Ch.484Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

# Dictatorships Boast Surprisingly High Levels of Public Safety

Some might call this nonsense, but it’s actually true. Countless examples prove this point.

The first that comes to mind is, of course, South Korea.

Then there are countries that have experienced socialist dictatorships like Cuba, Chile, China, Laos, and Vietnam.

These are nations where the state suppresses dissidents while simultaneously cracking down on crime with an iron fist, imposing harsh sentences on criminals without hesitation.

High-level public safety can only be maintained through state-led surveillance and severe punishment. In countries with histories of dictatorship, surveillance and punishment were typically carried out under the guise of “maintaining public order” but were actually aimed at suppressing anti-government activists.

If you weren’t a dictator’s lackey or didn’t have money to grease the palms of investigative agencies, and you committed a crime in such places, you could flush any hopes of living a comfortable life down the toilet.

The situation in this neighborhood wasn’t much different.

The Kiyen Empire, which prioritizes protecting the Emperor and the security of the empire and imperial family.

Following the Emperor’s orders to shed the image of bloody purges and tyranny, all criminals in the empire were thrown into prison.

After a massive crackdown on everything from robbery, pickpocketing, and human trafficking to murder and rape, the Kiyen Empire rose to become a continent-leading nation in public safety.

The Republic of Fatalia, with its painful history of military dictatorship.

Facing public safety collapse due to the aftermath of regime change and economic crisis, the military government once declared war on criminals.

Generals who attacked the presidential palace pointed their guns at criminals, and military police broke the wrists of pickpockets caught at tourist sites with their batons on the spot to protect the tourism industry that had been famous for thousands of years.

As a result, Fatalia’s public safety remains quite good even today after the regime change. Even pickpockets commonly seen in Abas don’t dare approach Fatalia’s major tourist attractions.

The Lushan Federal Kingdom, maintained through the royal family’s strong central control over federated territories.

The power of the kings who govern the federation comes from bloodlines. To protect their power, kings appoint their children as ministers, with princes inheriting positions as Ministers of Internal Affairs and Defense.

Separate from the torture, violence, kidnapping, and assassination carried out against anti-royal social activists and critical journalists, the royal family was genuinely committed to eradicating crime that disrupted the federation under the catchphrase of maintaining public safety.

It’s a historical irony that the fine-sounding justifications used to maintain dictatorships actually come true. But it shouldn’t be considered strange.

While the tree of liberty is watered with the blood of tyrants and revolutionaries, the tree of dictatorship demands much more blood.

And the blood these trees drink always pools at the bottom of society, not at the top.

That’s why dictatorships inevitably boast high levels of public safety.

At least, that’s what I’ve observed.

But as is always the case in this world…

Nothing is absolute.

## Episode 17 – The Tree That Drinks Blood

When I first arrived at the scene, I realized that a formula I had firmly believed in had been shattered.

“Damn… this is a complete mess.”

For those who have lived in 21st century South Korea, the image of a violent crime scene looks something like this:

Yellow police tape with bold “NO ENTRY” markings.

Investigators conducting forensic work with “SCIENTIFIC INVESTIGATION” emblazoned on their backs.

Police blocking access and citizens peering curiously.

TV cameras capturing every detail and journalists interviewing relevant officials.

The scene before my eyes completely negated the image of a “21st century South Korean crime scene” that had been peacefully sleeping somewhere in my mind.

Disorderly onlookers, people presumed to be bereaved family members wailing at the center of the crime scene, broadcasting staff and journalists operating magic recording devices while stepping right through bloodstains.

The scene was literally a complete mess.

The number of police officers who should have been blocking access was visibly insufficient, and there wasn’t even a hint of preservation in the way relatives were rummaging through blood-soaked clothing. Considering that the first principle of criminal and forensic investigation is scene preservation, it was absolutely appalling.

I looked around with a serious expression and muttered:

“What the hell is going on here…”

*

“Bring a sorcerer here immediately!”

“Elzaher Town, come in. Nabuktu Police Headquarters. We need doctors. Repeat. Doctors immediately…”

“Take them to the hospital. What? No beds available? If there aren’t any, you need to make some! Stop bragging and go make space! Hurry!”

After seeing the dispatch from the Foreign Ministry, I arrived at the scene via teleport to find it in complete disarray.

I later visited the local police headquarters, but it was equally chaotic.

By “chaotic,” I mean it was a three-dimensional disaster.

Police executives shouting at lower-ranking officers, radio operators pressing their headsets tightly while straining to hear barely audible transmissions. It was quite a spectacle.

Realizing there was no hope, I promptly left. As I was leaving headquarters, I received an address on my company phone and headed there.

The destination was a village located in an urban area.

Surrounded by pristine white walls, it was there that I finally got to hear a proper account of what had happened.

“A tree ate people.”

A man with a beard sprouting like rice seedlings in a paddy field spoke up.

“A tree?”

“Yes. According to journalists, that’s what happened.”

He introduced himself as an administrative employee of the Abas Foreign Ministry attached to the local embassy.

But both he and I knew that was a blatant lie. The address had been sent not by the embassy but by the company.

In other words, the man wasn’t a diplomat but an intelligence officer—an agent dispatched by the Royal Intelligence Service.

The Royal Intelligence Service employee at the embassy had summoned me to a village after I had been scouring the scene and police headquarters. After taking a detour to avoid the chaotic market alleys, I immediately noticed upon arrival that this was no ordinary village.

For good reason—in developing countries, areas surrounded by clean white walls are generally wealthy neighborhoods. This was likely a village created for local wealthy and powerful individuals.

I surveyed the parking lot and quietly muttered:

“Something serious must have happened, judging by the state of the hospitals.”

Beyond the walls that separate the poor from the rich, a hospital located in the wealthy neighborhood was today’s meeting point.

Of course, even a hospital for the rich was still only at the level of a developing country.

Patients were haphazardly spread throughout corridors due to insufficient beds, medical waste overflowed from lobby trash cans like slop buckets, and doctors and nurses, their morale at rock bottom, were irritable toward patients.

This central hospital of the neighborhood lagged far behind the major hospitals or university hospitals of developed countries.

The Royal Intelligence Service employee lit a locally obtained cigarette.

Then, pretending to light it, he rolled the lighter flint while scanning the surroundings.

“…”

A police car carrying an injured person hurriedly passed by us. Since the medical staff didn’t even come out to meet them, the police had to move their colleague by themselves.

The head of the police officer being pulled from the back seat was bleeding profusely. The officers grabbed their unconscious colleague’s limbs and ran toward the hospital.

After the police had completely disappeared, the man finally raised his head, puffing on his lit cigarette.

“What a sight to behold. I just came out to meet an informant, and suddenly the city turned into chaos, and my informant disappeared.”

From his tone, I gathered that his missing informant had been brought to this hospital.

I asked if he had found the informant. He replied that the informant was dead. By the time he arrived, the informant had already died from excessive bleeding. He added:

The Royal Intelligence Service employee who had been smoking spoke up.

“The company told me to tell you everything I know. I’m not sure if I’ll be helpful, but I’ll share everything I’ve found out.”

“Thank you.”

“A tree ate people. Let’s start there.”

I received several pieces of information from him.

The strangely incongruous street scenes I had witnessed on my way to the meeting point, the rumors circulating among people.

The circumstances gathered from patients, families, and medical staff at the hospital where the dead informant had been brought. Testimonies from journalists and government officials he regularly maintained with pocket money.

I took the materials provided by the Royal Intelligence Service employee and went to find Veronica.

“A tree killed people. It seems the blood-drinking tree Ramiel mentioned has appeared.”

“The incident occurred in the south, right?”

“Nabuktu. A city near the southern provincial capital.”

“Are you certain?”

“I just came from checking the scene, police headquarters, and hospital.”

Photos capturing the devastation spilled onto the table.

After examining some of the photos, Veronica covered her mouth with her hand and flipped them over so the content wasn’t visible.

I spoke up.

“There are sixteen fatalities and over twenty injured. Considering the police who witnessed the scene, the bereaved families, and journalists, news will likely break today through either local newspapers or central broadcasting. Naturally, the Papal States and Al-Yabd must be aware of the situation.”

“…”

“What do we do now?”

It was already too late to control the information—too many people knew.

Veronica, who had been sitting with her hands clasped under her chin, remained silent with an expressionless face.

After a moment of flowing silence, she let her wrists drop limply. Then she carefully opened her mouth.

“Should we formally request a demon subjugation from the Papal States?”

“Would Al-Yabd just stand by and watch that?”

“What choice do we have?”

Veronica stood up, leaning on the desk.

“It’s something we have to do.”

“…”

“For now, I need to go to Laterano to meet Raphael. Major, please stay here and find out if there’s any new information. If necessary, request help from the angels… I’ll let them know in advance.”

“Understood.”

I quietly nodded.

*

News of the bizarre murder case in Mauritania spread across the continent and throughout the world.

Local correspondents issued breaking news citing regional newspapers and broadcasts, and officials stationed at embassies sent urgent messages to their home countries.

The Church and Al-Yabd discussed launching investigations. However, the complex international situation became a stumbling block.

“Entrusting an investigation to heretics? Impossible.”

“It’s already outrageous that heretic priests have set foot on this land shaped and perfected by the Earth Mother Goddess, but to investigate alongside them? How could that be appropriate?”

News that the Papal States would participate in the investigation provoked backlash from many Al-Yabd believers.

The reason was that the blood on the swords from holy wars and heresy inquisitions had barely dried—how could they join hands with priests from the Papal States?

The fact that the Inquisition was designated as the Papal States’ agency to participate in the investigation was also cited as a reason for the backlash within Al-Yabd. The hardliners who had been holding back began to raise their heads because of the Inquisition’s presence.

The problem was the backlash from outside.

“Brothers, why are you cooperating with heretics? Withdraw your hands extended to heretics and unbelievers. Do not shake hands with them. If such actions are repeated, you will pay a great price.”

Terrorist organizations began to get involved. They were armed groups similar to Hezbollah, Hamas, Taliban, or Daesh (ISIL) on Earth.

The fact that they referred to Al-Yabd clerics as brothers made it easy to guess that they were affiliated with Al-Yabd.

And as their similarity to Middle Eastern terrorists suggests, these bastards were the famous assholes born of religion.

[The Al-Yabd extremist terrorist group ‘Glorious Path’ has claimed responsibility for the large-scale attack that took place in Maheb a few days ago.]

[A building is engulfed in flames. As people escape from under collapsed walls, machine guns of the special forces deployed to the scene are blazing. The sorcerers who carried out the terror attack that day belonged to the ‘Ubasa Brigade,’ demanding the abolition of educational curricula that violate religious law and the cessation of cooperation with the Church…]

[An armed faction in the Mauritanian continent issued a statement around 6 AM local time on the 11th. The faction’s spokesperson began by demanding the withdrawal of Church clergy, including Saint Lucia, and mentioned six demands. The Deputy Minister of Defense stated that these were unreasonable demands that could not be accommodated and declared that if an attack were launched against the royal family, there would be massive retaliation.]

When Lucia first arrived in Mauritania, the armed groups didn’t show much resistance. Even if they grumbled behind the scenes, they at least behaved properly in public.

This was entirely because Lucia’s dispatch was based on an official request from Al-Yabd, and there was support from the local government and community.

Therefore, except for mentally ill lunatics, the armed groups couldn’t take any action. Especially after those who rioted, threatening to kill the saint, were blown to pieces by government forces’ bombardment, they became even more cautious.

But when the situation heated up, groups that had been lying low all over began to rise up at once, as if they were about to burst with the anger they had been suppressing.

The terrorist groups’ attacks were quite sophisticated and meticulous.

Intelligence agencies from developed countries classified this as pre-planned terrorism. The Abas intelligence agency was no exception.

Just as the US CIA does, Abas and other developed countries had branches worldwide. Naturally, they had already obtained intelligence that these guys were plotting something.

Nevertheless, the local governments’ responses were utterly pathetic.

-‘The government complex was attacked. In Nurhavena.’

“I believe we gave you a heads-up two weeks ago that you were targeted for terrorism and should prepare in advance. What exactly have you been doing?”

-‘We got our asses handed to us. Just yesterday they were boasting that they were well-prepared and we shouldn’t worry. I’d like to smash that ambassador’s face in.’

The Royal Intelligence Service had obtained signs of attack through intelligence officers monitoring major terrorist organizations.

The data was processed and transferred to the embassy, and the Abas government warned that they should prepare defenses or take some measures. Leoni had also long since ordered that some military intelligence be selected and handed over to the local Ministry of Defense.

But surprisingly, the idiotic local Ministry of Internal Affairs and Ministry of Defense allowed the attack to happen. They weren’t just beaten—they were completely crushed.

There were even indications that there might be a mole in their intelligence agency, as materials provided by Abas had been leaked. Our intelligence had flowed into the hands of terrorist groups.

It was an undeniable disaster.

Clevins, the Director of the Domestic Division of the Military Intelligence Service, described this disaster as follows:

“Our intelligence network has regressed by about five years. The golden tower we’ve carefully built is on the verge of collapsing overnight.”

Though exaggerated, it was an accurate assessment.

If terrorist groups used the leaked materials to root out informants embedded in their organizations, everything would be lost.

We had to worry about the lives of the handlers before even considering the fate of the informants.

Ominous premonitions always come true. This cursed jinx soon became reality.

Intelligence agents responsible for overseas counter-terrorism intelligence collection and operations began to be attacked. Though the number was small for an entire department, it was a tremendous issue that a terrorist organization had discovered the identities and safe house locations of intelligence officers.

Other agencies were in similar situations.

-‘Two of our company employees were hit. They were showered with bullets while leaving the parking garage on their way to work.’

“Did they survive?”

-‘Fortunately. But it seems our informants weren’t so lucky. They found only a severed head and a hand in a garbage dump.’

Sophia from Fatalia’s intelligence agency, the National Security Bureau, explained the accident in a calm tone.

Intelligence officers being attacked on their way to work meant their identities had been compromised. It seemed likely that one of the murdered informants had revealed information, but since those informants were already dead, uncovering the truth was virtually impossible.

As the situation unfolded this way, local governments also began to lose their minds.

“What are you saying, Minister? Withdrawal?”

“Exactly. Camilla, Francesca, and Saint Lucia who are active in our country—we’d like them to leave by the end of this month.”

“…Minister. Please listen to me calmly first. Our Fatalia has no way to intervene in the World Union’s peacekeeping operations—”

“Peace? Did you just say peace? Ambassador, look at the bodies strewn across the streets right now. This isn’t peace.”

“…”

“It’s terror.”

Notifications from local governments began to arrive one after another to officials connected with the group’s activities.

Ambassadors, consuls, ministers, NGO executives, World Union diplomats, international organization staff, even diplomatic missions from other countries.

The Abas government and other developed nations proposed military operations against terrorist organizations and rebels along with their principled responses, but it was futile.

Instead, government officials rebelled, saying, “Why should we send our soldiers to the battlefield when you’re not going to send your armies?”

“…”

I watched a local politician’s speech flowing from the TV. Subtitles added by a translator scrolled quickly at the bottom.

[Why must our sons be sent to their deaths? Why must we live in fear every night? We suffer day after day due to the Prime Minister’s incompetence and the neglect of the great powers. Where is this peace and stability they speak of?]

[We must break free from this cycle of tragedy. I demand the government immediately expel them from our country and negotiate with the resistance forces…]

Click. The face that had been spouting nonsense disappeared. The screen turned black. I threw the remote control irritably and sat in the chair.

“What a load of bullshit.”

Jake, who had been watching beside me, added a comment.

“That governor was elected from a region with rebel activity.”

“That explains it.”

“A few provincial police officers will have to die first.”

He bent down to pick up the remote control that had fallen to the floor.

“Still, our Foreign Ministry’s assessment is that few countries will actually implement withdrawals. Public opinion is also favorable to our side.”

Pippin’s gaze shifted from Jake to me. The analyst, who had been reviewing materials sent by Abas diplomats to the World Union, began to offer optimistic prospects instead of pessimism.

“The international community’s position is clear. Many governments support the joint response plan against terrorist organizations that was just released. There’s agreement that we can no longer stand by and watch the Mauritanian continent suffer from the threat of terrorism.”

“Isn’t that what the Kiyen Empire’s Foreign Ministry announced?”

“Yes. Specifically, it was a topic floated by the ambassador to the Union during a dinner with journalists. It will likely be registered as an official agenda item soon.”

Damn. I never thought I’d see the day when the Kiyen Empire and the Kingdom of Abas would agree on something.

It’s heartwarming news, but for someone who knows the inside story, it only leaves a bitter taste. The international community’s support was essentially the result of pressure from major power governments.

If any country disagreed with that agenda, they threatened to cut economic aid and industrial subsidies. Abas, Kiyen, and other governments had already made these threats in private settings.

It was perfect gangsterism, but governments didn’t even resist. For countries just emerging from poverty and starting to grow, cutting off economic support was tantamount to telling them to prepare to go back to the days of digging in the dirt to survive. If they didn’t like it, they had no choice but to follow orders.

They say it’s the natural order of international society for powerful countries to have their way, but this felt wrong somehow. Isn’t this just the strong bullying the weak?

Of course, I wasn’t clean enough myself to point that out.

As is typical for people working in intelligence agencies, there are always some shady aspects. At least for people like me who have worked with blood on their hands.

“Let’s start by making a list. Even if they don’t go as far as withdrawal, there will be regions they’ll block access to. Let’s sort out the likely candidates first.”

“Should I just select rebel-controlled areas, warlord-controlled territories, and high-terrorism-risk regions?”

“You think that’s enough? Consult with the Foreign Ministry line and make a selection.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pippin and Jake began the task of compiling a regional list. Although Abas had mobilized all its diplomatic power to put out the urgent fire, the big problem of the Church still remained.

At least Veronica is working hard. Persuading the bishops and cardinals, demanding Raphael’s decision, and so on.

Lucia wasn’t sitting idle either. I understand she’s continuously contacting key Al-Yabd figures even now. Francesca was similar. Her developed alchemical weapons are quite attractive to Defense Ministry officials. If this situation causes contract problems, it would become very difficult to deal with monsters coming across the border.

And Camilla…

“Where’s Camilla now?”

“The Hero? She left for an operation in the uninhabited area four hours ago.”

She’s busy slaying monsters.

Despite the world falling into chaos, she quietly roamed the desert. Saying that while there’s not much she can do, she’ll do what she’s good at. When I asked what that was, she said monster hunting.

I don’t know how much time we have left, but she intends to save as many people as possible in the remaining time. I didn’t stop her.

“Haah…”

I turned off the communication device and lay down on the field bed. I had just contacted the Hassan warlord and Viktor.

Rebels are typically connected to each other, and arms brokers maintain intimate relationships with rebel leadership. Nasir al-Hassan, the leader of Hassan, and Viktor, the Kiyen Defense Ministry’s arms broker—these two informants scraped together and brought me all the trends of armed groups across the Mauritanian continent.

It was just as I was taking a short nap and then sitting in front of the terminal analyzing intelligence.

The communication device tucked in my bag begins to flash. After powering up the anti-eavesdropping equipment, I went into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and pressed the connect button.

“Yes, this is Frederick.”

-‘It’s me.’

“Matt?”

I adjusted the communicator.

“Sudden call. Perfect timing. I just received intelligence from Hassan that a rebel group beyond the western border is looking for a bomb maker…”

-‘The rebels aren’t important right now.’

Matt cut me off.

-‘We have a problem. Can you switch devices?’

“…Call me back in 10 minutes.”

I ended the call and came out to the living room. After lifting the carpet, I inserted a knife into the gap between the boards and pried it up with force.

There was a small hole where the plank had been removed. I dusted off the accumulated dust and took out a hidden communication device, turning it on. It was equipment that could use a more careful security line than what I normally used.

I put on an Arab-style coat and went out into the street. After circling around to check if I was being followed or monitored, I connected the communication while walking down a quiet alley.

“You can speak now.”

-‘Good.’

“You said there’s a problem?”

If he’s asking me to change devices, it must be serious.

After reaching an empty lot with equipment using a stronger security line, I looked around. Meanwhile, Matt, who had been silent, spoke up.

-‘I got a call from an acquaintance working at the Special Investigation Bureau. Some vermin has entered the country. Near your family.’

“…”

My steps wandering around the lot momentarily faltered.

I briefly removed the communicator from my ear and fell into thought. Even though I stayed like that for several minutes, Matt didn’t say anything.

After a long wait, when I put the phone back to my ear, he finally continued.

-‘Are you okay?’

“Yes. So who is this vermin?”

-‘…Someone from Petrograd. You probably know them.’

I asked who it was.

And Matt corrected me.

-‘Not a he, but a she.’

Not a man, but a woman. A woman from the Kiyen Empire.

As soon as I heard that, one person came to mind.

-‘Yekaterina Andreyevna. You know her, right?’

Imperial Guard Bureau, 1st Department Intelligence Officer.

-‘She’s shown up in Abas now.’