Ch.537Episode 20 – Who Threatened You with a Knife?

# As the Sun Sets, the Moon Rises

The blazing sun carefully closes its eyes, and the brilliantly bright moon begins to illuminate all creation.

The ship from the Lushan Federation followed the dark waves to reach the harbor of the Red Desert at dawn.

The arrival announcement gradually woke passengers drowsy with sleep, and was clearly heard by a traveler who happened to be splashing cold water on their face in the bathroom.

As droplets of water fell one by one from the faucet—plop, plop—tapping against the sink.

The traveler shed the traces of the long voyage and changed into new clothes.

The harmoniously matched shirt and corduroy pants fell away like a shed skin, replaced by a plain black top.

Where tied-back hair had been loosened, a black rosary was placed around it. A veil covering the face descended from the crown of the head to cover the chest.

And finally, when the traveler—revealing only the eyes and surrounding skin—appeared in the mirror.

The red gaze moved up and down as if searching for flaws, then disappeared to the edge of the mirror with a satisfied gleam.

The fully covered traveler left the bathroom and returned to their seat by the window, which offered a clear view of the horizon.

A fellow passenger was sitting in the aisle seat, but he briefly lifted his knees to make way for the returning neighbor.

“Did you change?”

The fellow passenger asked in Kiyen.

When the returned traveler naturally nodded as if bowing slightly, the man smiled as if relieved.

He lowered his knees and continued in a small whisper.

“When we reach the port, representatives will be waiting. Blue vehicle. Two men and one woman.”

The black cloth covering the face stirred slightly.

Soft Kiyen words emerged through the niqab and rosary.

“Market research?”

“No. Operational support.”

“…Location of the business contact?”

“Not yet. But they’re expected to enter the country soon.”

The man covered his outstretched fingers with his body, and the red eyes counted them.

Three fingers.

“Three hours with support staff… That’s tight. Even if we mobilize the entire branch, it won’t be enough.”

The red gaze held an indifferent light as it faced forward. The man responded to the woman’s words with a slight smile.

“Ha. Aren’t you too tense? It’s just one person. Yet you’re talking about using all branch personnel.”

“Give me the passport.”

“Yes, colleague.”

The man opened his jacket and with exaggerated movements, respectfully handed over a passport from his inner pocket. The woman placed her own passport on top of it.

The sea-scented wind slipped through the open window.

The palm-sized passports fell into the sea and floated helplessly. The dark blue waves snatched them and pulled them into their embrace.

Two passports emblazoned with double-headed eagles.

## Episode 20 – Who Threatened You With a Knife?

Tourism is the representative industry of the Mauritanian continent.

Some may mock, saying what kind of tourism could exist in such an undeveloped place that just digs up the earth for a living.

But those who have traveled extensively and documentary production crews consistently praise the natural scenery here until their tongues go dry.

‘Listen! Have you been there? If not, don’t even talk about it. You’re missing half your life!’

Something like that.

While watching a senior colleague passionately rant, I’d think that person always starts this when drinking, but also wonder if the scenery is truly spectacular enough for a drunkard to ramble about the same thing for 4 hours and 26 minutes.

And now I realize:

Wow, that guy was right for once.

“Охуенно….” (Holy shit….)

The man in sunglasses muttered an expletive while gazing at the sea.

The blazing sunshine despite the sunrise. White foam shattering into pieces. Cliffs like sculptures crafted by the wind, stitch by stitch.

Such heavenly natural scenery is truly rare.

“What are you gawking at? First time seeing the ocean, landlubber?”

The man in the driver’s seat asked in a disapproving tone. With his arms resting on the steering wheel and window sill, he had been glaring at his friend who was sprawled with his dirty backside on the hood.

Not that it mattered.

The man in sunglasses pointed at the sea and raised his voice.

“Look. The scenery is amazing.”

“All I can see is your butt. Would you move your behind?”

“I really wouldn’t have believed my senior if I hadn’t come. Wasn’t it good that I came?”

“Fine, just move that sloppy butt of yours now. What are you doing on my car when your bike is right there?”

The noisy commotion completely chased away her sleep.

Disturbed from her sweet rest, the woman lying in the back seat removed the jacket covering her head and snapped irritably at the two men.

“Gentlemen… Would you mind shutting up so I can sleep?”

No sooner had her crisp recitation ended than laughter erupted.

The woman extended her middle finger before pulling the jacket back over her head, and the man in the driver’s seat pointed at her.

“Hey, look at that. After getting chewed out by the little grandpa for damaged supplies, now she’s giving us attitude.”

“Our friend is easy to pick on.”

“Shut up… Let me nap…”

Seeing the office worker sprawled in the back seat mumbling in a tired voice, the colleague in sunglasses gaped in disbelief.

It was a lament.

“Wow. You can sleep with this beautiful scenery around?”

“Beautiful scenery, my foot…”

The colleague with the jacket over her head grumbled, using her arm as a pillow.

“Do we even have time to enjoy this? The mission is right in front of us.”

Information agents from Department 5 (5-й отдел) of Bureau 6, which supports and assists all Imperial Guardian Office missions both domestic and foreign, specifically handling the Mauritanian continent.

These were the Imperial Guardian Office employees said to make even crying babies stone-faced.

…That is to say.

From the woman lying with a jacket over her head like a sunbathing turtle,

to the man at the steering wheel barking at someone to move their behind,

to the leisurely man in sunglasses enjoying the scenery,

These were the fearsome Imperial Guardian Office information agents.

Unbelievable as it might seem.

“Well. In the end, we’re just wiping the bottoms of the sales department, I mean, the overseas team…”

The exhausted woman muttered, dangling one leg between the front and back seats.

She was an employee of Bureau 6, Department 5, supporting the Guardian Office’s overseas operations on the Mauritanian continent.

“Wiping bottoms? That sounds weird. How would operations run without us?”

“It’s not exactly wrong, is it? All we ever do is run errands.”

When the one in sunglasses asked sulkily, his friend behind the wheel gave a playful response. It was a joke tinged with self-deprecation.

When people join an intelligence agency, everyone thinks they’ll become field agents.

But this is half right and half wrong.

While intelligence collection, information analysis, counterintelligence, and covert operations are indeed the four main activities of intelligence agencies, missions—whether domestic or foreign—always require someone’s support to run properly.

Bureau 6 of the Imperial Guardian Office was the department responsible for that “support work.”

To put it simply, it’s a kind of convenience service.

Whether it’s safe houses or wiretapping devices, Bureau 6’s role is to provide whatever is requested.

For example, when a Bureau 1 investigator needs a disguised vehicle to monitor a public security case suspect but doesn’t have one, Bureau 6 staff immediately secure a suitable vehicle.

If a Bureau 2 intelligence officer needs to rescue a detained informant in the middle of Abas, Bureau 6 staff procure weapons, forged IDs, and escape means locally.

Operational support departments like this exist everywhere, with the CIA’s DS (Directorate of Support) being a symbolic example.

From this perspective, it seems like an important department, and indeed it is.

However, within the Imperial Guardian Office, Bureau 6’s evaluation and status were quite low…

The reason was obvious.

“Haven’t you heard what our colleagues say… calling us servants and maids.”

Because this is a dead-end position you should absolutely avoid if you have any thoughts of promotion.

The Bureau 6 employee with his arm on the steering wheel responded to his colleague’s complaint.

“Well, anyone serious about a career in the company wouldn’t even glance at Bureau 6.”

Applicants dreaming of becoming intelligence officers invariably hope to join Bureau 1 or Bureau 2, or at least Bureau 8 for comprehensive analysis.

People with talent in magic or divine powers?

Most go to Bureau 13 (Research and Development for Intelligence Equipment and Technology), and the exceptionally talented are drafted into departments investigating mysterious anomalies.

Those with excellent foreign language skills utilize their abilities as language specialists in Bureau 2 or Bureau 8, while ambitious individuals seeking promotion climb to the Inspection Department or Personnel Office.

For them, Bureau 6 is essentially a place of exile, practically a remote mountain valley.

There’s plenty of work but promotions are notoriously rare, which is why Bureau 6 has long been considered an “avoided workplace” within the Imperial Guardian Office.

That’s why Bureau 6 employees are semi-jokingly called “servants” or “maids” among staff. Roughly translated to a Korean equivalent, it would be similar to the nickname “yellow cow-black cow.”

Of course, jokes should be made with the right audience.

Among fellow Bureau 6 employees or close colleagues of many years, it’s playful banter when one calls “Come here~” and the other responds “Yes~”.

Conversely, if some stranger or someone you’re not particularly close with mentions servants or maids, it’s asking for a fight.

“Even though operational support is handled by our seniors and we’re just clueless rookies… Let’s not be too depressed even if we haven’t done much. Bureau 6 is still a place where people work. Surely better days will come someday?”

The Bureau 6 agent in the driver’s seat exaggerated loudly as if encouraging everyone.

However, his female colleague didn’t even respond, and his sunglassed colleague had long been absorbed in admiring the scenery. For reference, his buttocks were still on the hood.

Looking back and forth, the Bureau 6 agent began to chuckle.

“The dog barks, the dog barks…”

His dejected voice scattered in the sea breeze.

The man in sunglasses finally got off the hood with a thud, shrugging his shoulders.

“So who’s coming?”

“I don’t know.”

His fellow information agent answered, gently swaying his arm on the steering wheel.

“The little grandpa just told us to stand by.”

This meant the Resident (senior intelligence officer in the host country) hadn’t informed them.

In other words, they were instructed to wait at the port indefinitely until someone arrived.

It was a frustrating order, but they had to follow it. It was a command from the highest-ranking intelligence officer in the area, passed down through headquarters.

“I should have eaten breakfast before coming.”

In response to the gloomy self-talk, the colleague napping under the jacket mumbled incoherently.

“Stop it… If you’re full, you’ll get sleepy and can’t work…”

So the Bureau 6 employees waited.

For someone they didn’t know, someone whose arrival time was uncertain.

They couldn’t understand how to make contact with someone whose face they didn’t know, but the Resident just told them to park the car and wait, saying the person would find them.

That turned out to be true.

The Bureau 6 employees soon spotted the person coming from headquarters.

Just as the three Kiyens, vulnerable to heat, were turning into sous-vide in the murderous heat (27.4°C), a pair of traditionally dressed men and women quietly approached and rhythmically tapped on the car window.

The Bureau 6 employee asked:

“Are you from Kudlian?”

The man answered:

“I was referred by Uncle Juba.”

“Get in. We’ve been waiting for you.”

The intelligence officers from the home country took the passenger seat and back seat. The Bureau 6 employee who had been looking around in sunglasses mounted the motorcycle parked nearby.

The loud exhaust sound of the air-cooled engine faded away, and the Bureau 6 employee who had been wandering in dreamland glanced repeatedly at the headquarters staff who had taken the seat beside her. The information officer, heavily armed with a niqab, said nothing, making it difficult to even determine their gender.

The Bureau 6 employee at the wheel asked:

“We’ll head to the branch office first.”

The male intelligence officer from headquarters nodded as if agreeing.

However, the intelligence officer in the back seat seemed to have different thoughts.

“Let’s go to the hotel instead of the office. We need time to prepare.”

“The hotel? Right now?”

“Yes. Straight there.”

The clear female voice somehow seemed strangely sharp. The Bureau 6 employee acknowledged and was about to depart when something occurred to him. He lowered the window and called out to his colleague.

His colleague, who was starting the engine and gauging when to depart, spread his arms as if asking what was happening. The Bureau 6 employee quietly whispered that the destination had changed.

“They want to go to the hotel?”

“Hotel? Then we should go. I’ll go ahead and prepare.”

“But it takes quite a while. Longer than you think.”

“You’re exaggerating. How long could it possibly take?”

“If traffic is heavy… about 2 hours and 20 minutes?”

2 hours and 20 minutes?

The Bureau 6 employee in sunglasses looked up at the blazing sun. Then he alternately examined the heated seat and the air-cooled engine pumping hot air between his legs.

“Охуенно….” (Holy shit….)

*

“…Wow, it felt like burning alive. Ugh-“

The Bureau 6 employee continued dry heaving with unfocused eyes.

It was the aftermath of riding a motorcycle across the desert under the blazing sun.

“I told you to buy more cars…”

“What can we do when there’s no budget? You’ve suffered.”

His colleagues diligently patted the back of their friend who had absorbed the full brunt of the heat.

He rode the motorcycle not because he was possessed by swagger or vanity.

It was simply because the only available vehicles were a 4-seater car and a motorcycle.

The modified vans they had paid extra for were on long-term loan to surveillance and intelligence teams, while the trucks and SUVs had all been taken by the special operations team.

Of course, there was a hatchback that Bureau 6 seniors had cherished for years. But even that had been borrowed by a military intelligence unit that went on a business trip to Zamria or Syria months ago, and there had been no news of it since.

“Is the landscaping okay?”

“This is sufficient.”

The two intelligence officers from headquarters gathered by the window to talk.

The man peered through a monocular telescope mounted on a tripod, while the woman inserted a pension record card into her mobile phone after removing her cumbersome niqab.

After the local carrier’s logo flickered briefly, a connection tone played as she combined the country code and numbers.

-‘Hello?’

“Yes, Aunt. I’ve arrived.”

-‘That’s good. How’s the weather?’

The woman’s gaze moved from the window toward the table.

– Blink. Blink.

“It’s clear.”

Taking her eyes off the blinking green light, the woman added briefly:

-‘…Good. The reception is also good.’

The aunt said:

-‘Have you secured a base?’

The woman said:

“We have. Shizya, Oktyabrvinsk Plaza, 35th floor.”

The superior asked:

-‘Who are you with?’

The subordinate answered:

“Salizan and three others.”

-‘Bureau 6?’

“That’s correct.”

The conversation paused. It was due to her superior’s habit of adjusting the receiver during calls.

-‘A guest will arrive there today. One male. Check the attached documents for details.’

“Yes.”

-‘Take turns monitoring with your colleague. Securing as much evidence as possible is the priority. Refrain from approaching until permission is given.’

The superior added:

-‘If support is needed, a follow-up team from a neighboring country will join. But only after four days.’

Backup. Standby in neighboring country. Moving in four days.

“How long until they arrive?”

-‘At least 36 hours.’

They would arrive in two days at the earliest.

The pen quickly skimmed across the notepad. Alternating surveillance. Evidence collection priority. No approach. Backup after four days. Minimum 36 hours required.

The Imperial Guardian Office employee continued writing, lips moving slightly. Just in case she forgot.

-‘If possible, I’d like you and your colleague to wrap this up alone. If absolutely necessary, you can get help from the Bureau 6 members accompanying you or the Resident.’

The pen stopped writing.

“Didn’t you tell me to call for support?”

-‘I did. However, I’m a bit concerned because they’re not our people.’

Not our people. Meaning personnel from a different company.

Though specific details were omitted, she understood the general context. The call ended with instructions to report at 12-hour intervals.

The woman only stood up after writing down that final information.

“That was the director.”

The notepad flew and landed on the bed. The man dispatched from headquarters looked inside while checking a magic recording device.

“…Just the two of us? Is this for real?”

“A tearfully moving true story.”

This business trip won’t be easy either. The Imperial Guardian Office employee shook his head and locked the case containing the magic recording device.

“Everyone.”

Clap! The crisp sound of hands clapping drew everyone’s attention.

Except for one person—her colleague who was organizing equipment.

“These are the director’s instructions. I ask for your cooperation for just a few days.”

The pale-faced employee who was staggering and the two colleagues supporting him looked at each other’s faces.

Then they turned their heads simultaneously.

“…What kind of cooperation are you talking about?”

“Nothing major.”

The woman responded to the employees’ question in a monotone voice.

“Just monitoring a certain man.”

*

The warm air lulls the sand to sleep, and the mercury column points to 35.4 degrees.

The midday sun was perfect for killing.

Burning cheeks, sweat beads pooling above the eyebrows. This headache-inducing, throbbing sunlight made me understand the plight of that French youth who could endure being stabbed in the forehead but absolutely couldn’t stand “dazzling sunlight.”

One-line summary:

: I’m dying of heat.

“Haaah…”

My vitality drains away in the sizzling heat.

Why do I feel like I’m dying in real-time just standing still? It’s truly baffling. This damned weather.

“Why do you keep sighing?”

“Because it’s hot. So hot.”

Camilla—a fire-attribute magician, or perhaps a fire-attribute filial daughter, maybe both—slapped my back hard as if to encourage me.

That wasn’t going to bring back my half-departed consciousness.

I dragged Camilla along instead of her carrier as she ran around like a rabid bulldog, exiting the warp gate immigration office while repeatedly exhaling deeply drawn breaths.

Ah, really. This is the last place I wanted to come…

I raised my head to look at the city.

“……”

Shizya, the capital of the Ashtistan Republic.

City of religion and sorcery. Home to the priest of Al-Yabd who led the war between religious orders and magic towers.

And the heart of a theocratic state isolated from the world.

Also the middle of hostile territory.

“I ended up coming here after all.”