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It had been a long time since I returned to my home country, yet it felt just like any other ordinary day.

The weather wasn’t fully spring-like, but the slightly warmer temperatures were pleasant.

The midday sun tickled my skin, and a refreshing breeze blew in gently.

The crunching sound of melting snow combined with the bustling city noise filled the air.

“Ah, I can’t remember the last time I did a debriefing after returning. How about we grab a drink after work?”

“That sounds great! Are you treating, Manager?”

“Just swipe the corporate card.”

“That’ll surely earn some frowns from the administration office.”

My day began with leaving my identification at the main gate checkpoint and receiving a pass.

“By the way, this debriefing might be quite the challenge.”

“The Northern Regions of Kien have been an unexplored territory for the past five years. The investigators have been pressing pretty hard. They nearly seem ready to yell at you if you don’t recall anything at all.”

“But still, you’ll be out early, Manager. Otherwise, you’d be stuck at the office all week.”

Even though I arrived at an ambiguous time, the flow of people was constant.

Teams leaving for lunch, investigators returning from fieldwork, analysts on calls with earbuds in, an information officer sighing under the weight of a document binder filled with hundreds of pages and a takeout coffee, and security personnel on alert wearing their pistols while keeping their rifles standing by…

I hopped into the elevator and pressed the button for my destination.

My target was a small multipurpose conference room in the Military Intelligence Agency building.

I was set to undergo a brief inquiry from high-ranking information officers and several analysts in the overseas division of the Military Intelligence Agency.

“I heard from the seniors that the compiled information will be forwarded to other agencies through the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”

“Where exactly?”

“Ministry of Defense, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Information Bureau, Prime Minister’s Office, Upper and Lower House Intelligence Committees, National Defense Commission, Foreign Affairs Commission…”

“What a mess.”

“Once you visit a conflict area, you end up being called here and there. It was the same when I was in Special Forces. But, Manager, have you honestly never met a Duke in person? I’m dying to know how beautiful they are.”

“Jake, can you please shut up?”

“What’s with you, Pippin? Honestly, wouldn’t it be curious if a grandmother over 120 years old still maintained her youthful beauty and figure?”

“I can’t discuss anything related to the Duke loosely. The higher-ups warned me not to blabber.”

“That makes sense. Today, even the lunch menu at the cafeteria is treated as confidential.”

Honestly, I wasn’t particularly worried. A debriefing was just one more paperwork task that followed returning from an overseas trip.

I wasn’t being summoned to the Inspection Office, so the debriefing would likely wrap up in a few days. After that, I’d get some leave. I’d probably be lounging at a military hotel run by the Abas Ministry of Defense about a week from now.

And that prediction turned out to be exactly correct.

Less than half a day later, I was out of the conference room.

The investigators, who had been compiling the outcomes of the information operations conducted over the last month, told me, “That’s enough for now. You can go in and rest.” After that, I was called by Colonel Clevenz, who replaced Leoni during her absence, to receive my leave order.

However, there was one thing I had not anticipated.

“…Where am I supposed to go?”

“The Republic of Patalia.”

The vacation spot was foreign.

Episode 13 – A Country for Magicians Doesn’t Exist

It took me roughly 15 seconds to calm my flustered mind after being momentarily taken aback.

“…Wait a minute. Patalia? Did I hear that correctly…? Are you telling me to go to Patalia?”

“That’s right. You heard perfectly.”

Colonel Clevenz nodded.

“Republic of Patalia. Our ally and friend.”

As he said, the Republic of Patalia is indeed an ally of Abas.

As can be inferred from the absurd naming skills of the game developers (they really did stick the Islamic Empire of Abas into a Western-North American positional country), Patalia’s inspiration and name are derived entirely from Italy.

“They’re famous for their wine and cuisine, and they have great tourist spots.”

“I know. You visited there in person last year.”

The annual exchange event between the Abas Military Intelligence Agency and the Patalian Military was always popular within the organization.

Colonel Clevenz had visited Patalia last year in the capacity of a representative from the domestic division of the Military Intelligence Agency.

I couldn’t accompany him due to a family matter, but I remember we successfully completed the event by placing an alternate who was fluent in Patalian.

“I heard that there was nothing to eat at a renowned feast. But it turned out that saying was wrong when I visited. I really wish you had interpreted for me back then; I still think it’s a shame.”

“My Patalian isn’t that great. You know that, right?”

“True, it is definitely worse than your Kien. Still, if we had fired those who were worse than you, the Patalian branch would have been left with no one.”

“But why are you sending me there?”

Colonel Clevenz grinned and shrugged.

“As I mentioned earlier, it’s a vacation.”

“…You mean they’re actually giving me a vacation abroad? From a company that ignores requests to replace supplies due to lack of funds?”

When I asked if he was serious, he looked at me as if to say, “What are you asking?”

“You know as well as I do that it is not that rare for the company to send employees abroad.”

Just like every job in the world, there are some things you have to give up once you take on a role, but there are few jobs where you give up as much as you do in an intelligence agency.

One of the many sacrifices is the freedom to travel abroad.

“Once you join the intelligence agency, even going on a trip abroad becomes difficult. The company’s permissions are hard to come by and it’s not like the schedule allows for vacation requests.”

“And it’s true that even lieutenant colonels are only able to clock out two or three times a week, so it’s understandable to feel self-conscious about taking leave.”

“Even if one manages to go out, it becomes a problem. The mind never settles down enough to relax…”

“For counterintelligence, they can’t tell if you’re on leave or deployed. And, of course, the spies overseas will be on their guard, too.”

“It wouldn’t matter if only the information officer was marked, but if their family gets involved, that’s an issue. Imagine taking your kid along while investigators are lurking around the hotel room. Would you even be able to sleep properly?”

Thus, intelligence agencies tend to provide many opportunities for employees to go abroad through exchange events, off-site training, and educational programs.

The surface reason is that it ‘offers the chance to enhance the capabilities needed for the job through acquiring degrees and new experiences abroad,’ but it also serves as a reward to catch a breather after all the hard work.

Of course, many employees go abroad for reasons other than that, but that’s primarily for ‘work.’

If I were to compare it, the difference would be akin to ‘playing with intelligence agency personnel from friendly nations on a gorgeous beach that tourists flock to’ versus ‘touring a military base frequented by nuclear submarines carrying nuclear warheads with guides and observers.’

Anyway.

To cut to the chase, here’s the conclusion:

“The company has ordered you to take a vacation. It’s a way to reward your hard work while allowing you to have a few days of leisure in a friendly nation.”

Though they call it a ‘vacation order,’ it essentially means go have some fun.

And for free, at that.

“I’ve secured accommodations at the resort. The security check is complete, so issues like eavesdropping and interception shouldn’t be a concern. The costs have already been covered, so don’t worry about that.”

“Is room service an option?”

“Of course, if your wallet allows it.”

Not completely free then.

I nodded in agreement, but a thought occurred to me, and I asked a question.

“But is it really okay for me to take a vacation this soon? I have no idea when I’ll go back to the North, and I think the incidents there are still unresolved.”

“Ah, that is indeed true.”

Colonel Clevenz took a calm tone as if there was nothing left to hide.

“The Rift attack, the Inquisition Officer and Imperial Army magician murders, necromancers, undead, the appearance of demons, battles in major cities, and the Duke making his presence known after years… There’s a lot to process, and the documentation hasn’t been sorted at all. The issues are complicated. The officers in charge initially seemed fine, but once the talk of demons came up, they started losing it. It felt like reading a long novel or something?”

Yeah, honestly, even I think that if I were to narrate what happened over the past month, I could easily pen an entire Chronicles of Narnia.

One point,

“But that’s not your concern.”

Rising lightly from his chair, Colonel Clevenz grabbed the envelope with money and the tickets on the desk. And then, with an entirely calm voice just as he always spoke, he concluded,

“You can work anytime, but vacations are few and far between. What you need right now isn’t overtime but rest.”

“…….”

“For the next few months, you’ll be double busy, so prepare yourself well.”

He slipped the envelope into my pocket and handed me the ticket. Watching him do this, I accepted the ticket.

Colonel Clevenz patted my shoulder and returned to the desk, flipping through documents as he wrapped up.

“Check into the hotel, sleep well for three or four hours, then reach out. Have some rest, grab a meal, explore the resort, and once you feel fully refreshed, we can discuss the Northern issues then.”

*

Three hours later.

I stood in front of the Warp Gate from the Republic of Patalia to the Kingdom of Abas.

Before me was an immigration checkpoint sign written in various languages, with a neatly dressed immigration officer sitting inside a sleek booth.

The officer, looking quite strict, greeted me briefly and then asked for my passport. Though they concealed their chapped lips with makeup, I could sense fatigue seeping through their voice.

“Welcome to the Republic of Patalia, Signor. Could you please submit your passport?”

Accompanied by a slight tension, I placed my passport on the tray.

The officer took the tray under the transparent partition, unfolded the passport, and quickly skimmed through my personal information and travel records, including the visa issued by the Patalian Embassy in the Kingdom of Abas.

While the officer was typing and sifting through the documents, I could hear the sound of military boots approaching from behind.

Instinctively, I glanced back at the reflection in the mirror inside the checkpoint and the nearby glass, spotting two security officers with their pistols secured by retention straps and leading a security dog.

“…….”

As I always felt, immigration checks were always nerve-wracking moments.

Whether for official reasons or overseas assignments, stepping onto foreign soil requires a scrutinizing glance.

A situation is unfolding where someone is being denied entry at the immigration checkpoint.

It’s not common for an information officer returning from an overseas business trip to be kicked out of a local airport immigration desk, but it happens often enough that we jokeily call it an “entrance cut” or “airport cut.”

“Signor?”

While I was momentarily distracted, I heard the voice of the immigration officer calling me.

“…Yes, yes?”

“You’re quite the unresponsive one, aren’t you?”

“Ah, sorry! I was just lost in thought… Could you please repeat that?”

“What is the purpose of your visit?”

I answered that I was here for tourism.

The officer examined my tourist visa issued by the Patalian Embassy, a few blocks away from the Prime Minister’s Residence in the capital of Abas.

After a moment, confirming there was no issue with the visa, she placed the documents down and continued with her questions.

“Are you traveling alone?”

“Yes.”

“Your belongings seem rather meager for a tourist.”

The immigration officer remarked, gently tapping my loose backpack. After seeing the meager contents, her questioning became a bit stricter.

“What region are you visiting? Do you have any means to prove your tourism status?”

She suddenly started asking questions in Abas, probably because my passport was issued in Abas.

Her proficiency in Abas was decent, but the pronunciation was not great. You could say she had a distinct Patalian accent.

As I exchanged short questions for the immigration interview, I sensed the questions might start to become prolonged. So, instead of awkwardly conversing in Abas, I decided to switch to Patalian.

“I don’t have specific plans for sightseeing. Actually, I came here as a tourist, but aside from my booked accommodation, I have nothing prepared.”

The officer seemed momentarily flustered by the sudden Patalian, but soon her entire face brightened.

“Oh, you speak Patalian?”

“A little.”

Her face lit up with joy, her previously tired voice becoming cheerful.

“You came alone, then?”

“Yes, solo travel.”

“And no plans at all?”

“No plans is a plan, right? Oh, here’s my hotel reservation and 5,000 Ducats in cash.”

“Meraviglia hotel stay confirmation, and 5,000 Ducats in cash exchanged from Abas. All verified.”

With a gentle smile, the officer began scribbling something on her notepad.

Meanwhile, I looked around.

A man of conscription age sat at a nearby café sipping coffee, while a couple in their twenties, posing as tourists, snapped photos from a second-floor railing. The angle seemed off, prompting the woman to scold the man and gesture for him to prepare for another shot.

A middle-aged man wearing sunglasses passed by the immigration office door, while a woman pretending to talk on her mobile phone glanced over her folded newspaper.

Once the officer finished writing, she looked up at me, smiled, and began speaking.

“It’s not often we see someone fluent in Patalian. It’s refreshing to meet someone like you.”

“There are many who speak better than I do.”

“Still, your skills are commendable! Where did you learn? Academy? Or university?”

“I have a friend who’s Patalian.”

“Oh, a friend? Is she a girl or a boy?”

“A girl.”

“What does she do?”

She’s a spy.

“She just works at a company, as far as I know.”

“Then, I guess you’re here to meet your friend?”

“Ah… not really. She probably doesn’t even know I’m here. This trip was actually arranged by my workplace.”

“Your workplace? Which company sends you overseas for a vacation?”

Feigning hesitation at the officer’s question, I took a moment before answering.

“Well, it’s just my job, you know. I’m a civil servant.”

The officer, glancing at me, subtly shook her head, a smile still on her face.

Tearing off a piece of notepad, the officer tapped a few keys and began her inquiry.

“Actually, I’m also a civil servant, but my workplace doesn’t send me abroad like yours does. I probably should have just applied for a job at a travel agency.”

“A travel agency, huh? That’s not a bad job. I can’t say it’s great, though.”

“Have you worked at a travel agency before?”

I worked there for about a year. It was a British travel agency with offices in China.

Officially approved by the Chinese government, but honestly, it was a front; one of the branches of Information Command in Shanghai.

Of course, I couldn’t mention such experience, so I brushed it off as just some stories I picked up.

My immigration check proceeded quite leisurely.

While the other people on either side of me cleared the immigration stage, the officer in charge of me was taking her sweet time.

Noticing my worried expression, wondering if there was a problem, the officer reassured me that there was nothing to worry about.

“Oh, it’s nothing serious. Just that recently, there have been a lot of suspicious individuals entering, and the regulations have become stricter.”

“Suspicious individuals?”

“Illegal immigrants. You must have seen it on the news, right? Those who enter on tourist visas and then head to rural areas to earn money. The increase in people overstaying has complicated our duties.”

“Ah… are you referring to the refugees from the Mauritania Continent? I heard they were coming over to the Lushan Federation by boat, and now they’re even coming to Patalia since the sea routes are blocked.”

“Yeah, that’s right. We have more than just a few headaches because of it. But you seem well-informed about the situation in Patalia. You must watch the news often.”

“Well, it’s part of my job.”

I shrugged as I answered.

“So, how do you think I appear to you? Do I seem like an illegal immigrant?”

The seemingly stringent immigration officer looked at me with suspicious eyes. Of course, her tone held suspicion, but her face looked rather playful.

“Let’s sum this up. You work as a civil servant, and even considering it’s the off-peak season, your workplace sent you on vacation during the busiest time of the year.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re staying at a foreign-owned hotel typically frequented by business travelers rather than tourists, and you happen to have 5,000 Ducats in cash, plus you speak fluent Patalian. Not to mention, you also have a girlfriend here in Patalia.”

Not a girlfriend. If we dated, we’d both be unemployed.

While it would be technically accurate to say so, I figured I’d let it slide since it was just a playful exchange.

After briefly regarding me with amusement, the officer let slip.

“If a person like you, Signor, turns out to be an illegal resident, there’s really no hope for us.”

Bam! A stamp with the entry and exit dates was marked on my passport.

As the officer finished approving my entry, she placed the stamp down and spoke.

“If you’re near the Meraviglia hotel, there’ll be plenty of enjoyable things to do. There’s a beach nearby frequented by foreign tourists — the nightlife culture is vibrant. Plus, with the warm climate in the southern regions year-round, the food is not bad. If it suits your taste, you’ll enjoy your stay here.”

“Thank you for the advice. I’ll keep that in mind.”

As the officer neatly organized my visa documents, hotel certificate, cash, and passport before returning them to me, she smiled widely and waved goodbye.

“Enjoy your trip!”

*

January in Patalia is famously the coldest and windiest.

Perhaps due to the off-peak season, most hotels in Patalia had ample available rooms.

The afternoon attractions were neither too crowded nor too empty, making for just the right amount of visitors. While there were famous spots, locals outnumbered the foreigners.

“…Hah.”

Exiting the immigration office, I stood for a moment with my eyes closed, lifting my head to fully bask in the warm Patalian sunshine.

Despite January being a chillier season due to the strong winds, it couldn’t compare to the north of the Kien Empire where engines fail in no time without a proper shutdown.

After soaking in the sunlight for a while, the first thing I did was check my passport to ensure the exit date was correctly stamped. However, when I opened it, I found a piece of paper tucked inside.

The neatly torn note had a message inviting me to contact her if I was interested, along with a phone number.

Staring at the note for a moment, I quietly tucked it between the pages of my passport.

Next, I had a report to make. I promptly took out my secure mobile phone and reported to the Embassy of the Kingdom of Abas in Patalia.

“Hello? This is Colonel Frederick. I heard you received the official notice that I was departing from my country today? Ah, yes. I just came out of the immigration office. It took a bit longer than expected. Yes. Picking me up? Oh, no need for that. There seem to be plenty of people ready to pick me up. I’ll be heading there myself. Yes. Oh, it’s nothing. Take care.”

After ending the call, I turned off the phone and pocketed it.

Putting on the sunglasses stored in my case, I glanced around, pretending to check my reflection in a mirror.

A young man of conscription age held a coffee, while a couple in their twenties hurried past with cameras. A middle-aged man wearing sunglasses partially concealed his face, and a woman threw a newspaper onto the glove box of a van as she climbed in.

“Hmmm….”

It had only been 43 minutes since my arrival in Patalia.

I was already being followed.

“Things are going downhill from the start.”

With my backpack haphazardly slung over my shoulder, I hopped into a taxi lined up in front of the immigration office.

The driver, sporting bronzed skin and a mustache, flashed a bright white smile as he asked,

“Where to, sir?”

“Please take me to the Embassy of the Kingdom of Abas.”

As the heavily tinted van and an old sedan discreetly exited the parking lot, the bright yellow taxi began to speed along the asphalt road.

 

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