Ch.74Episode 5 – Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy

# The Spy Disguised as a Diplomat

The duties of a spy disguised as a diplomat are diverse.

Attending diplomatic events.

Collecting foreign intelligence.

Gathering military information.

Protecting expatriates.

Analyzing collected intelligence.

Protecting and escorting defectors.

Negotiating with foreign intelligence agencies.

Supporting overseas branches of domestic private companies.

Providing security support during high-ranking officials’ visits.

Supporting the activities of unofficial undercover agents, etc.

While responsibilities vary depending on affiliation and position, there’s no disagreement about one fact: there’s a hell of a lot to do.

Among these duties, “protecting expatriates” ranks as the second most important task after intelligence gathering.

It’s not particularly difficult work.

You just check in on them occasionally to see if they’re doing well, discuss improving their treatment with foreign governments if they face discrimination or unfair treatment, collect some intelligence now and then, help overseas voters during elections, inform expatriates when Ministry of Justice or Foreign Affairs policies change—that sort of thing.

I remember that National Intelligence Service employees assigned to diplomatic missions usually handled such duties. Particularly in Southeast Asia, NIS agents would seek out North Korean defectors—who are both South Korean citizens and refugees—to confirm their intention to defect and present them with ways to enter South Korea.

Anyway, an official cover agent has countless duties. Too many to count.

And that was the problem.

-“You do it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

-“Look after Saint Lucia’s safety. Why are you pretending not to understand?”

At Clebins’ curt order, I just blinked while holding the receiver. I was in the middle of packing for a medical volunteer mission. What nonsense was this?

I stopped packing and questioned Clebins.

“Is protecting foreigners part of my official duties? I don’t recall it being in the defense attaché regulations.”

-“It’s not an official duty. However, the Inquisition has made a request. Since there’s no diplomatic mission, they’ve asked our side to protect the Saint. As you know, the Church and the Magic Tower are not in diplomatic relations.”

“Who exactly…?”

-“Ah, there’s a cardinal in her entourage. Bernard or something.”

Clebins succinctly summarized the conversation between the Prime Minister of Abas and Bernard, the Security Director of the Inquisition.

Since the Church and the Magic Tower weren’t in diplomatic relations, there were no diplomats (or intelligence officers disguised as diplomats) to protect their citizens. So the Military Intelligence Agency was being asked to look after Saint Lucia instead. In return, they would help ensure the trade agreement currently being negotiated would be slightly more favorable to Abas.

-“It’s a good opportunity, especially when we’re busy restarting economic cooperation. We can put the Church in our debt. Besides, the Saint is a hero’s companion, and you, as the defense attaché, are also a companion, right? And you’re joining the medical volunteer work too? It all fits perfectly.”

He was saying the justifications were abundant. Clebins presented me with a choice.

-“So. Will you do it or not?”

I whispered desperately, hoping against hope:

“Do I actually have a choice…?”

-“Of course not. If you want to receive your pension and be buried in the national cemetery, stop talking nonsense and get to work.”

## Episode 5 – Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy

After finishing my call with Clebins, I arrived at a certain area of the Magic Tower. As soon as I stepped out of the vehicle, a cool breeze greeted me.

“Wow… The wind here is really something. Is this all magic?”

“Yes, that’s right!”

The Magic Tower representative serving as our guide smiled proudly.

Autumn leaves had settled on the well-paved roads. With each step, I could hear the sound of red and yellow leaves crumbling underfoot.

“A tower floating in the sky, with wind blowing inside, and now even falling leaves…”

“It’s all thanks to the wisdom and efforts of our great ancestors. Especially the three sages who put in tremendous effort!”

“Ah… I see.”

The sudden public broadcast was a bit awkward. Government officials praising their country in front of foreign guests was common, but the current situation was somewhat ironic.

The Church people were right behind the guide. They were close enough to hear everything clearly, yet the official made no effort to lower his volume. Almost as if he wanted them to hear.

However, the Church people didn’t get into an argument with the Magic Tower official. The nuns, monks, and priests accompanying the Saint were people who could control their emotions to some extent.

“……”

“……”

Of course, the expressions of the entourage weren’t particularly pleasant.

Ordinary religious people might not have minded, but those assigned as escorts were Inquisition agents with a history of major conflicts with the Magic Tower. Even without mind-reading abilities, I could clearly tell they didn’t harbor positive feelings toward the Magic Tower.

The Magic Tower official seemed oblivious to this fact. With each tree and alley we passed, he launched into praise of the great magicians who fought during the Liberation War.

“The street you’re walking on now was built by druids. It embodies the druids’ philosophy of loving art and nature, so occasionally as you pass by, you might see bards, druids, or magicians performing…”

It was uncomfortable even for me, who had no stake in the conflict between the Magic Tower and the Church. The problem wasn’t the content but the sheer volume of talk. I hadn’t heard such propaganda since meeting North Koreans.

In this situation, the only person who remained calm was Lucia, who was looking around while carrying her medical bag.

“Will we be doing medical volunteer work on this street today?”

“No. We’ll be working at a location just a little further down that path ahead.”

The Magic Tower official pointed to a corner while smiling. It was a suspicious-looking alley. Just then, a goblin who was smoking something—magic herb or marijuana, I couldn’t tell—glanced at us, spat on the ground, and shuffled away into the alley.

“……”

“……”

“……”

Faced with the shocking sight of what looked like either a goblin den or a slum, we spies could only gape like fish, unable to speak.

Regardless, Lucia naturally picked up her bag and said:

“Let’s go then. We should hurry since we don’t have much time.”

“But, no, that place…”

“Is there a problem?”

“No… Let’s go…”

*

Fortunately, the scenario I had worried about didn’t materialize. The medical volunteer work in the Magic Tower’s slum proceeded safely and successfully.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!”

A person who had just received treatment bowed deeply at a 90-degree angle to Lucia. He threw away the splint that had been wrapped around his foot and—no lie—started jumping around.

“Next person, please.”

“Um, excuse me…”

A child with bandages over their eyes approached hesitantly. Seeing this, Lucia clicked her tongue and slowly removed the bandages with her gloved hands.

“Oh… my…”

“Good heavens.”

As the dirty bandage fell to the floor, gasps escaped from those around us. One side of the child’s face was completely disfigured, as if burned. I couldn’t tell if it was a burn or something else, but there were areas where flesh had fallen off and parts that had turned black and necrotic, suggesting the wound was infected.

Lucia carefully examined the face and asked the child:

“How did you get hurt?”

“F-fire…”

A policeman loitering nearby muttered to his colleagues:

“Wasn’t there a big fire around here?”

“Yeah, I heard some alchemist was making drugs and caused an explosion that turned into a fire. Since it was a shantytown, the fire spread everywhere and quite a few people died.”

“Drugs? Why would an alchemist make such things?”

“Probably needed money. I heard he was an apprentice. You know how it is—if you don’t have connections or money, they won’t teach you alchemy.”

Though they thought they were speaking quietly, the police officers’ conversation was clearly audible. If they wanted to gossip quietly, they should at least make sure they couldn’t be heard. I don’t understand why they were talking so loudly in front of a child.

Anyway, after 28 years of life, I still find it hard to get attached to this messed-up world.

Lucia seemed unaffected by their words. She smiled compassionately and brought her hand close to the child’s face. Bright holy light flowed from her fingers, slowly enveloping the child’s wound.

And moments later:

“There, all done. Can you see well now?”

The disfigurement from the fire had completely disappeared. It happened in an instant. Everyone—the police who had witnessed this multiple times, the officials, and even the child whose wounds had been healed—was left speechless, staring at the miracle Lucia had performed.

I watched Lucia organizing bandages from behind and muttered:

“Still amazing no matter how many times I see it…”

“Excuse me, Attaché. I understand it’s amazing, but could you…”

“Ah, yes. I’m sorry.”

A grim-faced monk carrying a heavy box looked at me pitifully. He was an Inquisition agent.

Embarrassed at being caught slacking off, I scratched my head awkwardly and took the box from him.

“Ugh…!”

“Please be careful. It’s heavy.”

Heeding the Inquisition agent’s warning, I stacked the box with others nearby. Next to the pile, other Inquisition agents were distributing medicine and holy water to slum dwellers while holding charts.

I thought medical volunteer work would be easy, but it turned out to be hard labor. The boxes full of holy water were incredibly heavy. If I had known this, I would have ignored the Defense Attaché Office’s instructions and Clebins’ orders, and just stayed at the hotel claiming to be guarding Camilla.

I carried the endless stream of boxes like a part-time worker dragged into hell during Chuseok. The cool breeze outside was a small mercy, but repeating this task made me wonder if I was a diplomat or a delivery man.

“When did we bring all this? Did we carry it?”

“We brought it in magical containers. They reduce weight and increase capacity.”

“What the hell, aren’t you religious people?”

The Inquisition using items made by the Magic Tower? These people might be the real heretics. My question mixed equal parts confusion about their religious identity and complaint about why they brought such convenient items that increased our workload.

“Do you think we don’t use magical devices that blow cool air in summer?”

“Ah, when you put it that way, I have no comeback…!”

Nobody can resist air conditioning.

I exchanged nonsense with the Inquisition people while moving boxes, half out of my mind. Lucia, who had just reattached someone’s severed finger, turned around and smiled.

“Are you very tired? It’s okay to take a break.”

At the Saint’s words, an Inquisition agent gritted his teeth and replied:

“No…! I’m still fine…!”

I’m not fine, you crazy bastard.

Of course, if I had said such things, it would have made headlines in the international section of newspapers the next day, so I had no choice but to keep my mouth shut.

Yes, the biggest problem with Lucia’s medical volunteer work wasn’t the dirty loads or the endless stream of patients.

It was the foreign journalists.

*

“It’s all done now. Good work, everyone.”

The seemingly endless medical volunteer work finally concluded with the treatment of a beastkin whose tail was half-detached and dangling.

Only then could I look up at the sky.

“Urrrgh…”

A groan escaped my lips as I stretched my back. I couldn’t tell if it was my own voice or the sound made by the dying old orc from earlier.

I didn’t even have time to contact Priest Rebecca and probe the Inquisition’s intentions. If I tried to engage in conversation, the boxes would keep piling up, so I had no choice. This was truly insane. There was no other way to describe it.

While I was looking up at the sky and groaning, the exhausted Inquisition agents hugged each other and patted each other’s backs, congratulating themselves on a job well done.

I sat on an empty box, watching these people who normally smashed magicians’ heads with religious texts now comforting each other.

“This is ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous, Attaché?”

“Ah, nothing. Just talking to myself…”

Lucia, who was sorting the tools used for medical volunteer work into waste categories, spoke up. Her face looked slightly tired, but her mouth and eyes were smiling brightly.

It was truly a beautiful smile, befitting someone called a Saint.

-Click.

And the journalist scanning the scene with eagle eyes didn’t miss that moment. The journalist grinned while holding a massive magical recording device comparable to a global camera.

The sight was so bizarre that I couldn’t help but flinch.

As I blankly watched the journalist hurrying back to his colleagues, Lucia suddenly asked me:

“Is this your first time seeing journalists?”

“Well… I’ve seen many journalists, but I’m not used to being photographed by them.”

I’m currently an official cover agent disguised as a defense attaché, but I was originally a non-official cover agent. So having my face photographed was unimaginable, both then and now.

This is natural. What good could come from a spy having their photo taken? That’s why I didn’t even take a family photo at my commissioning ceremony—the only one in my life. My mother had even bought a digital camera and begged to take at least one picture. Maybe it was because of my father. I always felt uncomfortable taking family photos.

Suddenly thinking about my parents made my nose sting.

As I was rubbing my face with my dusty hands, Lucia handed me a bottle of water.

“Always wash your hands before touching your face. Please.”

“Ah, yes.”

Perhaps because she’s a healing priest who’s been on battlefields, Lucia seems particularly concerned about hygiene. I saw her earlier applying disinfectant to wounds. Considering that newly enlisted healing priests don’t pay much attention to hygiene, she seemed like a somewhat progressive person.

In other words, she’s strict. It also means she’s inflexible.

Sure enough, while organizing her bag, Lucia said:

“Shall we visit another place?”

Most of the entourage shook their heads at her words.

Disagreeing with the Saint? These guys might really be heretics.

“Oh, p-perhaps we should head back for today.”

“Yes, yes, that’s right. The sun is setting soon, shouldn’t you go back and rest now?”

“That fellow is right. Yes, absolutely.”

Just say you’re tired, you idiots.

But I couldn’t bring myself to say such harsh words to the Inquisition people. If we went to another place for medical volunteer work, I would have to follow along too.

So I stuck close to Lucia and packaged all sorts of nonsense in a plausible way.

“Do you see the time? We’ve already been here for six hours today. It’s unreasonable to continue the schedule here due to security concerns. I also need to attend to my attaché duties now.”

“Hmm… When you put it that way, you’re right. Let’s head back then.”

“Hallelujah.”

“Pardon?”

I wasn’t a Christian, but in this moment I couldn’t help but praise God. Buddhism and Islam probably have similar incantations, but it’s been too long for me to remember.

With that, we concluded the medical volunteer work and finished cleaning up with the help of police and officials. The sky had already turned red.

Lucia looked at the setting sun in the distance and said:

“The Magic Tower is truly fascinating.”

“Yes. They say stars appear at night, along with the moon, and even meteor showers. Let’s quickly go back to the hotel and enjoy the view. While relaxing in the rooftop pool.”

“It would have been nice if Camilla could see this too. What a shame.”

Whether caught up in the atmosphere or delirious from exhaustion, Lucia suddenly started talking nonsense.

I immediately responded with a serious face:

“Ah, that’s not a good idea.”

I had absolutely no desire to bring Camilla to a place like this. This wasn’t just my personal opinion but something that had been thoroughly agreed upon by higher-ups.

Let’s show her only the good aspects, and although she’ll find out eventually, let’s delay it as much as possible.

As Camilla emerged into the world, governments agreed to show her the best possible image.

It would be highly inappropriate to show the reality of this dark fantasy world to someone already confused from being dropped into a different world. Countless heroes who had passed through this world had proven this.

That’s why the Church treated Camilla with the utmost hospitality and gave her a full tour, and why the Magic Tower was accommodating the magician Camilla in a hotel suite, treating her like a precious treasure. According to Clebins, governments had instructed media outlets to minimize reporting on various incidents and social issues. Abas was no exception, which is why the recent livestock farmers’ protests were reported in a reduced manner.

I thought such information control was all futile nonsense.

But as is often the case with politics, the judgments of those in power weren’t always rational or reasonable.

And things don’t always go according to one’s wishes.

Someone who lived on Earth, in England no less, has already seen monsters eating people, bombs exploding on streets, and assassination attempts at banquets—what would they think? Camilla had already glimpsed the ugly, dirty underbelly of this place.

Of course, I could have included a recommendation in my report to stop this nonsense.

But I didn’t. I was a soldier who followed orders. And I didn’t think politicians or bureaucrats would listen to me anyway.

So these days, I just keep sighing.

“Sigh…”

Somehow, I feel like I’m sighing more and more as time passes. If I’m so upset, I should just resign. Or drink soju like my grandfather. What else can I do?

It’s really hard living as a spy in this damn dark fantasy world.

As I was thinking this, organizing empty boxes and loading remaining items into the vehicle, ready to depart—

“Wait! Wait a moment!”

A man came running toward us, waving his hands. When this unexpected situation occurred, the Inquisition agents became wary of the man, and a Magic Tower police officer stretched out his arm to stop him. I touched the gun I had brought, just in case. He might have been a terrorist.

But the man wasn’t a terrorist.

“I’m, I’m a journalist!”

“Stay back!”

“J-just a moment!”

Restrained by the police, the man waved his ID and pointed at someone.

“Attaché! I’d like to speak with the Attaché for a moment!”

That someone was me.

“Hmm?”

Singled out by the journalist, I pointed at myself questioningly. The journalist nodded frantically.

Seeing this, the Inquisition agents put Lucia in the back seat of the vehicle and blocked the door with their bodies. They told me they would wait if I needed to attend to business.

“Why would a journalist be looking for me…?”

Tilting my head in confusion, I approached the journalist held by the police. When I politely requested it, the police released him.

As the public authority withdrew, the journalist who had run a long distance and scuffled with the police caught his breath. Then, fixing his crooked glasses, he smiled broadly.

“Frederick Nostrim. Is that correct?”

“Yes, I am Frederick Nostrim.”

The journalist pulled a sweat-soaked business card from his hand and gave it to me.

“Our editor-in-chief would like to meet you.”

“Editor…?”

I took the business card from the journalist.

And let out a hollow laugh.

“…Huh.”

While everyone looked at me with puzzled expressions, I held the card up to the sunlight to examine the name written on it.

“Well… This person is here?”

On that card was the name of my informant.