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A dim night. I sat on the hospital bed, blankly staring at the delivered documents.

But these are not just any documents.

They are intelligence files.

It has been nearly a week since the terrorist incident was suppressed and I was hospitalized, yet sadly, I cannot remember why I ended up here or what happened. To be precise, my memory fails me from the moment I was cradled in Camila’s embrace.

So I must find out.

What happened to the terrorists?

How were the hostages able to survive?

What was I doing before I lost consciousness?

How did the Special Forces breach the obstacles and enter the department store?

What methods did Camila, Lucia, and Francesca use to escape?

And why have I lost my memory?

Under the glaring white light, I turned the report prepared by the Military Intelligence Agency’s Counterintelligence Department.

Overview of the terrorism. Timeline. Information about the terrorist organization. Personal data on the terrorists. Reports compiled based on the recovered bodies and interrogations of apprehended terrorists. CCTV footage from inside the department store and testimonies from captured civilians. Collected evidence. Movements of key organizations. Eavesdropping records from the Abas embassy. Monitoring by media and civic organizations. Poll results, and so on.

The extensive document spanning hundreds of pages contained a lot of information, but it didn’t take long to read. After all, I was used to this stuff. So, I read through the report as usual.

In the midst of it all, my gaze lingered on a certain point in the document.

“Information Officer Personnel Data.”

The report prepared by an executive from the Military Intelligence Agency’s Counterintelligence Department had noted my information.

“…It has been confirmed that the Information Officer suffered the injury of having his right thumb severed during engagement with the terrorists. According to the attending physician’s opinion, reattachment of the digit is impossible, and permanent impairment is expected.”

“…Currently, the Information Officer is unable to recall the situation during the terrorist incident due to short-term amnesia. He is in no condition to testify or assist in the investigation. This is not merely simple short-term amnesia but rather dissociative amnesia, and post-traumatic stress disorder is a concern.”

“…Furthermore, there is an expectation of impairment in future job performance due to damage to the brain and other major organs.”

Severed thumb, fractured ribs, ruptures, bleeding, impaired brain function, decreased motor ability, short-term amnesia. The report starkly informed me that returning to duty was unlikely.

It wasn’t just a case of lost memories.

I attempted to retrieve the report to figure out what had happened, but it yielded no significant insight, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

Frustrated, I carelessly tossed the report aside and lay back on the bed.

“Sigh….”

The terror may have ended, but nothing has been resolved. Blame is being thrown around, the cult and the Magic Tower are protesting, and political parties and organizations around the world are playing the blame game.

What will happen now?

The operation is on the verge of collapse, and I’m left wondering whether I should empty my desk at work. Forget contacting family or friends; stepping out of this room is impossible. On top of that, I now have disabilities to live with for a lifetime.

All conditions are predictable, yet I cannot foresee my own future.

Everything is pitch black.

Just like the night sky outside my window.

“…….”

A sleepless, quiet night.

Wandering thoughts made the night stretch on until I finally drifted into sleep.

However.

What I never anticipated was—

“…Who is it?”

“Oh, you’re awake?”

“…Veronica?”

In the early dawn, Veronica unexpectedly visited my hospital room.

And,

“What are you…. doing here?”

“Ta-da!”

There she was, shaking the wrist from which a thumb had miraculously grown back.

—

Episode 9 – Old Fashioned

When a person is surprised, they usually lose their words.

President Bush was like that upon hearing that the Twin Towers had collapsed, as was the NIS employee who couldn’t sell Bitcoin in freefall while supervising the exam questions, and I was the same when I learned from a colleague during my vacation that Kim Jong-il had passed away.

What did they say? I remember something about the Kospi and KOSDAQ plummeting, where examination committee members sobbed around the TV with their jaws clenched. When the news of Bitcoin’s crash broke, university professors and high school teachers suddenly found themselves lying flat on the ground.

It was so long ago that I can’t recall the exact details, but I distinctly remember my senior calling me out for soju after the exam and sobbing uncontrollably. While serving in the military, he complained about being burned by stocks, and once he got into the NIS, it was Bitcoin that burned him. I ended up laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

My current situation felt exactly like that.

What a joke.

“…Ah, no. This thumb…”

I was so flustered that I couldn’t even speak properly.

The finger that had been severed was intact.

“Ah, um….”

“Why are you surprised about something like this?”

Veronica chuckled lightly.

Having just woken up, I pinched my cheek to verify if this was a dream.

“…….”

“…Colonel.”

“Yes.”

“Why are you pinching my perfectly intact cheek…?”

Veronica, having barged in and sprawled out, was giving me a cheeky glare—undeniably, this was the real Veronica.

“Wow….”

Amazed, I stared at the perfectly fine thumb as if trying to grasp what had happened. Still hazy with sleep, I realized this was indeed reality.

Unable to articulate my thoughts as I examined my thumb, I finally mustered gratitude towards Veronica.

“Thank you. Really, thank you, Veronica.”

“I got it, so can we stop with the cheek pinching now…?”

“Ah, yes.”

—

“I heard from the younger ones. They said you got hurt while fighting.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

It was early dawn, not yet the dead of night. I sat on the hospital bed listening to Veronica, who was clad not in her usual ceremonial attire or casual clothes, but in priestly garments.

It wasn’t unusual for a priest to be roaming a military hospital, but Veronica was not just any priest—she was a Saint of the Cult. Moreover, the four of them, including Veronica, had no formal entry records. So, wearing priestly garments was the only option to conceal their identities.

Few would think of her as a saint wandering a military hospital at dawn. Fearing that someone might recognize her if they happened to pass by, I had drawn the curtains tightly and minimized the light as much as possible.

“Not knowing your condition and unable to contact anybody. So, when I called the ambassador and waited for about ten minutes, they finally told me the hospital’s name and address.”

“I see… I was wondering how you found out where I was.”

Apparently, she had gotten the embassy from Abas to find out where I was. I shouldn’t have been surprised at her capabilities by now.

Veronica paused her story and let her shoulders droop. She seemed drained.

“Ugh, so frustrating. Shouldn’t the public servants recognize the absurdity of it? Why does everyone from the Empire to the Cult and Abas act this way?”

“Hahaha….”

“Oof, I’m so exhausted….”

“Want a chocolate?”

I unwrapped a chocolate and popped it into Veronica’s mouth. It was the chocolate distributed to patients throughout the hospital to lift their spirits at the year-end.

Veronica, munching on the chocolate, remained silent.

“It tastes awful. Is it military supply?”

“It’s homemade, so why would it be military supply? You just have exquisite taste.”

“Hmm… I don’t think so.”

As if denying it, she looked ridiculous. It was absurd to hear someone who indulges in delicacies say such things.

With a languid expression, Veronica pulled out a leather case from her pocket. Then she took out a thick cigar from it.

“Care for a puff?”

“Smoking in front of a patient? Besides, this is a no-smoking area!”

“So what? It’s not like I’m terminally ill.”

“This is downright crazy….”

“Don’t worry. I’m right here.”

Veronica flashed a grin as she took out a cutter. With a snip, she removed the cap, took a few puffs, and then casually struck a match to light it.

Smoke wafted through the ICU.

Veronica, seated cross-legged in her priestly attire, exhaled smoke. It was a good thing this was a private room. If it were a ward with multiple patients, I would’ve already heard complaints about smoking.

To someone from the 21st century, this would be shocking, but in this place, smoking was far too lenient for me to say anything.

“They say the cyclops is an idiot…”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing much.”

Veronica, finishing her toasting, let out a puff of smoke while chuckling. From cutting to cold draw, and toasting, she was the quintessential smoker, no matter what anyone said.

I didn’t particularly dislike smoking, and I knew she was a smoker, so I let it slide—except for the part where she was puffing away in the Intensive Care Unit.

But it felt a bit awkward to say anything to the one who put my finger back on, so I just turned my gaze away from Veronica.

“So, Colonel, what on earth happened that led you to lose your finger?”

“Weren’t you listening? Saint Lucia told me the story herself just a while ago.”

“Eh… hearing it from someone else is different from hearing it directly.”

“It wasn’t exactly a pleasant tale….”

“Then are you just planning to keep it all bottled up? Just get it off your chest. There aren’t many people around to hear it anyway.”

“…Sigh.”

Thinking it over, she wasn’t wrong. So I began to recount everything to Veronica.

Starting from the time we were split into pairs to browse the department store and ended up trapped,

then stumbled across a black curtain with Camila,

to the point where I fought off the Beastman terrorists I met on the emergency stairs and ended up running into Francesca.

I got treated by Lucia,

had a radio chat with the terrorists, sent the three of them away, and tried to tackle it alone,

only to get smacked down by a Beastman and ended up having my finger bitten off.

I told her everything, thinking it was likely Lucia and Francesca had shared it anyway.

“Hmm….”

Veronica, her legs crossed, rested her chin on her hand in contemplation.

“Sounds a lot worse than what I heard. A fall, lacerations, gunshot wounds, bruises, abrasions. Not to mention getting bitten by a Beastman. How on earth did you survive?”

“Well, it’s my job.”

“That bravado… tsk, anyway, good work, Colonel. Thank you for protecting my little siblings from harm.”

Veronica rarely praised me like that. It felt nostalgic, as neither of us had really ever praised each other, despite the playful teasing.

Up until yesterday, I was worried about everything—how the operation fell apart, my memory lapses, whether to quit as an Information Officer or not. But waking up today, my finger’s back, and I even got gratitude from Veronica.

It was all a bit surreal, almost laughable.

I chuckled softly as I leaned back on the bed.

“I feel like I’m getting the royal treatment. Just go about your usual self, okay?”

“Even when you say it nicely, why are you making a fuss? Hurry up and say thank you.”

“Ah, thank you, Saint…!”

“Consider it a blessed day. Who else gets treated for free by a saint?”

“Is it something to brag about if a priest makes money treating people?”

“Then what? Do religious folks dig holes for a living? We can’t live without wages, right?”

“This is maddening.”

We went back to our usual playful banter, each dissing the other. My ribs ached a bit from the laughter, but Veronica, being observant, treated my side.

She hopped off the bed and approached me to check the wound.

“I can handle most things, but I’m lacking the supplies to make a perfect treatment right now. So I’ll do a patch-up for now, and when we get back, I’ll fix it properly.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

As I stared at the fleeting light gathering around my side and then vanishing in an instant, I curiously spoke up.

“I heard it’s tough even for Military Chaplains to reattach fingers; they say they need to call someone from the cult. How did you manage that?”

Veronica answered my almost rhetorical question. She lightly parted her lips to inhale the smoke she was holding before exhaling it and tilting her head.

“Why can’t they do it?”

“……”

“Why do you look at me like that? I’m genuinely asking.”

Veronica gave me a baffled look, and due to her fluent usage of Abas tongue, I understood everything she said, but it was still a bit hard to grasp.

“I mean, I heard that there are bishops, even cardinals, who can’t reattach fingers…?”

“Those are just the stories of incompetent old-timers. People like Lucia and I are different. You really think the position of a saint comes through political maneuvering?”

“Yes.”

I nearly chimed in but recalled she was the one who reattached my finger, so I kept quiet.

But Veronica was quicker on the draw.

Narrowing her eyes like an Inquisition Officer ready to smash a heretic’s head with scripture, she shot me a glare.

“Colonel, you just had a blasphemous thought, didn’t you?”

“Me? No way?”

“Urgh—ugh, that just won’t do!”

With a mischievous smile, Veronica mumbled. Though I didn’t catch it all since she murmured in Kien, my time in the Empire allowed me to understand she was probably cursing at me.

After a spell of mumbling, Veronica took out a portable ashtray, dusted it off, and jabbed a cigar she had between her fingers at me.

“People think a priest’s position is proportional to their divine power, but that’s a misconception. Whether a bishop, archbishop, cardinal, or even the pope, knowing how to handle divine power isn’t what matters.”

“You’re saying divine power isn’t important? Then what is?”

“Nothing much. To become a bishop, you need degrees in scripture studies, theology, and church law. Along with that, you need passion, wisdom, and virtue. A suitable candidate also needs to maintain a good reputation and undergo ordination after a certain period. Oh, and unyielding faith too.”

“But if you can handle a lot of divine power, doesn’t that mean you have unyielding faith as well?” I wondered but noted how Veronica accurately distinguished between the two.

“If your faith is high, it means you can handle more divine influence.”

“Not necessarily. Sure, those with high divine attributes tend to get promoted faster, but there’s no guarantee they’ll reach the top positions. Besides, not every priest can treat people, you know? It’s a specialization too.”

“What? No way….”

“Anyway!”

Veronica continued in a confident tone.

“But saints like Lucia and I are different. Unlike bishops, archbishops, cardinals, and popes, saints possess talents that make miracles seem like no big deal. You also know about our divine compatibility, right?”

“Of course.”

“This is tricky to explain to ordinary folks, but just know that the two of us excel at healing people. Of course, the aforementioned qualities—good reputation, suitability for the role, passion, wisdom, dedication, virtue, and faith—are also absolutely necessary.”

“Saint, are you bragging right now?”

“Yep.”

How refreshing.

I wanted to say something but ended up just muttering without managing to finish. Maybe it was the medicine still working in me, but every conversation with Veronica left me feeling drained.

But she didn’t stop talking.

“I even regrew your finger, and you need more evidence? This shows I’m a wise and gentle person. Do you appreciate it?”

“Yeah, thanks. So when are you going back? You seem to have snuck in here; you should get going before others worry.”

I gently dismissed her while sinking back onto the bed.

Now that my finger was back, I’d have to ask Clevenz to help me finish rehab when he visited. Plus, I needed to contact my worried companions, Pippin, Jake, and my family.

As I pulled out the paperwork I was scribbling, intending to get out of the army, and tore it up to toss into the trash, I caught Veronica’s gaze, which had been fixated on me.

“Still here? Hurry up and go. Shoo.”

Veronica cocked her head, clearly confused.

“What? Why should I go alone?”

“Do you want me to escort you?”

“No, no, wait a minute. Colonel, you didn’t hit your head and suddenly lose your reading comprehension, did you? What are you talking about? We should go together.”

“…Huh?”

“We’re leaving the hospital.”

“…Huh?”

“Come on, stop yapping and hurry up. Get that IV out and get up quick. We need to go before sunrise.”

 

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