Ch.538Episode 20 – Who Threatened You with a Knife?

In my life, I’ve traveled to so many places that it would be faster to list regions I haven’t visited, but Iran stands out as a particularly memorable posting.

Because I was scammed into going there.

After completing stints in Beijing and Moscow and returning home, there was a time when I was desperately twisting myself in knots with the sole determination to get posted to a developed country.

Besides Chinese and Russian, I also knew French and was quite confident in it, so naturally I set my sights on Paris.

However, the French language scores I submitted while dreaming of life at the Paris military attaché office led me to Vietnam and Algeria instead, and my Spanish certification earned me a ticket to South America.

This was the karmic retribution for what European Chinese and the original Catholic Taliban (called “conquistadors” in Spain) had spread across the globe centuries ago. These bastards spread their languages everywhere during colonization.

Of course, Vietnam and Algeria are exceptions.

France’s last rampage in Vietnam and Algeria was after World War II.

(Even when “that” Britain was liberating its colonies, de Gaulle considered independence movements as riots and suppressed them with military force, making the French government worse than the British. Though Irish protesters in 1972 might have a different opinion.)

Anyway.

I was so exhausted from these unimaginable overseas postings that I became desperate to change my assignment by any means necessary.

One day, my uncle visited and after hearing my story, offered a solution I hadn’t considered.

“Hey, how about learning Persian and transferring to document translation?”

“Translation?”

“To analyze foreign news articles and documents, translation is essential. Just reading and writing might not be enough for deployment, but translation is a different story.”

It’s a rare foreign language with high demand but difficult to learn due to its complexity. Especially overseas deployments requiring conversational skills.

However, once you reach a certain level, it’s easy to transfer departments because there are relatively few applicants and less competition.

Maybe it was because he was a lieutenant colonel, but his approach was definitely different.

The problem started in 2018 when the North Korean ambassador to Tehran contacted the Iranian Foreign Ministry and signed an MOU (Memorandum of Understanding) in education and cultural fields. I was preparing for the handover as my posting was almost over, when suddenly I got a call telling me to go to Tehran for training.

As it turned out, those commies had been caught actively exchanging not just education and culture with Iran, but other things as well.

So there I was, smiling at the thought of coasting through document translation work, when I was dragged back into fieldwork.

“In short, I was scammed—that’s what happened.”

I concluded my lengthy explanation with a slight drawl.

“So there was a reason you were reluctant to come?”

“That’s right.”

Camilla nodded as if she finally understood.

On our way to our destination, she had been curious about the source of my obvious discomfort and kept pressing me for the reason.

So I told her the story of my past entanglement, and she seemed delighted that her questions were finally answered.

“Are you that pleased?”

Camilla responded with a silent, broad smile. What was she so happy about?

Perhaps it was the thrill of discovering a secret she’d been curious about. Her face was beaming with delight.

“It’s an interesting story! But now I have a question after hearing it.”

“Go ahead.”

“Isn’t this less about being scammed and more about Frederick’s bad timing?”

She tilted her head quizzically.

“If you had just timed it right, you wouldn’t have had to go to Iran at all… Thinking about it again, it was your own mistake, so why are you talking like a victim?”

“You’re right. It’s not like someone held a knife to my throat.”

“Held a knife? Is that an idiom? Perhaps a traditional Korean proverb?”

“No, it’s not a proverb or anything like that…”

Why go looking for trouble?

Episode 20 – Who Threatened You with a Knife?

A smile naturally formed on my face as we arrived in Ashtistan.

The desert city seemed to embody pages from the far reaches of memory.

The old cars rolling on the roads were “Peshekhots.” These timeless masterpieces, produced by the Kiyen Empire’s “Liposk Vehicle Industrial Plant” in the 1960s, were busy painting Shizya’s air with a hazy tint.

For Alexandra Petrova, it was truly a welcome sight.

To be more specific, it evoked profound nostalgia.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.”

The 1950s and 60s were a series of fierce competitions.

To prove superiority in contests against hostile nations like Abas, the imperial court and cabinet needed to prioritize transportation projects. Whether for domestic affairs or war, moving people and materials was the first essential step.

Thus, that period saw railways and roads extending to every corner of the empire.

Fortunately, Kolya’s father, the previous emperor, had great interest in transportation projects, and his son inherited that passion strongly.

While searching for an industry that could become the empire’s new legs, Kolya set forth several conditions. They were simple yet challenging:

First, it must be affordable enough to distribute to all citizens.

Second, it must have excellent productivity to meet both civilian and military demands.

Third, it must be of superior quality to withstand the empire’s harsh territories.

The astute chancellor noticed the implications behind these three conditions. He realized that the imperial transportation project aimed not only to supply automobiles to the empire but also to earn foreign currency through exports.

The chancellor spent months seeking solutions with Foreign Ministry officials. Finally, they connected with a prestigious company in Fatalia, resulting in the “Peshekhot.”

It became the new legs for the Kiyen Empire’s citizens and a traveler (пешехо́д: Russian for “pedestrian traveler”) navigating frozen roads.

Of course, other automobiles emerged with changing times and trends, but the Peshekhot undoubtedly stood as a monumental model symbolizing Kiyen’s automotive industry.

Affordable price, excellent productivity, and outstanding durability—this timeless masterpiece with all three qualities was loved by many and spread worldwide, just as Kolya intended.

In the 60s, it served as transportation for allied nations’ citizens and armies, and in the 70s, as exclusive vehicles for diplomats and businessmen. Alexandra first set foot in Ashtistan in the spring of 1968.

More precisely, it was a car she brought as a gift. Her friend, who had devoted herself to religion even before they met, didn’t have her own vehicle even decades later.

She visited to deliver the gift and teach her friend how to drive.

At one point, her friend confused the brake and accelerator, nearly sending them both to meet their comrades by crashing into a palace wall, but she repaired it neatly and returned it before leaving.

What had been just one car thirty years ago now filled the streets of Shizya.

Alexandra Petrova couldn’t help but feel nostalgic.

“Look, child.”

That’s why.

The Grand Duchess was giving her young disciple a “back in my day” lecture.

“Those cars over there are what I first brought to Ashtistan…”

If that Korean spy with the surname P had heard this, he might have rudely said, “Ma’am, eat some ginseng candy before I confiscate your dentures,” but the Grand Duchess had no intention of being condescending.

It’s just that for a walking museum over 100 years old, everything visible triggered memories.

It was simply a habitual remark that slipped out unconsciously.

“This place was desolate until thirty years ago. The golden age only arrived after magic stones began to be produced in earnest from the Eastern Rift in ’71. I visited the Ashtistan Resource Department with the Deputy Minister of the Imperial Magic Department the following year. By the way, all natural resources here are managed by the Resource Department. Usually magic stones would fall under the Magic Department’s jurisdiction, but in this theocratic state, ritual magic holds more power than conventional magic…”

Anyway, the Grand Magician began to ramble about another interesting story tied to her past.

Then she suddenly wondered.

Why wasn’t her disciple responding?

“…?”

The Grand Duchess cast a puzzled look at her disciple. Her blue eyes scanned from feet to head, finally landing on a bulging lump on top of her head…

…a lump?

“Child, why do you have an apple-sized lump on your head?”

Despite her concerned and puzzled question, no answer came.

Well, an answer did come, but not a proper one.

“…Ugh.”

Camilla, with a lump on her crown, had tears welling in her eyes. She seemed to have something to say, or perhaps felt wronged.

Then suddenly she turned around sharply and ran away in angry steps!

-Thump thump.

With arms spread out to the sides and breathing heavily, she was quite a sight. Why was she suddenly acting this way?

The bewildered Grand Duchess turned to me with a look that asked if I knew anything.

And I,

“You. Perhaps, do you have any idea why the child is-“

“I am Groot.”

“…?”

I brazenly played dumb.

*

The black-tinted vehicle ascended onto the Opal Highway connecting Shizya and Mehedan.

Our destination was Shizya.

The road was quiet. There were only five or six cars heading toward Shizya, including ours, and the opposite lane was completely empty.

Just like the warp gate immigration office we had just left.

“…”

Looking out the window, I recalled the moment I first arrived in this land.

The immigration office we arrived at was located in the middle of nowhere. Charitably speaking, the scenery was clean; less charitably, it gave the impression of desolation, with not even a single historical building in sight.

This was a stark example of Ashtistan’s failed modernization project. Originally, the immigration office was supposed to be built on the outskirts of Shizya. High-rise buildings should have populated this area, which administratively belonged to the capital. After all, the warp gate was essentially this neighborhood’s international airport.

But Shizya’s warp gate had long been neglected.

Because the Ashtistan government’s treasury was too depleted to develop it.

Of course, it wasn’t always poor. On the contrary, Ashtistan was once considered an incredibly wealthy nation.

There was a time when it enjoyed wealth and glory from magic stones, oil, and natural gas.

Foreign military advisory groups and numerous companies willingly paid money to enter Shizya, and the great theologian of Al-Yabd, as Empress of Ashtistan, wielded influence over the hegemony of the Moritani continent.

But now, there is no history of that glorious sand empire in this land.

Abundant weapons.

Comprehensive economic sanctions from the international community.

Pipes installed along borders and civilian smugglers and government smuggling ships traveling along coastlines.

Half-built structures and abandoned, crumbling houses.

Security forces monitoring all citizens’ communications and radio waves.

These are the elements that symbolize Ashtistan today.

If I had to describe it, it’s like a peculiar mix of Tehran and Caracas. In short, not a place fit for human habitation.

I know because I’ve been to both places.

“The road is quite clean.”

I muttered indifferently, looking at the empty, wasteland-like road.

“Indeed, it is clean.”

Grand Duchess Alexandra Petrova nodded as if agreeing with my statement. Yes, as she said, it was clean.

But the scene of traveling on an empty road, in a sedan protected by thick bulletproof glass and armor, accompanied by a convoy, was strange at first glance.

For reference, our car was in the center. At the front, an old military tactical vehicle donated by the Kiyen military cleared the way, and black SUVs with dark tinting followed behind.

And through the briefly glimpsed windows of the SUVs, I identified suit-wearing men armed with firearms.

“Yes, quite a clean city.”

Would Alexandra Petrova have noticed? She probably did. A Grand Magician’s senses are far superior to an ordinary person’s.

That’s why she could appear so relaxed.

Why would someone who could single-handedly destroy armies fear a few guns?

“…”

Looking at the warp gate so far removed from the city center, I suddenly missed Tehran. At Imam Khomeini International Airport, you could go anywhere just by calling an Uber.

Incheon International Airport Corporation was also involved in supporting Imam Khomeini Airport operations, so I received various forms of assistance when traveling to Tehran on business trips.

But there was nothing like that here.

“…Damn lonely.”

I carefully closed my eyes and prayed inwardly.

Please, let there be no trouble this time. And may the Grand Magician’s authority be recognized here as well.

The prayer continued.

And the procession crossed the highway, finally entering.

Into Shizya, the heart of Ashtistan.

*

The vehicles arrived at their destination around 2 PM.

The Ashtistan government welcomed Grand Duchess Alexandra Petrova with the utmost hospitality.

Kiyen was Ashtistan’s blood ally and most reliable friendly nation, and the Grand Duchess personally had a close relationship with the High Priest of Al-Yabd.

In fact, “close relationship” hardly describes their connection. They were comrades who had traversed battlefields together since the Church-Magic Tower War.

So the list of attendees was inevitably illustrious.

“Welcome, Your Grace! I am Farhad Dastan, chairman of the Cultural Department’s Ritual Instrument Committee.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“The honor is mine.”

The magnificent and grand palace was teeming with neatly dressed officials and Al-Yabd theologians in traditional attire.

I observed the attendees and noted the presence of theologians.

“There are theologians.”

“…Theologians? Do you mean ulema?”

As I muttered to myself, Camilla asked if she had heard correctly. I looked at her with slight surprise.

“You know about ulema? You must have studied a lot.”

“Are you looking down on me right now…?”

“Not at all.”

I smiled slightly and added:

“I’m just curious how much you know.”

Faced with a question about her depth of knowledge, she thought for a moment before saying she “didn’t know the details” and began to explain.

After gauging her knowledge, I started with the basics:

“You probably know that Al-Yabd is similar to Islam. And you also know that Islam doesn’t have clergy like pastors or priests?”

“Yes, I know that.”

According to mainstream Islamic scholarship, Muslims can communicate directly with Allah in the mosque, their place of worship.

Since it’s written in their scripture, they determined there was no need for a priestly class like in Catholicism or Protestantism.

“Of course, Islam does have ‘imams’ (إمام) who are somewhat similar to priests or pastors.”

“But imams are just people who lead prayers, not positions that require degrees or exams for ordination, right?”

“Correct.”

However, this is only the Sunni interpretation.

The Shia interpretation is different.

“In Sunni Islam, imams are not clergy. Anyone can lead prayers regardless of wealth or education level. But Shia officially recognizes only twelve successors with blood relations to Muhammad as imams.”

I looked over the Al-Yabd theologians.

“But in Shia, there are people called ‘ulema’ (Ulama) who study scripture and theology. They don’t lead prayers, but they interpret religious law and apply Sharia, Islamic law, to daily life. These ulema are the actual power holders who dominate Iran’s political system.”

To help her understand, I mentioned the name of the most famous ulema.

Someone she must have heard of, or rather, definitely knew.

“Ayatollah Khomeini. Have you heard of him?”

Camilla nodded.

“Yes. He’s Iran’s founding father who led the 1979 Islamic Revolution that overthrew the Pahlavi dynasty. He was also the first Rahbar.”

“He’s one of the most prominent ulema. The word ‘Ayatollah’ is one of the ulema ranks.”

Ulema ranks start from Tolab (student position) and progress to Saqatoleslam → Hojjatoleslam → Ayatollah.

Before Ayatollah, there was a religious leader called Marja-e Taqlid, but when Ruhollah Khomeini successfully led the Iranian Revolution in ’79, that position was replaced by Ayatollah.

In other words, the frequently mentioned “Ayatollah Khomeini” could be translated into Korean as something like “President Hong Gil-dong.”

“For reference, Iran’s supreme leader is called Rahbar. The leader of jurists is an Ayatollah, but typically one becomes a Rahbar after first becoming an Ayatollah, like Khomeini.”

“So effectively, the Rahbar serves as both political and religious leader?”

“That’s the conclusion, yes.”

Didn’t Khomeini himself rise to the position of Rahbar after becoming an Ayatollah? That’s how significant the position of jurist is in Iran.

And this applies equally to Ashtistan.

To summarize in one sentence…

“In Ashtistan, Al-Yabd theologians are walking power institutions. This is a theocratic state, after all.”

As if to prove my point, the theologians of Ashtistan’s Al-Yabd Religious Organization (one of the official state institutions) were accompanied by strict security.

They were visibly robust individuals. Standing over 180cm tall with muscles bulging beneath their suits.

Security forces? Or guardians?

These unidentified security personnel were protecting the theologians. Each with rifles slung over their shoulders. Definitely not ordinary rifles used by rebels.

Of course not, because those familiar-looking shortened rifles were items primarily used by the Kiyen Empire’s special operations units.

“Sanctions my ass…”

I sighed quietly enough that others couldn’t hear.

The security personnel openly carried weapons that the Imperial Army had introduced 8 years ago. Even when I was working at the Petrograd branch, one of our tasks was to determine if the Empire was providing military support to Ashtistan.

I never dreamed I’d confirm it directly here.

“Professor is coming. She must be finished.”

Camilla, catching the Grand Duchess’s signal, nodded at me. A silent gesture to hurry along.

After keeping a close eye on the security personnel, I followed the guide into the palace. Government officials and jurists were engaged in quiet conversations, but I could feel the suspicious gazes of what I presumed to be security personnel on the back of my head.

“The pleasantries took longer than expected. How are your legs?”

“No problem, Professor!”

“That’s good. Let’s hurry along. Someone is waiting to meet us.”

Alexandra Petrova naturally walked through the palace corridor. Camilla, smiling brightly beside her, glanced in my direction.

I nodded once to indicate everything was fine, and she smiled with relief before striking up a conversation with the Grand Duchess.

As we walked through the corridor, the Ashtistan government imposed no restrictions on me. Perhaps they left me alone because I was brought directly by the Grand Duchess.

Therefore, the only people I needed to be careful around now were the guides.

“This way.”

We moved deeper into the palace with the help of guides.

They were people assigned by the government, and after observing them throughout our journey, I determined they weren’t security forces or intelligence agencies, just ordinary civil servants. But it never hurts to be cautious.

Anyone can easily relay what they’ve seen and heard.

Especially those guiding us from the closest proximity.

“…”

As I walked for a while, memorizing the surroundings and the guides’ faces.

One of the leading guides turned around, and as if on cue, all the guides turned to face us.

“I apologize, but we must make an urgent request to our distinguished guests. Before entering, please change into these garments we have prepared.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than someone waiting nearby brought a box. It was a very elegant wooden case.

The guides who shared the box approached the Grand Duchess and Camilla, opening the lid to show them the contents. Standing next to Camilla, I immediately recognized what the Ashtistan government had prepared.

An essential item for women in Middle Eastern cultures.

“…Hijab?”

Camilla was bewildered by the sudden appearance of the scarf.

“Why a hijab all of a sudden…?”

“It’s not a hijab, it’s a rusari (روسری). That’s what they call it here.”

When I answered Camilla’s confused muttering, the guide beside us nodded with surprise, as if he hadn’t expected me to know. I would have been equally surprised if a Westerner had started listing traditional garments.

A scarf full of vibrant Persian-style patterns. As Camilla examined the rusari, a senior guide spoke with a respectful attitude:

“This is our traditional Ashtistan attire, worn by women. We should have provided it when you entered the country, but due to our inadequate preparation, we regrettably have to explain it now.”

It was a request to follow local customs in Rome. Actually, wearing a scarf was a common etiquette even tourists observed, so it wasn’t a difficult request.

However, the people here now were not mere tourists.

“What is the meaning of this?”

The Grand Duchess’s expressionless gaze flew toward the guide. As if demanding an immediate explanation.

Reading this implication, the guide continued with an even more respectful attitude:

“I apologize, Your Grace. Our oversight has unintentionally caused you inconvenience. We should have provided a thorough explanation when you passed through the warp gate, but…”

“Do you consider informing guests who have crossed your threshold an explanation or a notification?”

“…”

“If you had prepared garments, you could have informed us through the embassy beforehand. Is it truly Ashtistan’s custom to demand that travelers who have come from afar change their clothes immediately?”

She was essentially asking if this was how they treated guests in their country. The rebuke was doubly powerful in a place where hospitality customs were commonplace.

The guide, who had been bowing respectfully, began to roll his eyes. Though not visible from the front, I could clearly see it from my slightly offset position. Eyes darting around in panic.

But the Grand Duchess remained standing in her place.

As if waiting for a satisfactory answer.

“On behalf of the government, I sincerely apologize.”

After searching for an explanation for a long time, the civil servant had no choice but to offer a formal apology.

Of course, the answer she wanted was an explanation, not an apology, but since it would be rude to reprimand a senior in front of subordinates, the Grand Duchess had to take a step back as well.

“I hope you’ll be more mindful in the future.”

“We absolutely will, Your Grace.”

As the Grand Duchess accepted the rusari, the guide exhaled with a relieved expression. He looked like someone who had nearly died and come back to life.

Watching this scene, I couldn’t help but feel incredulous. If you know what rudeness is, why did you attack the Abas embassy?

“A changing room has been prepared. We will assist you.”

“It seems unnecessary to specially prepare a changing room… Thank you. Child, will you come with me?”

“Do I have to go too?”

“If you can put it on by yourself, do so.”

“I’ll come with you!”

Camilla hurriedly followed, and the guides respectfully escorted the two to the changing room.

For reference, I was excluded. The rusari was for women only.

“Sir? Since you’re a man, please just remove your tie…”

After examining my attire, the guide requested that I only remove my tie, as everything else was fine. I took off my tie, pretending I hadn’t known.

As I stood alone, keeping my place:

“Excuse me, what is your name?”

Someone approached me. It was one of the guides, someone I was seeing for the first time today.

Wondering what this was about, I carefully observed the unfolding situation. The guide was female, and there was a group of female guides behind her, whispering while looking in my direction.

Without thinking too deeply, I could roughly estimate what was happening.

Ah, these people are just playing around.

“Frederick.”

“Is this your first time in Ashtistan?”

“Yes, it’s my first visit.”

“Ah, I see.”

The guide whispered something to the group, turning back to them. Though the sound was too faint to make out the content, her posture suggested she was saying, “I told you so!”

The civil servant who had come to gather information bombarded me with questions.

“How did you meet the Grand Duchess? She’s an extremely difficult person to meet.”

“I met her on official business.”

“Are you from the continent? You don’t seem to be from Moritani.”

“Yes.”

“You seemed to be with the red-haired woman earlier. Are there other members in your party?”

“There are more, but I don’t know their arrival time.”

I’ve often gathered information by asking personal questions myself, but of the dozens of questions this person asked, only these three had any value.

What about the rest of the questions?

They were like this:

“Do you have a favorite food?”

“What movie have you seen recently…?”

“There’s a famous handicraft street in Shizya, have you been there…?”

Such pointless questions.

Are these people allowed to do this while on duty? I want to get paid for doing nothing too. When will Camilla return? I also need to check the expected arrival time of our companions…

My mind began to drift along the stream of consciousness. The guide was too noisy.

To the point where I wondered if she might be a sound kung fu master sent from the martial arts world to kill me. Her voice wasn’t loud, but she talked so much it was killing me.

After suffering under this sound master (not really) for quite some time.

That’s when I heard voices and footsteps approaching from somewhere.

“…Oh.”

Are they finally here?

I turned my head toward Camilla and the Grand Duchess with a welcoming expression.

However,

“Who are you people?”

Standing before me were.

Not the two returning women, but some dark-suited men.