Ch.480Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

Like white paint splashed across a black canvas, a trail of smoke embroidered the city.

The sound of artillery fire from far away was surprisingly calm. Military checkpoints scattered throughout and the endless procession of refugees fleeing seemed like mere tiny details in a painting’s background.

Occasionally, the popping noise of combat would break through, but the surprise was momentary. People simply composed themselves and silently went about their business as if nothing had happened.

It had been 27 years.

The age-old conflict between the provinces and the central government had evolved into a civil war that was approaching its 30th year. Sometimes warlords fought warlords, government forces battled rebels, all shedding blood over scraps of land. At times they would set down their weapons and attempt negotiations.

But like trying to fill the sea with handfuls of sand, the valley of conflict only grew deeper, swallowing lives like quicksand.

Matt, the Royal Intelligence Agency’s operations team leader, surveyed the rebel-controlled territory with indifferent eyes.

“I’ve been looking at this for nine years and still can’t get used to it. Seems things haven’t changed here.”

An elderly man with graying hair answered with a faint smile.

“When has civil war ever been easy to end?”

In the center of a well-maintained garden, the old man sitting in a worn low chair seemed light-years away from the battlefield where artillery shells and bullets were flying.

Seated on a plush cushion, the old man was smoking a water pipe. As the sweet and tangy fruit flavor of sherbet lingered in his mouth, blending with the subtle aroma of the tobacco, it made Matt’s mouth water.

Matt exchanged pleasantries with the old man while savoring the bitter taste of coffee brewed with sand. It was an ordinary scene of social exchange that could be witnessed anywhere.

Or so it appeared on the surface.

As Matt was leaving the garden, escorted by the old man, someone followed behind him. It was an intelligence officer from the Royal Intelligence Agency who had been standing guard nearby.

“Team Leader, did the conversation go well?”

“I got what I needed.”

He had obtained what he wanted and given what he needed to give. Information exchange was always a two-way street, never a one-sided provision.

Having finished his meeting with the rebel elder, Matt handed an envelope to one of his team members. It was a brown document envelope with a glossy sheen like freshly baked bread.

Matt relayed the intelligence he had received from the warlord elder to his subordinate who was securing the envelope.

“The Asen tribe and the Sanya tribe are entering a ceasefire. Their officials plan to suspend combat for a month after final negotiations on the 7th, when Aramad ends.”

Aramad, Al-Yabd’s greatest holiday and the most magnificent festival throughout all of Moritani.

For followers of the Earth Mother who value tradition, Aramad is far more than a simple religious holiday. It’s a grand religious ceremony where sacred duties are performed, where people practice restraint during the day and generosity at night—caring for the weak and neighbors as the prophet did—and making pilgrimages to holy sites.

Bloodshed during such a sacred holiday would be considered inauspicious.

Fighting during Aramad would provoke sensitive reactions from sponsors and warlord officials who care deeply about religious law. Especially if the conflict was between brothers who worship the same Earth Mother.

Moreover, with events spanning day and night for a month, physical and mental exhaustion was inevitable.

Thus, the warlords had agreed to cease all hostilities and enter a ceasefire for Aramad.

Just as expected.

“The analysis was correct. What does the Director say?”

The intelligence officer posed a question to Matt, asking about the superiors’ reaction.

Matt shrugged his shoulders and replied nonchalantly.

“He wants us to overturn the meeting.”

“Again?”

“Yes.”

The subordinate looked at his superior with a dumbfounded expression.

“Didn’t we cause an uproar last time when we eliminated those warlord officials and government representatives during the prisoner exchange negotiations in the lower district?”

“But we can’t just sit back and watch Asen and Sanya getting along in a ceasefire. The Hassan tribe needs more time to gain the upper hand, and we need to drain Asen and Sanya’s power as much as possible.”

“That’s true.”

“Contact Director Leoni—I mean, Department Head Leoni. Ask if there’s a way to blow up the meeting venue. If necessary, we’ll have to erase it with an airstrike like last time.”

After casually instructing his subordinate to look into military support for the operation as if he were shopping, Matt climbed into the car with a tired expression.

The driver naturally turned the wheel and blended in with the refugees.

The streets were filled with vehicles belching black smoke from using counterfeit fuel, making it easy to slip away from the meeting site unnoticed.

Matt took out his self-defense pistol tucked into his waistband and removed the magazine. As he was emptying the chamber of ammunition, he spoke up.

“By the way, what’s Frederick doing? I need to talk to him about the Hassan tribe business.”

“I believe he’s been on an external assignment since around noon yesterday.”

“Contact that team… No, just send Carr.”

“Carr, sir?”

The subordinate in the passenger seat seemed to think for a moment before responding with an “Ah!”

“Come to think of it, doesn’t Carr have a friend in the Military Intelligence Bureau team?”

“That’s right. That nymph.”

“She was really cute. I heard she had pointed ears so I thought she’d look like an elf, but she was a pure fairy.”

One of the staff members turning the steering wheel glanced at his colleague with a smirk.

“You saw her too?”

“Of course I did.”

“She was so tiny, it was no joke. Definitely a hundred times better than those bushy-bearded dwarves.”

“No wonder all the female staff love her. I heard she’s practically a mascot among the religious folks.”

As usual, the intelligence officers’ conversation drifted from nymphs to complaints about their company.

Why doesn’t our company have fairies? It’s so dreary with just men everywhere. Now that I think about it, the benefits seem lacking too.

If other Abas intelligence agency officers had heard this, they would have howled to the four winds about how these people who receive the largest budget are spoiled rotten. Of course, Royal Intelligence Agency employees couldn’t care less about the complaints of staff from other agencies.

The same went for Matt, who had worked at the Royal Intelligence Agency for over 15 years.

Scratching his rough chin, he posed another question to his staff.

“You guys are slacking off again. So, did you find out where Frederick is?”

-For your information, that Frederick was.

“Hey, you senile bastards! Why are you destroying the pillars? Huh!”

Currently fleeing from a collapsing ceiling.

Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

CRASH!

When that ominous sound echoes, a shower of stone dust rushes into my nostrils.

It’s funny for me, a smoker, to say this, but this situation feels perfect for dying of lung disease.

“Hack! Ptooey! Damn, got some in my mouth again!”

With dust so thick it obscures my vision and makes my eyes itch, I spit out a mouthful of stone powder and freeze.

Wow, seriously, my phlegm is gray.

It’s a spine-chilling sight. Am I really going to get lung cancer from this? Just as I’m thinking that, someone in front of me screams.

“Is lung cancer really what matters right now?!”

It was Veronica speaking to me.

With her hair now a murky grayish-white, she was looking at me as if I were pathetic. I felt indignant for a moment, but before I could open my mouth, she beat me to it.

Whip! Pointing her finger upward with a terrified expression, she raised her voice.

“We’re about to be crushed by the ceiling!”

The ceiling of the stone chamber was cracking all over. Cracks like spider webs or lightning bolts, both thick and thin, were actively spreading in all directions.

Then, a thunderous boom erupted. RUMBLE! At the sound like lightning striking, chunks of stone mixed with dust came showering down. It was like hail falling.

There are several similarities between hail falling from the sky and stone fragments falling from a ceiling, but the biggest one is this:

If you get hit by the wrong piece, you might die a horrible death.

“Kyaah!”

“Ahhh!”

“Huaaaargh!”

As fist-sized stones fell with a loud noise, screams erupted simultaneously.

There was no need for anyone to say anything. Veronica, and even that Akande, were screaming like elementary school girls frightened by ghost stories.

We fled from the collapsing ceiling. Everyone was running as fast as they could, terrified of being buried alive.

I ran forward with a scream that was almost a shriek.

“Don’t look back, just run!”

I’m actually someone who would make even the Marine Corps scream in frustration.

This could only be described as a reverse charge.

Stumbling in the darkness, rolling on the ground, covered in dust, abandoning my luggage and running for my life. It was literally a perfect reverse charge. The kind that red-badged Marines in their individual combat pants love to do best. That reverse charge.

“In all my life, I never thought I’d be doing what Marines do! It feels like just yesterday I was fighting with those military intelligence officers, damn it!”

As is typical with Korean military intelligence agencies, most military intelligence officers come from the Army. It’s fair to say that almost all of them are selected from the Army.

However, the intelligence units that cooperate with military intelligence agencies—

The officers serving in the intelligence units of each military branch, Army, Navy, and Air Force, are all composed of personnel from their respective branches. Like the naval intelligence officers of the Maritime Intelligence Unit.

According to what many intelligence agency seniors have learned firsthand and what I’ve experienced directly, intelligence officers from the Marine Corps tend to have particularly troublesome tendencies. Even though they’re part of the same national armed forces, it’s hard to say anything nice about them, even as a pleasantry.

And here I am, behaving just like those gentlemen would. What irony.

Feeling both ridiculous and irritated by the situation, I was rambling on when Veronica, clinging to Ramiel’s back, raised her voice again.

“What nonsense are you talking about?! Marines?”

“Please, lower your voice, Veronica.”

“Stop talking nonsense!”

“Both of you. Shut up! Close mouths!”

Akande, who couldn’t stand it anymore, barked at us to shut up, but it was useless. He was actually screaming the loudest.

You shut up, you bastard. Akande and I exchanged insults as we ran with all our might.

“Damn it… why do I have to go through this?!”

Veronica muttered weakly, half in a daze. The armored knight carrying her on his back carefully looked back.

“These things happen in life.”

“…And whose fault is all this?”

Veronica glared at Ramiel with narrowed eyes. Her question was laden with resentment.

And for good reason—Ramiel was the one who had caused this disaster.

If he hadn’t destroyed that pillar, we wouldn’t be covered in dust like this.

If he lacks awareness, he should at least have some shame. Surprisingly, Ramiel had neither. At this point, he’s less of an angel emissary and more of a senile old man.

Just as I was cautiously thinking this, sure enough, the knight opened his mouth again and invited more trouble.

“Isn’t this just how life is?”

“Shut up!”

Clang! A clear striking sound echoed through the collapsing stone chamber.

It was the sound of the saint’s fist hitting the angel’s helmet.

*

“The bridge might collapse! We need to get out quickly!”

A race against death was in full swing at the collapse site. We fled without looking back, escaping the falling ceiling of the stone chamber.

The archaeological value of the centuries-old ruins was incalculable, but whether those ruins would be buried in sand didn’t matter at all.

What mattered was whether we could make it out alive.

That was all.

I ran with all my might toward the bridge, the only passage connecting the stone chamber to the outside. It was the only salvation that could end this deadly acrobatic act. If only we hadn’t come here in the first place, we wouldn’t have had to suffer. Why did I stupidly follow Ramiel?

From now on, I should never get involved with angels. No, I should avoid getting involved with religion altogether.

“How much further?”

“I don’t know! Run instead of asking questions!”

When the stone chamber began to collapse, Ramiel started fleeing with Nathaniel tucked under his arm. Veronica, who had brought heavy luggage, clung to his back as they escaped.

Therefore, unlike Ramiel, Akande, and me who were running for our lives, Veronica could observe things from a slightly more objective perspective.

The saint, riding on the angel’s back, pointed somewhere.

“There!”

Veronica shouted.

“I can see light!”

True to her word, a beam of light was breaking through the pitch-black darkness. It was the passage leading outside the stone chamber.

The light wasn’t particularly bright, but it was enough to dimly illuminate the outlines. That faint outline visible in the distance was unmistakably a bridge.

Amidst dust and stone fragments pouring through cracked crevices, twisted pillars collapsing diagonally, and the ceiling sagging downward, we ran with all our might toward the door where light was entering.

“Huff…!”

Finally, as my legs successfully made it out of the stone chamber, a terrifying rumble sounded and the ceiling at the entrance completely collapsed, raising a cloud of dust.

Thanks to that, I could feel relief even as I kept coughing.

“Cough, cough… I thought I was going to die, damn…”

“…Huurgh.”

Akande, who had collapsed with a thud, let out an unfinished scream. His legs seemed to have given out, as he kept trying to get up only to fall back down.

Even in this state, he seemed quite grateful to have escaped death. Wriggling on the dust pile like a caterpillar, Akande kept kissing the ground and offering prayers of thanks.

“Merciful Mother. I thank you for your grace.”

He must have a strong stomach. Kissing that dust-covered ground repeatedly.

Completely drained, I collapsed next to him and looked up at the sky. Of course, since we were underground, I couldn’t actually see the real sky. But after nearly dying, even this was something to be grateful for.

Veronica, who had dismounted from the knight’s back, gulped down water. After thoroughly washing her irritated airways, she cupped water in her hands and poured it over her head.

“Whew.”

It took only an instant for her hair, which had turned a dull grayish-white, to regain its original color. After pushing back her damp hair, Veronica let out a sigh of relief.

“What are we even doing here…”

Though she too had narrowly escaped death, that was secondary—she had things to do.

Having soured her mood by covering herself in dust after the death-defying acrobatics, she began to frown for what seemed like the first time in a very long while.

“Seriously, why did you have to knock down the pillar there?”

The saint glared sharply at her target. At the end of that gaze was the armored knight, Ramiel.

Angel or not, nothing mattered to this enraged filly. Veronica, literally seeing red, was berating the angel in a sharp tone.

“Who told you to knock down the pillar? Were you trying to kill us all?”

“It may sound like an excuse, but that wasn’t my intention. I didn’t realize the pillar would collapse just from placing my hand on it.”

“You’re right about one thing. It does sound like an excuse.”

Ramiel tried to defend himself in a gloomy voice, but his words had no effect.

Who is Veronica? She’s someone whose sharp tongue wouldn’t yield even to a devil and whose personality would terrify even a necromancer.

Guiding this filly-like saint is something that even the well-mannered bishops and cardinals of the papal curia have given up on, and even the Pope’s attempts to bring about change through punishment have been struggling for over a decade. In other words, Veronica’s personality is a monster that has made even the Pope, who is revered by countless clergy and called God’s representative, throw up his hands in defeat.

And now that monster was unleashing on the angel.

“You didn’t know it would collapse? Isn’t it common sense that if magic bullets destroyed all the pillars and bombs went off, the pillars supporting the ceiling would be damaged? Unless what’s on your shoulders is a watermelon instead of a head. If you had any sense, wouldn’t you have considered that?”

“I didn’t intend to. That’s really funny. You nearly buried us alive and that’s all you have to say? If I shot a magic bullet at your gut, would you just say, ‘Well, these things happen in life’ and let it go? What nonsense.”

“And one more thing. We were the ones who lured and confronted the angel, so what exactly did you do right to be so smug? If you could have beaten it with your hammer, you should have done that from the start. After dragging out the fight and relying on others, what gives you the right to act so pompous—”

Oh, wow… is this criticism or just plain abuse?

Veronica’s tongue was demonstrating incredible performance. This was practically a military-grade, state-power level tongue-lashing.

From the very beginning, she opened with personal attacks, then proceeded to pick apart her opponent’s words and actions. It was quite an art form in its own way.

I could somewhat understand why the papal curia had given up on guiding her and merely observed her monstrous behavior. This was not a person who could be reasoned with nicely.

Her tongue skills, refined through nearly 20 years in politics, far exceeded what an old man who had slept in a coffin for 800 years could handle.

Thus, Ramiel seemed unable to regain his composure. Watching him receive a hundredfold in return for a simple excuse made me feel sorry for him. Especially when he secretly caressed his helmet after being mocked with “Is that a watermelon on your shoulders?”

The angel couldn’t muster any meaningful rebuttal to the saint’s criticism. He was literally being beaten down without even a chance to breathe.

“Unless what’s in your head is rotten pasta—”

I just stared blankly at Veronica as she relentlessly attacked Ramiel. I’m really glad that Lucia or Francesca didn’t inherit those speech habits.

I should definitely keep Camilla and Veronica from ever meeting.

After a while, having properly vented her frustrations, Veronica stepped back with a relieved expression.

“Whew. You really make my blood boil.”

“……”

“Why are you looking at me like that, Major?”

“…Maybe you should try keeping your mouth shut sometimes?”

“What?”

Veronica glared at me as if to say “what nonsense are you talking about?” Meanwhile, Ramiel, who had just been thoroughly berated, silently sat down on the ground with his knees up.

Though I was also one of the victims who nearly died because of the angel’s fanboy, I didn’t particularly feel like saying anything now. She had already beaten him up so thoroughly, so what more did I need to add? And I’d rather rest than argue.

An angel crumpled in the corner and a saint venting her temper.

Looking back and forth between them, I sighed and lay down on the ground.

“At least we’re alive, so that’s good… Nothing else will happen now, right?”

*

In the beginning, when heaven and earth came into being.

Before the moment of creation, the world was filled with void.

There was nothing, hence it was void, and because it was void, it was a nameless space of nothingness. In the distant future, people would define it as chaos.

Why is that place called chaos? If one delves into its history, there was light.

During the time of creation when heaven and earth emerged and life began to sprout, light shone upon countless living beings, but it was not granted to the beings occupying the space of nothingness. Because they were not granted permission, they did not belong to the world and were eventually pushed to places where light could not reach.

At first, it must have been yearning. It would have been an attempt to grasp the light they couldn’t possess, to quench their thirst.

But no matter how much these displaced beings craved it, the light did not reach them. Therefore, they proposed a clever solution.

If they couldn’t set foot in heaven and earth, they would have to attach themselves to the living beings there.

Thus, the thirsty beings made deals with earthly beings. It was the beginning of what priests would later define as transactions.

They made deals with living, breathing beings and were able to come into the world by attaching themselves to them. Souls, lifespans, health, luck—the objects of the deals were diverse and the results were sweet.

But the light still did not come down to them. It only disappeared through the gaps between their fingers like a fading phantom. Light was granted to living beings who hadn’t even developed intelligence, but not to those pushed outside the fence. Therefore, their yearning was tinged with jealousy and envy.

Powerful forces, jealousy and envy.

Light defined as evil those beings who sought peripheral pleasures to quench their thirst and preyed on fragile life. Perhaps it had been that way since before creation. Since the will of God cannot be fathomed by human cognition unless revealed.

Everything is unclear, but one fact was certain.

The goodwill shown to humans was never goodwill born of purity.

And now.

Hatred, condensed through eternal ages, was beginning to stir once again.

*

It started with a sound.

“What is this?”

“What?”

“Don’t you hear something?”

Veronica, who was filling an oil lamp, looked up at my words.

“A sound? Hmm… Nothing. It’s just quiet.”

“No, I definitely heard something.”

It was coming from somewhere. A buzzing sound.

It felt like a dense crowd of tens of thousands, each adding their own murmur—an unidentifiable sound that could be described that way.

Veronica tried to concentrate but gave the same answer as before. She couldn’t hear anything. She also asked with concern if I might be mistaken.

“Did you hit your head earlier? From the bricks?”

“No, not that.”

“Hmm. Then what is it?”

As Veronica carefully examined my condition, she suddenly became irritable.

“Ah! Who keeps playing tricks on me?”

Tricks? Everyone’s attention turned to the saint’s sudden outburst. From Akande who was resting, to Ramiel and Nathaniel.

Veronica pointed at the three of them and began an impromptu people’s trial.

“Who is it? Is it you, Mr. Akande? Or you two?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“This woman. Gone crazy in head. Hospital. Call quickly.”

“Who are you calling mentally ill? You’re the strangest person here.”

After exchanging words with Akande, she began to ruffle her hair. She scratched her head irritably.

“No. Someone keeps tickling my eyes with light. Who’s playing pranks at a time like this?”

“……”

I stared at Veronica. When our eyes met, she tilted her head.

“What? Is there something on my face?”

“…Veronica. What are you talking about right now?”

Light? We’re underground.

There are oil lamps, but besides that, no other light sources exist here. Given the time, it’s outside outside and this is underground.

There’s only sand and rock above us, so where is this light coming from? No one has turned on any lights, so what is she talking about? I questioned Veronica with an incredulous look.

And she:

“I’m telling you it’s real! My eyes are all tingly—who else could be doing this?”

She started getting angry, insisting that I was right but wouldn’t believe her.

It was an ominous statement.

Something strange, bizarre.

Foreboding.

“……”

As a peculiar silence began to hover, Akande, who had been sitting quietly, spoke up.

“Light. I saw too. We all saw.”

“What are you talking about now?”

“Just before. When coming here. In darkness. There was light. We saw it. Clearly.”

“……”

Wait a minute. Hearing Akande’s words, I remembered something unsettling.

As he said, we saw a beam of light while escaping the collapsing stone chamber. To be precise, Veronica saw it first, then the rest of us.

The problem is this:

This is underground where neither moonlight nor starlight can enter, so where did that light come from?

When my thoughts reached that point, I involuntarily got goosebumps. An inexplicably ominous feeling began to creep up my spine.

“This, wait. There was definitely light earlier…”

That’s when it happened.

Nathaniel, who had been sitting a little distance away bound in chains, suddenly spoke.

“…Ramiel.”

“What is it, Nathaniel?”

“Undo these chains. Right now.”

The angel demanded that the chains be removed. Ramiel silently looked at Nathaniel, then reached out his hand and touched the ground.

And a moment later:

“Damn it.”

Ramiel suddenly rose and drew his sword. Then he struck down the chains, freeing Nathaniel.

Veronica and Akande were horrified as the angel who had been fighting to the death just moments ago was released. I felt the same. After all, I had nearly been killed by that angel emissary too.

Just as I was about to shout “what are you doing,”

Nathaniel jumped up, gripped her greatsword with both hands, and started running toward the end of the bridge. Behind her, Ramiel called out to us in an urgent voice.

“Everyone, prepare to fight!”

“What’s going on?!”

“Demons!”

The angel continued, clutching his sword.

“The demon’s minions have been released!”

And with those words.

A spine-chilling, banshee-like howl instantly filled the vast space.

From deep, deep underground.