or units that are publicly visible contains intentions.

Let me give an example.

According to collected intelligence, there’s a force that invests heavily in equipment. However, if the equipment level of checkpoint forces or patrol units is poor, three situations can be inferred:

First, they tend to concentrate on the royal guard. They pour all invested equipment into the royal guard.

Second, there’s corruption. Someone is skimming military funds or selling equipment to the black market.

Third, they don’t want to display their military power externally. More precisely, they don’t want surrounding forces to know they’re investing in military power.

Conversely, there are cases where despite not investing much in equipment or having terrible supply situations, the equipment state of checkpoint forces is very good. This too can be estimated in four main situations:

First, they have a tendency to show off. Second, due to lack of control, units are supplying equipment on their own. Third, the units in that area are moving independently or preparing for a coup.

And finally, fourth.

“……”

A fighter wearing black gloves raised his hand to signal stop. I gradually reduced speed. Through the rattling engine noise, I heard the sound of someone swallowing dry saliva from beside me.

The fighter who gave the hand signal readjusted his rifle. Though it had scratches, it was an intimidating assault rifle by anyone’s standards.

As the vehicle stopped, fighters with spaced intervals began to gradually surround the area. One moved to the passenger side, another blocked the front of the driver’s seat, and yet another moved to a position a few steps away. It was a firing position where he could target the driver and passenger at any time.

Seeing the behavior of these well-trained members at a glance, I placed my hands on the steering wheel and murmured to Camilla:

“Camilla.”

“…Yes.”

“Remember what I said earlier? When we first arrived at the checkpoint, I mentioned there’s a worst-case scenario.”

“…I remember.”

“Yes. This seems to be that situation.”

Despite intelligence suggesting they don’t invest much in equipment or have terrible supply situations, the equipment state of checkpoint forces is very good.

That fourth and final situation:

When local forces already know about the visitor’s arrival.

“……”

Knock knock. The member who had signaled us to stop knocked on the driver’s window.

“May the peace of the Earth Mother be with you all.”

As I lowered the window, he greeted us. A Kiyen Empire-made assault rifle that would normally be used by regular armies. Five 30-round magazines, a bulletproof vest, a chest rig over the vest, a radio, and a pistol tucked at the waist.

It was armament that rivaled local regular armies. Equipment that could be compared to special forces, not just combat units.

He said:

“Turn off the engine and get out of the vehicle.”

“……”

“The lady in the passenger seat must also get out.”

It was a request in a very gentle tone. Of course, only the tone was like that.

Logically, there’s no case where an armed group, not even regular army, sets up a checkpoint and requests passengers to get out. And if it was just a verbal request, that would be one thing, but it wasn’t something that should be said by guys who brought a pickup truck mounted with a machine gun to block the road.

Of course, resisting here would be insane. Before we could shift into reverse and escape, that machine gun would turn us into a beehive.

I had expected some reaction when foreigners moved around in their territory. I was just surprised by the appearance of fighters with equipment far superior to the checkpoints we had passed.

“Step away from the car.”

I naturally pulled out the key and got out of the driver’s seat.

After searching the vehicle interior, they took us to the checkpoint as if by agreement. And then they put us in a van parked near the checkpoint.

So, after changing vehicles, we entered Al-Bas tribe territory.

Surrounded by armed forces.