---

The world I’m in right now is a game world. To be precise, it’s the setting of the game called ‘Heroes of the Dark World,’ which I started based on a recommendation from a colleague who worked at the Eastern European embassy.

In this game, the protagonist, or the player, is called a ‘Hero.’ It sounds like something straight out of a Japanese otaku game or a web novel, but surprisingly, the development was handled by a studio in Eastern Europe.

If you ask why a game made in Eastern Europe uses Japanese-style terminology, well, I don’t really have a good answer for that.

After all, there’s no official Korean support, so players have resorted to amateur translations, and it just so happens that a certain otaku was part of that translation team, turning it into a complete mess. By the way, that otaku is the very colleague who recommended the game.

He calls himself a Japanese culture expert. Commonly known as ‘otaku.’ He wanted to go to Japan more than anyone and studied Japanese the hardest, but ironically, he ended up dragged to Eastern Europe because of his major, poor guy.

Anyway.

In the world of ‘Heroes of the Dark World,’ players are referred to as ‘Heroes,’ but having lived here for 28 years, I’ve realized that the term used to refer to players varies by religion and nation.

For religious reasons, the cult calls them ‘Heroes’ or ‘God’s Agents,’ while in the Mauritania Continent, they’re referred to as ‘Mother’s First Child.’ In some Eastern countries, they’re even called ‘Godless,’ and in magical societies that aren’t on good terms with the cult, the unofficial term ‘Guardian of the Precepts’ is also in circulation. Of course, in countries like Abas, which fall under the cult’s influence, they just call them ‘Heroes.’

The fact that Abas, which isn’t a theocratic state, uses a term with religious undertones is for two reasons: the first is to avoid conflict with the cult over just one title. The second is that the Empire, Patalia, and most neighboring countries have long been under the cult’s influence, so there’s no need to change the terms they’ve been using. The second reason is also significant, but the first one is the bigger issue.

In this world, where phenomena that transcend common sense like magic, divinity, sorcery, and mysticism exist blatantly, ‘language’ holds immense significance. Priests and shamans receive powers from the gods by reciting prayers, and magicians use spells for stable magic. Living in a world where such things are considered normal, one truly realizes that every single word, every single syllable, carries profound meaning.

From those who recklessly make political statements and throw themselves off balconies, to cultists who twist formal religious prayers to pray to the Outer Gods—strange things happen due to trivial words and syllables, making these folks highly sensitive about ‘language.’ Politically and religiously.

However, like all trivial disputes, the debates surrounding language in this town mostly arise from senseless pride.

Just like now.

“Manager, I mean, Colonel. We received a report this morning that the cult lodged a complaint through the embassy about the term ‘Guardian of the Precepts’?”

“What’s that about?”

“They’re protesting that we shouldn’t use that term.”

“Here we go again.”

—

**Episode 7 – Daily Life**

I’ve quit my work in the administrative affairs, but that doesn’t mean I’ve become idle.

The intelligence and foreign affairs departments are always bustling, and I was an information officer working at a diplomatic mission. Which means I can’t rest even if I wanted to.

“Colonel, the outside director from the private security firm we contacted last week is saying their staff isn’t getting along.”

“Why’s that?”

“They seem to want to talk directly to you. To be more specific, it sounds like they’re hoping to connect with the Saint. They want to secure a contract from both the magic tower and the cult.”

“So they don’t want to squeeze money out of me, a diplomat, but instead want to contact Lucia and Veronica through me, huh? They want to latch onto the religious folks’ business. And the office employees want to hook up with that company, if at all possible.”

“Yes, the founder is ex-imperial army, so they think it would be a waste to miss this opportunity.”

“Sounds like a backdoor operation for the Great Empire… Fine. Make sure to put the security company’s related documents on my desk.”

I was busier than ever, plunging into a hectic daily routine. The world was crazier than half-cocked, and that had me rushing around even more.

The magic tower was scrambling to clean up the mess left by the Abas Information Agency, and as a result, the continent’s magic society was thrown into chaos, dragging many nations into turmoil.

The cult, which despises magicians more than anyone, was busy planting an information network in the magic tower while Patalia, the tower’s ally, was poking around looking for scraps to munch on.

Additionally, the Kien Empire, anxious about any harm coming to Camila and Lucia, was hastily urging the magic tower to expedite the situation. The Lushan Federation was working feverishly on a large-scale development project from the tower to revive the construction industry, and the Abas Kingdom was suspiciously silent.

In the midst of that complication, I was rushing around recruiting information agents and taking care of colleagues, so how could I have any leisure time?

I felt like I was going to go mad.

“Oh, and about the Hero’s health check-up. The magic tower has completed all the procedures needed for the examination and is just waiting for the results.”

“Okay. Is there anything else?”

“Nope.”

As I chatted with Jake in the office, someone softly knocked before entering.

“Good morning, Colonel.”

“Oh, Pippin, come on in.”

“Yeah. What’s up, Jake? Why are you here so early?”

“Pippin, aren’t you the one late? I keep saying you should wake up early or at least stretch your steps a bit—ah, wait. You can’t be stomping around in military boots like—”

“Shut uuuup!”

Pippin, who arrived on time, was trying hard to smash Jake’s shin bone. Not particularly serious, of course.

As I watched my subordinate’s usual banter, I clicked my tongue.

“Hey, how do you two keep teasing each other about skin color and height for three years? Isn’t it boring? Stop kicking up dust already. Act your age….”

There were no special events that would break the monotony and invoke thrilling adventures.

This town was the same every day, and I wasn’t any different than usual.

“What are you guys planning to do when I come back? Can you handle it?”

I asked my subordinates while checking the return date marked on the calendar. The response was uncomplicated.

“Let’s do our best and seize victory—!!”

“Be quiet!”

“Oh, hell, what’s that about….”

It was a mundane start to another ordinary day.

*

Although I was living my day-to-day life like any other day, I regrettably wasn’t an ordinary person. It was because I was an information officer.

Information Officer.

There are many titles within the intelligence agency, but fundamentally, all intelligence agents are information officers. This is because everyone working in the agency handles ‘information’ in some form.

So today, too, I dealt with countless bits of information. Strictly speaking, ‘intelligence’ would be the correct term.

There were troubled hospital directors who didn’t want Lucia to volunteer, doctors eager to witness Lucia’s healing firsthand, executives looking to wrangle lucrative contracts from Veronica while using compensation or penalties as smokescreens, and resident officers subtly probing into military secrets and Camila’s abilities while feigning camaraderie.

Struggling to give a good impression, an employee from the Magic Tower Secretariat came bearing gifts for Francesca Ranieri, while a diplomat kept bringing up work-related discussions despite my invitation to enjoy a meal. Today, just like every other day, I made contact with countless people. This is the usual routine of my job as a military information officer.

We call people working at the Ministry of Public Administration “civil servants,” and those at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs introduce themselves as “diplomats.” Similarly, employees at Samsung Electronics or Lotte Chilsung Beverage are referred to as “company employees.” Therefore, anyone working at the Information Agency can generally be called an “information officer,” and when it comes time for me to be introduced, I prefer the title “information officer” over “operative.”

“So calling someone working in the Information Agency an Information Agent or an Operative could really cause trouble. To put it simply, Information Agents and Operatives could be likened to subcontractors, while Information Officers and Operatives are akin to main contractors, you know? If you don’t address them properly, the information officers might get quite upset. We’re people too.”

“Got it. I’ll be careful!”

“Good reply, I like it.”

Of course, my once ordinary routine has flipped 180 degrees recently.

The cause of that change was right in front of me.

“Camila, did you have any issues today?”

“None at all!”

Camila nodded brightly, her crimson hair swaying gently with the motion. Perhaps because of her striking hair color, looking at her conjured images of flames in my mind.

She spoke to me.

“I completed all the assignments you gave me yesterday. Psychology, forensic science, national intelligence, first aid, and common knowledge, all of them.”

Camila has been training under me lately.

Not exactly basic training for new recruits at the Information Agency… Instead, I’m focusing on teaching her what I remember from my own training and what I learned through practical experience.

“Is this your organized summary?”

“Yep.”

“Let’s take a look.”

We had agreed to balance training with theoretical education, but since I’m a diplomat, on days like today when I couldn’t spare the time, Camila was left to review the theory on her own.

“Oh, sorry for being late. I had a dinner appointment that took a bit longer…”

“Who did you meet with?”

“Lots of people. Medical Association, private enterprise executives, NGO executives, resident officers, civil servants, diplomats.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

Of course, I couldn’t just toss aside my responsibilities as a diplomat. After all, I am a civil servant. Fortunately, Camila understood that part with great tolerance.

But I couldn’t just leave her cooped up reading books all day, so I gave her several tasks. In other words, information analysis training.

“Camila. Did you check the issues with the predicted locations of core members of that fictional Islamic extremist armed group we practiced last time?”

“Of course.”

“Well… that’s great. Just need to work on your habit of speaking too quickly. Other than that, there really isn’t much to criticize.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

I nodded as I set down the notes she had organized.

“Your analysis report was above average. The annotations were just right, the terminology agreed upon, and you didn’t forget to include the confidentiality notice form.”

Camila had interned for 11 weeks at SIS, widely known as MI6, the British foreign intelligence agency. It was a recruitment-linked internship program aimed at university students nearing graduation, where the British intelligence agency recruits applicants.

Her assigned task was overseas information analysis.

Of course, Camila wasn’t analyzing truly “classified” intelligence like Pippin; she was responsible for converting information that was far below that level into actionable intelligence. Intelligence agencies don’t only handle classified information.

An intelligence agency processes countless bits of intelligence, many of which can barely be classified as confidential even by the agency itself. For instance, data on local demographics, geological structures, international news posted on external media or Twitter, papers and journals published by academic societies, and rumors thrown around by journalists hoarding stocks.

A simple search online can yield a plethora of unprocessed intelligence. The 21st century is the information age, after all.

Yet intelligence agencies transform such seemingly useless intelligence into “information,” and the magicians who achieve this are the analysts. Camila was one of those tasked with such responsibilities.

Of course—

“I had enough practice. I found it dreadfully boring and didn’t extend my contract…”

Camila was someone who quit out of sheer boredom with the analytical tasks.

“How can you quit a job just because it’s boring? Didn’t it feel like a waste? If you extend your internship contract, you’ve worked diligently, and if you extend it twice, you’re almost guaranteed to be hired. Wouldn’t immediate employment after graduation be good for you too, Camila?”

“Eh. How can I do that dull work every day?”

“…….”

I almost said that having to do that boring work every day was part of the job, but then I just sealed my lips. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss. I decided to protect her ideals and innocence.

I organized the documents Camila had diligently prepared and sat across from her.

“Well, since you have intern experience, you definitely do well with information analysis.”

“Then what do you think I can’t do?”

I clenched my fist and brought it to my chest.

“Everything!”

“…….”

“…….”

“…Were you just imitating Salah ad-Din from Kingdom of Heaven?”

“Uh, it’s an old movie, but I know it.”

Camila nodded calmly.

“Because it’s a masterpiece.”

Indeed, she knew a thing or two.

*

“Hey, Colonel? Or, um, Frederick?”

“Just call me whatever you like. It’s fine.”

“Come to think of it, I don’t really know anything about you, Colonel?”

Camila tilted her head in confusion.

“I don’t know your job, where you lived, how you lived, and not even your name.”

“I’m a military man. I live in the barracks’ single accommodation. I forgot where the unit is and I can barely recall my name. After graduating high school, I entered Korean University and joined the Student Military Education Corps. I think I interviewed at Gyeryongdae, received a scholarship, and was commissioned right after graduating college. My first duty was at a division responsible for the GOP in Cheorwon, and my second was probably at a coastal defense unit in Uljin.”

I opened my arms and smiled as I asked.

“Is there more you need to know?”

“You forgot your name? You can’t be that forgetful. I mean, how does a person forget their own name?”

“Well, maybe I just have too many names to remember.”

Nonchalantly brushing it off, Camila opened her mouth with a deflated expression.

“Do you want to keep messing with me?”

“I could do this all day.”

“Oh, come on!”

 

---