Ch.482Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

# Travel Inherently Involves Discomfort

Whether it’s a fantastic journey or one you never want to repeat, travel inevitably brings inconvenience and hassle—from the simple acts of packing and unpacking to the tedious process of returning home after a long trip.

In the same context, business trips share this same nature.

Expense processing, post-evaluation, analysis, auditing, debriefing, and so on.

Even for legitimate official business, complicated and annoying follow-up procedures are mandatory.

After all, wasting tax money is an easy target during parliamentary inspections. It’s not just taxpayers who dislike seeing public funds leak away.

Therefore.

It was no coincidence but an inevitability that I was summoned to Military Intelligence Headquarters immediately after my business trip ended, having been in a foreign land far away.

“You suddenly left your post without reporting, accompanied a detained surrenderer, and even engaged in combat overseas.”

Leoni’s eyes were cold. The department head, flipping through the report, sighed deeply before speaking.

“Is there anything in this that’s inaccurate?”

“No, sir.”

“Nothing to add?”

“That’s correct.”

“I see.”

The head of the Military Intelligence Overseas Department ordered:

“Pay cut or labor service. You choose which disciplinary action you’ll receive.”

## Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

The weather on the Mauritanian continent was beautiful again today.

A thin line separated the sky from the earth, and the sand was as soft as fluffy bedding.

The rare rainfall had evaporated without leaving a trace. The blazing sun cast its light on the briefly dampened land, allowing the desert to quickly return to its primordial state.

“Mister! Please move that artillery out of the way! There’s no room to pass!”

A soldier from the International Peacekeeping Force poked his head out the window and raised his voice. It was textbook mainland Patalian with a rich accent.

The confused soldiers standing around only moved the towed artillery after hearing the interpreter’s words.

Watching the local soldiers struggling to move the artillery piece somehow evoked a familiar scene that stirred nostalgia.

“All right, all right!”

A foreigner in International Peacekeeping Force combat uniform began directing with professional-sounding language. His skillful hand gestures guiding the parking process suggested this wasn’t his first time.

“Heave.”

As the tanker reached its destination, the soldiers moved efficiently.

They pulled out the fueling hose, and the main valve turned with a creaking sound. The magic stone-powered motor made a loud noise for a moment. Soon the hose shook as oil gushed out with a sloshing sound.

Soldiers with furrowed brows filled the drums with oil. The Patalian expeditionary force member who had directed the backing up was supervising the soldiers with his hands behind his back. He must be an officer.

“My, that’s quite a load.”

The Patalian officer who had been supervising the soldiers checked the drums and started laughing out loud.

While the busy work of locking the valve and retrieving the hose continued, the officer looked around at several oil-filled drums and said:

“Smells pretty awful, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does.”

“Oh my.”

When he heard the fluent Patalian response, the officer opened his eyes wide and put on a surprised expression, as if he hadn’t expected to hear his native language here.

“So you speak Patalian, sir?”

“A little bit.”

“That’s quite impressive pronunciation for ‘a little.’ I almost mistook you for a laborer in our unit. Haha.”

The unnamed Patalian military officer burst into hearty laughter, saying he thought I was one of their people.

“Laborer” referred to local or foreign workers employed by the International Peacekeeping Force units. These were workers contracted with the Ministry of Defense to handle various labor tasks. You could encounter them quite frequently, like roadside stones, when passing through overseas deployment units.

The officer didn’t seem to recognize who I was, but I wasn’t particularly offended.

No, perhaps it was better that he didn’t recognize me.

At least from my current position.

“We’ve poured in the oil. You’ll need to stir it carefully while being mindful of burns. You know what happens if the oil catches fire, right?”

“Yes.”

“The smell will be terrible. Covering your nose won’t help much, so you’ll just have to bear with it. And if possible, it’s better to take off your shirt.”

I tore off two—no, three squares of toilet paper and stuffed them into my nose.

With my nose plugged with rolled-up tissue, I looked at the officer while holding a discarded mop I’d found in the bathroom.

“You seem experienced.”

“I’ve done this a few times due to disciplinary actions. It’s hard to always ask the laborers to clean this sort of thing.”

“Ah…”

Well, how could anyone assign this kind of cleaning task?

While cleaning and maintenance are typically the laborers’ responsibility, this level of work would make even paid workers curse.

That’s probably why they put troublemakers in here.

“Oh my, look at the time… We’ll be going now.”

“Yes, take care.”

The Patalian expeditionary force members who had completed the oil supply left, taking their tanker with them.

I watched the departing military personnel with envious eyes, then sighed heavily and readjusted my grip on the mop.

Thud. The pure wooden stick from which I had torn off the mop head penetrated the substance. Squelchy, mushy. The unpleasant sensation traveled up my arm.

“Hah.”

As I stirred with the stick, I took out a lighter but paused to look inside the drum. Then I sighed again.

“…Really.”

My eyes took in the disgusting scene of waste mixing with oil inside the drum.

The waste was excrement left behind by soldiers who had gone on operations.

In other words, to put it in a single character:

“They sure took some massive dumps.”

Shit.

*

Here are three types of people.

When asked what’s important in carrying out war or military operations, these three people each offer different answers:

The bedroom Minister of Defense and Chief of Staff, a.k.a. military otaku, who says weapons and troops are important.

The textbook rookie or candidate who emphasizes the importance of supplies and reconnaissance.

Finally, the active-duty soldier who, based on personal experience, says most of the above is utterly useless.

None of these answers are entirely wrong, but in war, there’s something more important than supplies, reconnaissance, or weapons.

Fecal matter disposal.

It’s a historic challenge that has troubled all soldiers throughout time and across cultures.

“Ugh…”

If you carelessly defecate anywhere, it turns into a breeding ground for epidemics and parasites. If cleaned up poorly, the stench rises, and in the worst case, enemy scouts detect it, revealing your unit’s size and bivouac location—a bio-mine.

This is why the issue of controlling excretion troubles not just urinary incontinence patients and dementia patients, but also young people with bright futures ahead.

It’s also why we should smash open the fat-filled skulls of military otakus who spout nonsense about next-generation fighters being inferior to neighboring countries or how the military is failing in this way or that.

(Generally, military otakus are either severely obese or underweight, a fact proven by the Western military organization MEAL TEAM 6 and the US military’s Operation Dessert Storm.)

“Ugh, shit.”

“Oh, Frederick! What are you doing here-eeeek?!”

While I was dawdling in the open space, Camilla, who was passing by, spotted me and ran over, only to grimace and start backing away.

“Labor service.”

I put down the stick I had been using to stir the drum and spoke. My voice sounded nasal because my nose was plugged.

“Don’t come closer. Shoo. Go away quickly.”

“What on earth is this… Kyaaak!!”

Camilla, who had approached while holding her nose against the stench, looked inside the drum and jumped back. This was the fate of one who ignored warnings and peered into the abyss.

A drum with flames flickering like a bonfire. Inside, filled with burning waste, emanating the pungent smell of gasoline and an indescribable stench.

Pinching her nose with one hand, Camilla looked back and forth between the drum and me with trembling eyes. Like she was looking at a flesh-eating psychotherapist and doctor.

“W-what—what on earth are you stirring?!”

I couldn’t help but sigh. I weakly stirred the mop as I replied.

“Can’t you tell by looking?”

“N-no, I mean why are you stirring it?!”

“I’m disposing of fecal matter.”

Many people find it unpleasant, but fundamentally, humans live by urinating and defecating. In somewhat exaggerated terms, we’re biological factories that produce excrement.

Therefore, the question of “how to dispose of excrement and maintain cleanliness” has paralleled human history. It’s no wonder that a French author who left behind immortal masterpieces like Les Misérables said something like “the history of toilets is the history of humanity.”

The same applies to the military.

In warfare, fecal matter disposal has been a problem that has troubled commanders throughout history, regardless of time period or East-West divide.

Historically, a significant number of soldiers died from diseases, epidemics, and infections rather than weapons like guns and swords. Until the 20th century, contaminated water sources and soil served as powerful biological weapons that devastated both expeditionary forces and defenders.

This is where the problem arises.

How do you handle excrement during wartime, even if it’s manageable at a garrison?

While it might be convenient in the short term to turn the entire battlefield into a cesspool as you fight, problems will inevitably arise. Whether locals drink contaminated water and contract cholera, or a unit is wiped out when a hemorrhagic fever patient’s excrement becomes a vector.

Thus, many commanders who wanted to prevent non-combat losses during war (or perhaps didn’t want to die while soiling themselves) sought innovative measures for excrement disposal.

And here, the so-called “Burn pit” method is what the US military has consistently used since the 20th century.

Collect excrement, add gasoline, and set it on fire.

“The smell is quite foul.”

The characteristic of this method is the smell. When oil like methanol or diesel burns together with excrement that has been “ripened” for N weeks—enough to slap the face of traditional kimchi—it creates an incredible stench.

It’s like the smell of two homeless people having sex in a urinal. If I had to describe it, that’s the kind of smell it gives off.

I removed the tissue stuffed in my nose as I stirred to help the excrement burn properly. It’s amazing how the smell changes with each stir.

They say a woman’s transformation is innocent, but the ever-changing outhouse stench deserves life imprisonment. Whoever came up with this should be court-martialed immediately.

This isn’t just anything—it’s a war crime, for fuck’s sake.

While I was stirring the drum with all my might to burn the excrement, Camilla, who had been stunned after witnessing this shocking crime scene, slowly approached and suddenly started talking.

“Um… I think I’ve seen this in a drama. Or was it a movie? Something on Netflix. It had American soldiers in it.”

“It’s an American method. Well, other armies do it too.”

Burning excrement as a disposal method is surprisingly common in other countries as well.

In the early 2000s, one of my seniors at the intelligence agency who accompanied the Iraq deployment said that even the Korean military contingent used this method to dispose of excrement.

This fecal disposal work was mainly done by enlisted soldiers, not officers. Nationality doesn’t matter. It’s universal that seniors who’ve served their time pass the dirty work to juniors. Especially if it involves stirring excrement with a stick. It’s not something a major should be doing.

Sure enough, Camilla seemed to have similar thoughts. With her nose pinched, she looked at me with a puzzled expression.

“But why are you suddenly doing this?”

“Disciplinary action.”

“Ah, unauthorized combat?”

“Yeah.”

The journey to find the angel was accomplished by locating Nathaniel in the underground ruins.

However, combat broke out when minor demons (mindless lower demons different from the genuine demon we met in the north) that had been sealed in the underground ruins were released en masse.

To reiterate, unauthorized combat by foreign military personnel in another country is a serious matter that can develop into a diplomatic issue related to sovereignty violation.

We arrived on the Mauritanian continent with the peacekeeping forces to quickly resolve the situation, so the local governments were in a subordinate position while we were clearly in a dominant one.

However, that didn’t mean we could fight recklessly and do whatever we pleased.

Therefore, the Abbas government was given two choices:

First, suppress the issue like a great power.

Ignore diplomatic responsibility and say, “I don’t know anything about that. Figure it out yourself~” while trampling on the sovereignty of local nations.

Second, punish those responsible and move on.

Grab someone suitable, cut their head off with disciplinary action, and brazenly say, “Well, something unpleasant happened, but it wasn’t intentional, so let’s be generous and move past it.”

The Abbas government chose the latter option.

For reference, I was that “suitable person.” To be precise, there was no one else but me.

The reason is simple.

Among the Abbas government officials, I was the only human who followed Ramiel.

I hate to admit it, but I was reaping what I had sown.

“So that’s why you’re at the toilet…”

Camilla looked at me with sympathetic eyes. Her gaze reflected countless consolations and pitying emotions.

Toward her, I hastily waved my hands.

“No need to worry. It’s just a token punishment.”

“Token punishment?”

“It means they’re just going through the motions of punishment, that’s all.”

As I mentioned earlier, unauthorized combat can be a matter that receives formal protests from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

However, the local government (the country where the combat occurred was far from the refugee camp unrelated to the coalition forces’ operation) did not officially protest.

In fact, there was a move to summon the resident Abbas ambassador for questioning, but Al-Yabd prevented it.

But even though Al-Yabd mitigated the situation, the Abbas government couldn’t just sit idle.

The eyes of various embassies were on the situation. Without an apology or punishment, they might face all kinds of criticism behind their backs.

Therefore, the Military Intelligence Agency demanded that I choose between a six-month pay cut or labor service.

Well… it was good for me.

Things worked out quite well, you could say.

“I could have been expelled, so at first I was glad to just do some labor service instead.”

If the Military Intelligence Agency had really wanted to take me down, they would have suspended me first. Then the Inspection Office would have summoned me.

But the company didn’t do that.

It was the result of Leoni stepping in to handle it before the problem escalated. So that the disciplinary action would end at her level.

Of course, if the facts were clearly stated, I wouldn’t even have received a formal punishment, but “the incident that occurred in the underground ruins that night” was kept secret.

The letter sent by the Abbas Ministry of Foreign Affairs to the local government only mentioned that unauthorized combat had taken place.

There was no mention of “what” we fought against.

It’s difficult to explain without revealing the circumstances, and there’s only one person to punish.

So what choice do I have? I, who committed the wrongdoing, had to be punished. In fact, I was the only one who had done anything wrong.

The problem is…

“But of all things, toilet cleaning?”

“…”

“Hmm, so you’re a poop scooper?”

Camilla, who had been giggling, suddenly rolled her eyes and started running away as I pulled the mop out of the drum as if I was about to swing it at her.

“Kyaaaak! What are you doing?! Are you crazy?!”

“Stop making noise and go catch some monsters!”

“I already caught them all!”

“Just go! Please!”

I watched Camilla disappear into the distance and irritably jabbed the stick into the drum.

This happened when I had barely emptied one of the eight drums.

*

As human dignity drilled through the floor into the basement, and I imagined going back in time to stab my past self with a shit stick for choosing labor service over a six-month pay cut, the fecal disposal work finally ended.

“At last!”

Only after burning eight drums’ worth of excrement could I finally regain my freedom.

Temporarily.

“…What did you say?”

“Yes, you need to come back in 9 days to work again.”

“Why on earth?”

“What you just processed was last month’s amount. That means there’s still waste accumulated during this month. In 9 days it will be the end of the month, so you can process it then.”

The international relief organization officer managing the refugee camp delivered this thunderbolt of news.

Wait, this relief organization is under an international body, and they can’t build a single toilet? Cramming tens of thousands of people into a camp like a pig pen and not installing temporary toilets—does that make any sense?

I was about to protest in disbelief when suddenly I remembered the report Jake had submitted just before we were dispatched to Mauritania.

Something about the president of the Kiyen Empire embezzling all the funds provided by the local government for modernizing the sewage system.

What a fucked-up country. Even worse than Afghanistan.

“Ah, I see…”

I couldn’t help but sigh.

I had been living in a fantasy.

This was never an incident that could be resolved with a single day of labor. Why did I think I could atone for my sins with one day’s work?

I could only lament in endless despair, but it was time to return to reality. Time to return from being a poop scooper to being an intelligence officer again.

In the end, I couldn’t even properly complain and had to hurriedly change my clothes.

As I was returning to the office, I ran into Pippin in the hallway, carrying meeting materials and heading somewhere.

“Oh, Pippin. Where are you going?”

“I have a meeting. I’m on my way to meet Royal Intelligence Bureau analysts about the Hassan warlord business.”

Hmm. If it’s that business, it was the one I was in charge of. The conflict between Asen and Sanya.

I’ve handed it over to Matt now, but since Third World branch offices chronically suffer from staff shortages, we were still somewhat involved in the business.

Wondering if something serious had happened, I asked Pippin:

“Has there been a major incident?”

“It’s just a regular meeting.”

Nothing special then.

“You can return after the meeting ends… I’ve put the message from Necropolis in your office.”

“Okay. Go ahead. Thanks for your hard work.”

“Ah. And sir?”

“Yes?”

“About the incident from before. The Inquisition contacted us…”

Pippin stopped me as I was about to enter the office and added:

“They asked if you knew anything about the escaped detainee from the detention facility and the new surrenderer who was found following Saint Lucia when she came looking for you last time.”

“Nothing else?”

“The Inquisition is searching for the whereabouts of the two surrenderers… but it seems they haven’t had much success yet. Their staff seemed quite frustrated.”

“…”

“What should I tell them?”

“Tell them I don’t know anything, but I’ll contact them separately if I think of something.”

Oh, and:

“Right. Where are Jake and Chernoi now?”

“Jake has business at the rear headquarters today, and Chernoi… I’m not sure. He doesn’t have much work these days.”

“If you find him, tell him to come see me.”

“Yes, sir.”

I waved my hand casually, unlocked the office door with my key, and went inside. A short while later, I came out of the building carrying a document envelope and got into a car.

With a nymph in the back seat.

“Where are we going…?”

After driving for about 90 minutes down a straight highway, I finally arrived at a familiar luxurious building.

It was the safe house where the angel was hiding.

=

The Burning Shit culture that appears in this work is a method of fecal disposal that has been passed down from the Vietnam War by the US military.

I believe the Korean military also used it a few times during the Iraq deployment.

Because of the dizzying, foul smell and nauseating method, it’s usually assigned to low-ranking juniors or those under disciplinary action. Anyone can see it’s not something a major should be doing.

For reference, intelligence officers on overseas assignments also favor incineration when disposing of things. From everyday garbage to equipment that needs to be destroyed, analysis materials that need to be eliminated immediately, and so on. Normally they collect and incinerate them, but in emergencies, they gather whatever is at hand and burn it with diesel.

The image shows a patch depicting a soldier burning excrement. It’s available for sale at military shops and even on Amazon.

And for Meal Team Six and Operation Dessert Storm, it would be more intuitive to show you the memes circulating on the internet rather than explaining them.