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The crux of this negotiation revolves around the black market.

It’s the key interest for Hormoz and something Francesca is eager to get her hands on.

From the perspective of a ‘diplomat,’ the best choice would be to accept Hormoz’s demands.

This way, Francesca can be steered away from the black market, and instead, we could continuously receive information from Hormoz. Considering the diplomatic damage that would return when Francesca’s activities are exposed, it’s a beneficial trade-off.

However, from the viewpoint of an ‘information officer,’ Hormoz’s proposal isn’t very appealing.

First, there’s the issue of credibility.

While it would be appreciated if Hormoz, who has been building his business in the north for years, were to share information, the reliability and validity of the intelligence he provides are entirely different matters.

If Hormoz’s information turns out to be worthless, for lack of a better term, we would end up with nothing.

And then there’s the relationship with Francesca.

Francesca is hungry for the black market. I did introduce her to Victor, but she prepared almost all the supplies and transportation means herself. Leveraging her experience as an administrator in the Magic Tower Secretariat’s Economic Management Department, she acquired smuggled goods and arranged for the ships and fake documents to evade law enforcement.

She layered additional stops where only one trip was necessary, replaced permits with every stop made, and ensured that sailors and customs officials were silenced while covering transportation costs.

While my friend Victor provided some of the funding, most of the costs came from Francesca’s pocket.

But what happens if we force her to close her business before she recoups her investment?

Maintaining a good relationship with informants is crucial for an information officer working in the field.

From the perspective of the information officer, it’s not entirely bad for Francesca to earn money. Any income generated from her side business, being sanctioned by the company, could supplement the information officer’s purse or the operational funds. If I can make even a little profit through Francesca, I have no reason to stand in her way.

Thus, information and money. Capturing both hares sounds like the best option for me.

The only question that arises is whether there’s a way to satisfy both Hormoz and Francesca simultaneously.

I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

“Deputy Guild Master, I wish to meet Mr. Hormoz.”

I stepped into the tent in the desert.

—

Episode 12 – The Mightiest Magician

The desert constructed from spatial transformation magic is wider than I could have imagined.

Waves of sand flow like rivers. The white sand stretches up to the horizon where sky meets land. The night sky, speckled with galaxies, glimmers above a softly crackling campfire. It’s hard to believe that these exquisite magical creations are remnants of a shattered world devoid of habitation.

At the center of a realm built from magic symbolizing the illustrious past of the Magic Tower is a grand cream-colored tent.

Hormoz awaited me there.

“Welcome, General.”

Hormoz, who had been relaxing, gestured politely to a seat. I sat down on the cushion prepared for guests.

“Meow.”

Suddenly, a cat made a surprise appearance.

With glossy white fur and sapphire-blue eyes, the cat moved with a noble grace that would’ve made it hard to think it was anything but aristocracy if it were a person.

I recognized the cat; it was the same one I’d seen when I first met Hormoz.

The white cat let out a small meow and settled in the middle of the tent, curling into a comfortable ball and licking its paws while basking in the warmth of the campfire.

“What a pretty cat.”

As I gazed at it for a moment, Hormoz turned to me and spoke while preparing tea for both of us.

“Did you have a good rest?”

“Thanks to you, I rested well.”

Sitting on the cushion, I lightly steered the conversation toward the main topic.

“I came to mediate the situation for a moment before we got into serious talk. So, I came alone without the administrator.”

“Mediation?”

Hormoz raised his eyebrows, seemingly taken aback by my statement. His surprised reaction mingled with confusion.

I nodded in agreement.

“Both parties are at a sharp impasse, and I believe mediation is necessary for a smooth resolution. The administrator also concurred.”

“…Mediation, huh.”

Hormoz let out a murmur that sounded almost like a groan as he set down the teapot.

“Neither the administrator nor I have any intention of backing down. Is mediation even possible?”

It was a peculiar question melding concern and skepticism. It proclaimed that he would not budge and implied how I could mediate between two competing parties over the black market.

So, I pointed a finger at Hormoz and said, “Disputes are harmful to business, Mr. Hormoz. Conflict and war are but a hair’s breadth apart.”

Disputes are detrimental to business.

A certain level of competition is beneficial for it. Imitating the strengths of a successful rival and rectifying one’s own shortcomings.

The relentless pursuit of being better than yesterday, showcasing superior traits over others, is one of the driving forces behind growth.

However, once competition escalates into conflict, the narrative changes.

Excessive competition leads to bleeding, often harming the party’s own interests along with those of the rival. This tendency is particularly pronounced in markets where the pie is limited.

Hormoz, the owner of the Palm Tree Trade Guild, expressed his agreement.

“I concur. Fighting is always detrimental.”

Hormoz nodded as he quoted my words.

Using someone else’s expression to relay a sentiment is a time-honored rhetorical tactic. It helps ease the psychological distance between the speaker and listener, fostering a positive impression, a frequently utilized method by information officers.

I smiled gently and bowed my head slightly.

“Thank you for your understanding, Mr. Hormoz.”

Hormoz poured tea into his cup. Just as he was about to pour tea into the cup that was prepared for me—

“Ah, wait a moment.”

I interrupted Hormoz’s actions.

“Do you have milk instead of tea?”

“Milk?”

“Yes, the milk extracted from sheep.”

Hormoz is a Dark Elf from the Saria Tribe. Like Bedouins, the nomadic Dark Elves raise various livestock, including sheep.

The yogurt sent from the Saria Tribe is a food made from sheep’s milk. Freshly milked, it’s stored in a leather pouch and shaken for half a day according to tribal traditions.

I ordered the original form of the milk, and Hormoz gladly accepted my request.

“Mmm.”

The milk shipped directly from the Mauritania Continent was exceedingly fresh.

I downed the generously provided milk in one gulp and exclaimed in admiration, “The milk tastes wonderful. I can feel how healthy the Saria sheep must be without even seeing them.”

Setting down the empty milk cup, I wiped my mouth with a handkerchief.

“Now, Mr. Hormoz. In this beautiful tent you provided, I have discussed the petty disputes surrounding the black market with the administrator and came to find that, much like you, the administrator also wishes for the current conflicts to cease.”

“That’s welcome news.”

“Because war doesn’t help business. I doubt there’s anyone who enjoys war, right?”

Hormoz smiled, seemingly pleased by this sentiment.

“Unless it’s money, of course. Dark Elves love money more than anything else. More precisely, they love gold.”

“I like money too. I’m sure the administrator loves it as well.”

We all share a common trait of loving money, including Francesca, who isn’t present in this conversation.

Nobody in the world dislikes money.

Even I, as an information officer, don’t exempt myself.

Patriotism? Of course, it’s a crucial virtue for an information officer. However, the costs for clothes, food, drinks, and day-to-day living during operations don’t come free. The operational funding is provided by the information agency and comes from the special activity budget the Information Committee of Congress allocates annually.

So, if operational funds are covered with money earned from outside, it is a win-win for both the information agency and Congress.

There are notable examples, like the CIA caught selling drugs, Russian intelligence agencies caught trading arms in the Middle East, and North Korean agents who froze their accounts after getting caught for earning slush funds and agency funds.

The examples are a bit odd, but anyway, let’s move past that.

The important part is from now on.

“If we can both make a few concessions, all issues surrounding the black market can be easily resolved. So, Mr. Hormoz.”

“…….”

“Would you be willing to concede a bit of the northern black market shares?”

*

Inside the desert tent, only Hormoz and I were present.

There were no administrators or deputy guild masters to join the conversation, so it was just the two of us, and without interruption, we could focus on each other a little more.

Perhaps this was why the silence felt especially stark today.

“…….”

With my request to concede some shares of the northern black market, silence settled in. Hormoz fell into deep contemplation while I watched him intently.

Since it was just the two of us, discerning each other’s intentions should have been easier than expected, but when one party shuts down communication, uncomfortable silence tends to ensue. I waited for Hormoz’s response amid the awkward quietness, alongside the cat that was swaying its tail.

It was roughly seven minutes before the Dark Elf finally opened his mouth.

“…Concede.”

After a lengthy silence, Hormoz softly murmured.

“I wonder why I should concede.”

I chuckled incredulously and countered, “I’m curious about your motive for asking when you already know the reason.”

Hormoz, who had clung to a lukewarm stance against the demand to share information, had arranged this meeting for one reason alone.

“Aren’t you afraid of the Military Government Headquarters?”

“…….”

Hormoz remained silent for a considerable amount of time and had refrained from selling information.

He may not have had the information at the time, or maybe he was uncertain if the information could harm him or the guild, but regardless, Hormoz had chosen to remain silent.

The timing is crucial. Hormoz breaking his silence at this juncture is important.

He promptly contacted us the moment the military government’s crackdown operation came to an end.

I placed my hand on my chest, as if to express understanding.

“Of course, Mr. Hormoz, I thoroughly understand your position. After all, the military police that hadn’t enforced any laws for almost five years suddenly began rounding up criminals for execution. It must have caused you quite a bit of anxiety.”

“They weren’t just ordinary criminals.”

“Yes, they were smugglers. Connected to the black market, to boot.”

For Hormoz, it must have been a chilling thought.

The very organizations related to the black market, much like him, had been completely wiped out.

The critical detail is that the military police were mobilized under the command of the Military Government Headquarters, and that fact links both Francesca and myself to that operation.

Hormoz likely suspects that Francesca and I requested the military government to take care of those criminals. Observing any single behavior or utterance from him hints at such suspicion.

At first glance, the military government’s recent crackdowns can seem like a show of force, but it appears Hormoz’s resolve was stronger than I thought.

He responded with surprising confidence.

“I’m not afraid of the Imperial Army’s enforcement.”

While it may sound pretentious, Hormoz carried himself too confidently for such claims to be dismissed as mere bravado or unfounded confidence.

It seemed like he was someone wholly assured that he could evade the crackdown.

Sure enough, Hormoz divulged an interesting piece of information.

“The deployment of the northern forces is concentrated on the frontlines. A significant number of interior troops are stationed in the Lorda Mountains’ defense line. The military police alone cannot maintain law and order while simultaneously performing their duties.”

“…Oh, you’re more informed than I expected.”

I shifted my posture casually, pretending to think it over.

“It seems you have someone behind you closely linked to the military.”

“…….”

I paused to reconsider the relationship between the Military Government Headquarters and the Imperial Ministry of Defense.

The Military Government Headquarters is an agency dealing with judicial and administrative tasks related to military activities in the northern regions. Established under martial law, it’s currently led by Commander Mikhail.

The Imperial Ministry of Defense is the higher authority over the Military Government Headquarters, responsible for personnel shifts of military officers, approving major operations, troop deployments, and overall supervision. The Military Government Headquarters operates on orders from the Imperial Ministry of Defense while still enjoying a degree of autonomy.

After all, the military can’t just keep focusing solely on areas under martial law.

The Kien Empire spans vast territories that dwarf Russia, and the Imperial Ministry of Defense, located in Petrogard, commands forces across five military districts: eastern, western, southern, northern, and central. They can’t solely focus on the northern area.

Thus, while they may be aware of overarching trends, they don’t grasp every intricate detail. More precisely, the department responsible for the north relies on reports submitted by the Military Government Headquarters for administration.

I know this because I have been visiting the Imperial Ministry of Defense for over a week. When I asked the military officers in the general staff, they too admitted they don’t know everything.

Thus, it’s increasingly likely that Hormoz’s backing doesn’t come from the Military Government Headquarters but from the military itself.

More accurately, it seems he’s connected to the higher-ups in the central military and the general staff.

If there had been support from the Military Government Headquarters, he wouldn’t have contacted us at all. If Commander Mikhail had no intention of continuing the cleanup operations, he would have certainly been aware of any ties Hormoz had with the Military Government.

“Well, those in the central offices do know about deployment statuses. They wouldn’t want to carry out offensive operations without reports from the headquarters.”

“…….”

“Still, I’m quite sure a military officer isn’t your supporter, Mr. Hormoz.”

While the hierarchy between the Ministry of Defense and the Military Government Headquarters is clear, there’s no one in the military who’d stick their neck out for Hormoz’s business.

The structure of the Imperial Army’s ranks comprises five levels: brigadier general, major general, lieutenant general, general, and field marshal. Due to the numerous generals produced as the current Emperor Nikolai VI promotes the military, such a distorted hierarchy has come to fruition.

At first, the military rejoiced, but once pension payments, promotion processes, and various other issues arose, they hastily attempted to reconstruct the hierarchy. As a result, the Imperial Army currently has four senior military ranks: major general, lieutenant general, general, and field marshal.

Within the empire, a general is the highest rank attainable for a uniformed soldier. The title of field marshal is only awarded to the highest military leaders, such as the Minister of Defense or the Chief of Staff.

And Commander Mikhail holds the rank of general.

In an empire where very few generals actually hold the rank of general, how could someone dare to provide support for a smuggler operating within the certainty of oversight from both the Emperor and the Crown Prince in the northern regions?

Such a thing is absolutely impossible. In a situation where an entire family could face a death sentence, nobody would risk their safety for a minor official.

“The support is likely not from within the military, but from outside. Not a soldier, but a high-ranking official with connections to generals. Perhaps a political figure or a noble. They might have been one of the nobles who left before the imposition of martial law.”

“…….”

“Let’s see…”

I slowly counted the numbers of Northern nobles in my mind.

“The prominent families in the north would include marquis and count families, with a few barons. The marquis was a military general, making him the most likely candidate. However, he passed away due to chronic illness years ago, leaving behind a son in his twenties or thirties.”

The marquis family is out of consideration.

“There are a couple of count families, but those are from civil service backgrounds, not military. Those were individuals serving as local government officials or city councilors, so they wouldn’t have ties to the central authorities. The ones deep in connection with the military in the north have been stationed here since the martial law was imposed.”

The Count families are doomed.

“Then could it be the Baron? Probably not. Just like the Counts, this area is inhabited by Northerners. While there might be central nobles related by blood accompanying them, even if you combine all those individuals, it won’t be enough to support Mr. Hormoz and the Palm Tree Trade Guild.”

Smuggling is never an easy crime. It appears frequently in dramas, movies, and news, but smuggling is actually more complicated than it looks.

First, you need a source abroad to obtain goods at low prices, along with a wide network of connections to avoid customs and police inspections, and continuous bribes to keep them satisfied.

For reference, most of the goods that Hormoz deals with can be found within the Empire, but some are sourced from the Eastern lands across the sea or from the Mauritania Continent. Even if Hormoz can handle the transactions, bringing them into the Empire and then to the North is no easy feat.

That’s why I intentionally pulled Francesca and Victor into this matter. It was even insufficient with just the two of them, so I had to take action myself.

So to back Hormoz, you need to be a quite significant noble or a political figure. Generally, in the Empire, high-ranking nobles are politicians or bureaucrats, so one is essentially the same as the other.

For instance, just like those nobles who teamed up with the Imperial Guard HQ’s reactionaries and were all purged.

I waved my hand, recalling those not-so-great old days.

“Of course, the Empire has a deep history, and there are many other riff-raff, but for now, let’s leave that aside. Mr. Hormoz wouldn’t want the story to drag on, would you?”

I grinned and straightened my posture.

Hormoz’s eyes had been cold and still since I started speaking. The corner of his mouth, which had been relaxed, had now dropped, and he bore an expression that was anything but soft. Had he lost his composure? I thought it was possible.

I corrected my posture and stared directly into those icy golden eyes.

And I threw him a question.

“Mr. Hormoz. You are well aware of the customs of hospitality, aren’t you?”

Hormoz nodded heavily.

I explained the customs of hospitality to the trader from the nomadic tribes.

“You probably know better than I do, but what’s important in hospitality customs is the consideration between the host and the guest.”

The host protects guests welcomed into their home under any circumstance.

The guest respects the host and refrains from actions that would bring harm to them.

The tradition of hospitality is a principle that nomadic tribes have upheld for thousands of years to protect their honor, which is more valuable than life itself. I posed a question to Hormoz, who came from a nomadic background.

“According to long-standing tradition, as your guest, I cannot harm you, the host who received me. Likewise, I must not do anything that harms you.”

“That is indeed true.”

“Then let me ask you this. Do you perceive my current actions as harmful to you, Mr. Hormoz?”

“Depending on how one interprets it, it might be harmful.”

“Mr. Hormoz.”

I held his gaze steadily.

“I am not inquiring about future events or possibilities. I am merely asking if my present actions jeopardize your life and honor.”

“……”

“Of course, if I were to intercept your business or seek out those who protect you, I would be the one violating customs. But I have no intention of doing that. Do you know why?”

Hormoz picked up on what I had just said.

“Because conflicts harm business.”

“Precisely!”

I smiled and settled back comfortably.

“In fact, I have encountered many people like you. The nomads. Individuals who value honor above their own lives.”

The vast desert. A van crossing unpaved roads and a radio blaring loudly. Checkpoints set up by warlords armed with Soviet gear and rifles. I found myself face to face with the commander leading those warlords.

It has been over 28 years, yet I remember it vividly as if it were yesterday. The years I spent in the Middle East were more significant than any other posting, whether in Russia, China, Central, or Southeast Asia.

Actually, I have spent the most time in the Middle East.

Thanks to a junior I met at the Korean University of Foreign Studies, I picked up some Arabic to transition into an office job, but unexpectedly, I was assigned to North Africa. I was thoroughly exasperated then.

I recalled those memories.

“Of course, to survive in the desert, honor is of utmost importance. The honor of the tribe, the honor of one’s father, and one’s own honor. That’s why, when a fight breaks out, rather than resorting to assassination, a fair fight is preferred to preserve honor, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“But I don’t want to do that.”

I spread my arms wide, pointing around the comfortable tent.

“There’s no need to throw these delightful things into the fire just to fight, is there? Whether money is lost or not, a fierce battle won’t bring it back.”

Returning to the main point.

“Getting back to it, conflicts don’t benefit business. If you and the Administrator were to start fighting, many things would change. The Palm Tree Trade Guild could win, or the Magic Tower could take victory, but the important aspect is that something would change.”

“……”

For example.

“If the Administrator defeats you, Mr. Hormoz, the black market would fall into her hands, and she would start raking in the cash.”

“That seems likely.”

“But right now, she won’t be able to make money immediately. Since she would have lost much in battling you, right?”

Even if she overcomes Hormoz and seizes control of the Northern black market, she wouldn’t be able to earn money right away.

Setting aside the potential losses Francesca would face or how the merchants close to Hormoz might turn against her, the moment a war breaks out, nobody would sell goods on the black market.

The essence of smuggling is managing inventory. Unmarketable smuggled goods are just clutter that fills police statistics.

From Francesca’s perspective, who has invested capital, letting her goods rot away in Victor’s warehouse is something she’d want to avoid.

Hormoz, who has been active in the North for years, feels the same.

“Let’s assume the conflict lasts for about three months. What will happen?”

“……”

“Some people will die, and a few warehouses will burn down. If the opposing side offers their goods, there will be attempts, by any means necessary, to seize them. The beast may recognize its owner, but goods belong to everyone, don’t they? They’ll probably be snatched up and sold off.”

I gave a moment for that to sink in, focusing attention.

And then.

“However, Mr. Hormoz, do you think the Military Government Headquarters will just stand idly by and watch this unfold?”

“……”

I was fairly certain the answer would be negative.

While Commander Mikhail might not plan cleanup operations, if chaos breaks out, the situation shifts drastically.

The Military Government Headquarters would step in to suppress criminals engaging in murder, arson, and pillage to maintain order, and inevitably, extreme force would be employed.

Anything is difficult at first.

And the Military Government Headquarters accomplished that daunting task in a ruthless and tidy manner.

“Then both sides are going to suffer casualties. The Priests will have their hands full. Praying over the corpses will take more than a day.”

“What should we do then?”

“Concede.”

I tapped my fingers on the floor.

“If we compromise through negotiation, there should be no issues. Setting zones, limiting good types, or fixing prices should keep things smooth, right?”

“Then our guild’s profits will decrease.”

Hormoz shook his head, displaying the stubbornness typical of a Dark Elf.

“Just as two suns cannot rise in the sky, there cannot be two guilds in the black market. I’ll have to compete over many interests with the Administrator while sharing the black market with her.”

“……”

“This is merely a stopgap.”

The master of the Palm Tree Trade Guild stated.

“If I accept the military officer’s proposal today, it will surely come back to haunt me in the future.”

“Even after the conflict with the Magic Tower concludes, the black market will persist. As infrastructure is rebuilt and national projects are initiated, many businesses will flock in. Countless people will come. The black market will expand. Wouldn’t that solve a few problems on its own?”

“When the black market expands, other organizations will swarm in. If we do not currently hold the leading position in the black market, the outsider Palm Tree Trade Guild would inevitably be overshadowed by the local organizations.”

“Ah.”

It’s a long-term game.

I realized Hormoz was running the guild with a long-term perspective in mind, ensuring he could continue to reign as king of the Northern black market even after the Empire-Magic Tower conflict wrapped up.

That arrangement was likely agreed upon with his backing. The backer, having received some form of compensation, would be turning a blind eye or actively supporting Hormoz in his takeover of the local black market.

So, the backer must be a Northerner? I just need to find someone influential among the Northern gentry.

“……Hmmm.”

I feigned deliberation, allowing an idle noise to escape my lips.

After maintaining about twelve seconds of silence, I nodded in understanding and opened my mouth.

“How about this?”

I proposed an offer to Hormoz that he couldn’t refuse.

“It’s a trade.”

“…A trade?”

“Yes. The Administrator and Mr. Hormoz officialize an agreement whereby the Administrator will supply goods to Hormoz for the Northern black market, and Hormoz will sell them.”

“What goods are we talking about?”

“What could you even sell that someone from the Magic Tower would have?”

Given the geographical characteristics, the Magic Tower could hardly support itself.

Positioned smack dab in the heart of the southern region of the Kien Empire’s Nastasiya City, it is isolated from both land and sea routes and, being entirely artificial, lacks resources like minerals and crops.

Thus, the Magic Tower is wholly reliant on a manufacturing economy.

And true to its name, it produces and sells an unprecedented number of magical items.

“Hmmm.”

At the mention of Magic Tower goods, Hormoz seemed entranced, deep in thought.

His sharp, pointed ears flitted about, and fingers gently stroked his smooth chin devoid of a beard.

“It’s an attractive offer, but I need to discuss this with the person I answer to…”

“What’s there to discuss?”

I interrupted Hormoz.

“This is a direct agreement between you and Miss Francesca. It signifies something apart from the contract you made with the powerful figures backing you in the North.”

“……”

Hormoz contemplated my proposition with a serious look.

This was essentially the furthest I could go in making an offer, and the ultimate compromise Francesca could bear. Going beyond this point would mean Francesca could not reclaim her investment, and I would get an earful from Leoni.

Some of the items Francesca intended to sell include relief supplies meant for the Abas government to send to the Empire. Even though I’d done the paperwork to smuggle some items in, it essentially would squander intelligence agency money into thin air.

Hence, this matter also tangled me in along with Francesca and Hormoz.

Hormoz might not grasp all of that, but it seemed he understood that he had no other options. His serious gaze was locked on my offer.

“…Meow.”

The sound of a cat meowing shattered the tent’s silence.

The cat, having let out a cry, stood up, wagging its tail while making its way to the tent’s entrance. The Deputy Guild Master gently lifted the tent flap for the cat to squeeze through, and it stole one last glance before dashing outside.

“……”

Hormoz stared at the slightly parted entrance for quite a long time.

I addressed him.

“You don’t need to ponder this. It’s merely an offer from a guest.”

“……”

“You’ve generously provided me this delicious milk, so I shall fulfill the obligations of a guest. There will never be harm to you, Mr. Hormoz.”

However.

“When I leave this tent, whether we shake hands or merely exchange pleasantries will affect a lot going forward.”

“……”

“The choice is yours, Mr. Hormoz.”

I extended an empty glass toward him.

“So, here, you choose now.”

And lastly, I added.

“Is it silver? Or is it lead?”

*

The negotiation concluded successfully.

Despite the countless ups and downs I couldn’t articulate in words, it somehow wrapped up nicely.

“Thank you for accepting the proposal, Guild Master.”

“I am the one who should be thanking you, Administrator.”

Francesca and Hormoz finalized their contract.

To summarize, Francesca would supply goods to Hormoz within a predetermined period, and Hormoz would sell those items in the Northern black market.

This included not only basic food items and medical supplies but also.

“It’s uncommon for the Elders to engage in trade with alchemists from the Ivory Tower, but dealing with the Magician of the Magic Tower is quite unexpected. I’m sure the Elders will be pleased. How could I possibly not express my gratitude?”

“First impressions matter, but the impressions we leave at parting carry equal weight.”

“Ultimately, what remains are the people.”

Francesca smiled faintly.

“People….”

Leaving an ambiguous smile, Francesca departed the tent, contract in hand, bearing her magical signature.

Outside, the staff of the Palm Tree Trade Guild were bustling, arranging food and drinks to celebrate the signing, and Francesca settled into the best seat available.

I exchanged light words and a handshake with Hormoz, exchanging well wishes.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Hormoz.”

“According to long-standing traditions, it is only right for me to welcome our guests. Please, enjoy yourselves.”

As I grasped Hormoz’s outstretched hand, I couldn’t resist throwing out a joke.

“It seems you didn’t engage in a losing deal.”

A “losing deal.” This was a phrase Hormoz often let slip, as if it were second nature.

I wasn’t certain if it was merely a saying among the Palm Tree Trade Guild, common among Dark Elves, or something shared only by the Saria Tribe. Nevertheless, his chosen phrase was one Hormoz commonly used.

Hormoz only smiled at my quip before leaving the tent.

Once both Francesca and Hormoz were out, I received a piece of paper handed to me by the Deputy Guild Master.

“The information you requested.”

The paper bore a short sentence written in the language of the Mauritania Continent.

I promptly left the tent, exited the building where the space-altering magic was activated, and dialed in the subordinate.

Though late into the night, he swiftly answered the call, as I had put him on standby.

-‘Communication secure. This is Pippin from the Military Office of the Abas Embassy in the Kien Empire.’

“Pippin. Go tell the Priest.”

-‘I will deliver it through Charnoy. What should I pass along?’

I recited the line exactly as written on the paper.

“At deep night, seek out the inquisitor wandering the desolate grounds.”

Now it’s time to hunt down the terrorist.

 

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