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It is deserving of condemnation to commit acts of terrorism against innocent citizens.

—Abdul Kahar Valki, Taliban executive and spokesperson for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Afghanistan, criticizing the IS-K Kabul airport attack.

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Episode 13 – There Is No Country for Magicians

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“You’re probably a bit puzzled by the sudden mention of a manhunt, right? Newcomers might feel that way.”

The analyst, limping with a classified document in hand, spoke.

“So let me explain briefly for those who are here for the first time. I’ll start with the background, so keep your eyes wide open.”

As the analyst at the podium operated the remote control, a new screen materialized on the display.

Projected onto the stark white screen were several photographs.

“In 1979, Cecil, an overseas information collection officer from the Royal Intelligence Department, was working in the Al-Yabd Republic of Ribi. While tailing the institute’s security officer in a car to gather research data on military potion technology being conducted at a lab in Mamraka, she was murdered by the roadside.”

An old sedan. The shattered front windshield was covered in blood.

A police barricade haphazardly set up and the driver’s seat, stained red with the hint of a spiderweb-like crack in the glass, could be seen through it.

Beneath it was the personnel card of the female information officer.

The card, emblazoned with the insignia of the Royal Intelligence Department, detailed Cecil’s age, residence, her husband’s workplace evaluations, and her children’s academy grades.

“In 1981, Ahmed from the Kingdom of Mamraka.”

Next came the photograph of a smiling man.

“He was an executive at a state-owned enterprise that monopolized the magic stone mines in Mamraka and a local informant for the Royal Intelligence Department. High-quality magic stones are quite popular in the international market. Kien, Patalia, the Magic Tower… everyone wants to get their hands on them. So, the company recruited Ahmed, but he was assassinated shortly after.”

There he was, shaking hands with an official representative information officer under a banner that read ‘Abas Kingdom-Mamraka Kingdom Diplomatic Ceremony.’

Ahmed, an executive of a state-owned company similar to Saudi Aramco, had a kind appearance with a bushy beard.

Beneath that picture was another one of Ahmed sitting in a hotel room.

Sitting on a chair with his arms hanging down, head held high, and mouth agape, Ahmed stared blankly with wide-open eyes, as if he was watching something dreadful.

In his mouth were bizarre flowers and plants he had never seen before, making it look like a grotesque flowerpot rather than a body.

“Next is a relatively recent incident from 1986. During a training session for local warlords in the Shafabi Tohokuk, Department of Defense instructors and military intelligence security personnel erupted in gunfire inside the barracks. According to the sole survivor’s testimony, people who were drinking and conversing normally suddenly drew guns and opened fire at each other.”

The photograph captured about thirty people.

Local warlord executives wearing various military uniforms mingled with instructors dispatched by the Abas Ministry of Defense and agents from the military intelligence agency, gathered together for a picture against the backdrop of a beautiful mountainous area.

Next to it was a photo of the barracks’ interior, now a chaotic scene.

Gunfire scars were vividly evident on the ceiling, cabinets, beds, floors, tables, and chairs, with congealed blood pooling like a lake.

The analyst began showing new photographs and his detailed explanation started.

“These pictures record various assassinations, kidnappings, and terrorist acts the Royal Intelligence Department and Military Intelligence Agency have faced over nearly the past ten years.”

He adjusted his glasses and continued with a composed voice.

“If it were merely ordinary foreign intelligence agency interference, our company would have caught wind of it long ago, but these incidents have occurred independently of any intelligence agency.”

“……”

“In reality, it’s not just our people who have died.”

The new photographs displayed contained documents from various intelligence agencies.

From the Imperial Guard HQ, the Inquisition, and the National Security Agency to the Total Intelligence Agency of the Lushan Federal Kingdom and numerous minor information agencies across the continent.

The message from those documents was clear.

The deaths of field agents and informants were involved.

The analyst jabbed his staff into the air as if directing a symphony and exclaimed.

“From the late 70s to the mid-80s, terrorism persisted for about 13 years. Field agents from various national intelligence agencies met with unexplained deaths. We tried to analyze the patterns, but the attacks happened at irregular times and there were no commonalities among the targeted agents. What we know is limited to two things.”

“……”

“One, the attacks were all directed against intelligence agency personnel operating within the Mauritania Continent.”

I asked the analyst.

“What’s the other one?”

“Oh, that’s the most interesting part. The terrorists exclusively used a weapon that was neither a firearm, vehicle, bomb, nor poison….”

With a thump, the portly analyst propped his staff down and started to grin.

“It was pure magic.”

—

The types of crimes committed by magicians are diverse.

Ranging from pickpocketing tourists by magically snatching their bags and disappearing on a broomstick in dark alleys to robbery, looting, arson, and even murder.

When such major incidents occur, public sentiment rises demanding stricter regulations on magicians, but statistically, the crime rate among magicians in developed countries is incredibly low.

This has nothing to do with the number of magicians, individual conscience, or character.

Magicians in developed countries don’t commit crimes because the power of law enforcement applies uniformly across regions.

If a crime occurs, a report is made within five minutes and a special forces unit specialized in dealing with high-magic scenarios arrives in thirty minutes. Who would dare to commit a crime under those conditions?

No matter how skilled a magician might be at fighting, overcoming the numerical disadvantage to kill military police combat magicians is a tough task. In developed countries, all competent combat magicians usually serve in the military or work for security firms.

In contrast, the situation is different for magicians in developing countries.

“The countries on the Mauritania continent have not centralized due to tribalism and conflicts over religion, politics, society, and culture. In Abas, if a magician breaks just one finger, within thirty minutes, a special forces unit, fully geared up with high-magic protection, would storm in, but over there, it takes the police three hours just to take a report.”

“I get it though. With not enough money for police officers’ salaries being delayed for months, who would want to work hard?”

In the Mauritania continent, where the main industries revolve around mining magic stones or exporting raw materials, skilled magicians had two ways to earn a living.

Build a career and emigrate abroad.

Join organized crime through connections.

It’s easy to understand when thinking of Somalia, where everyone, whether fisherman or farmer, wields arms and indulges in piracy.

Of course, there are many nations like Saudi Arabia or Jordan that have stabilized society based on vast capital. There exist rational governments, like Botswana, that can operate properly. But creating a safe society also requires money.

The majority of countries on the Mauritania continent were among the poorest.

With no money in the country, they can’t even pay civil servants’ salaries.

Civil servants either engage in malfeasance due to unpaid salaries or accept bribes.

With neither resources to create nor even maintain infrastructure, life becomes harsh.

As the police fall into disarray, security deteriorates. If political or religious issues arise and rebels revolt? That spells civil war.

There are plenty of countries languishing for years without the funds to repair a single streetlight. Who would come to apprehend a magician accused of a crime?

Magicians are forced to join warlords to make a living, deal in drug and arms smuggling, and when the military appears, they engage in combat against military combat magicians. That’s how magicians on the Mauritania continent survive.

In other words,

It implies that whatever magician assassinates an agent in that region, the intelligence agency can’t even properly coordinate investigations.

The analyst began explaining, his voice slightly charged with excitement.

“So we have been twiddling our thumbs over this issue for the past few years, keeping an eye out for any companies that might have violated the Nastasia Treaty. But at that moment, Director Leoni appeared like a comet and solved all the problems.”

The portly analyst exclaimed with the exuberance of a child who discovered a toy aisle.

“She grilled the interior minister and information chiefs with kind words and the right amount of threats. Mastering the art of intimidation! Thanks to her, we extracted tons of information from the Mauritania intelligence agencies that were playing hardball. It’s a result borne from sheer persistence.”

“……”

“Looking at it this way, the director can handle her affairs astutely but has a truly foul temper. If she could only tone that down, she’d be quite a nice person. Anyway, once she steps into the office, even upright folks seem to lose their minds too. As for me, my hairline has already—”

Starting without warning, the lengthy discourse made me feel half-dazed. How does someone like this not get fired from the company for briefing like that? Is his analytical skill that sharp?

Right when I was getting angry listening to the rambling analyst, the operations team leader resembling Thanos, who sat right behind me, opened his mouth with an expression that screamed exasperation.

“Shut up, Larry.”

“Sorry.”

The portly analyst scratched his dwindling tuft of hair awkwardly as he replied.

“Ah, I’ve digressed again. Anyway! We began investigating based on the magical residues collected from the scenes of the attacks. We registered the magical residues in our database and issued an international wanted notice for the terrorists. However…”

Thump. The analyst’s voice became harsh.

He swung the staff down hard.

“These damn magicians haven’t been found anywhere! Not in the Royal Intelligence Department, Special Investigation Bureau, National Security Agency, Unified Information Agency, Guardian Bureau, Counterespionage Agency, Magic Tower Public Security, or even in the Inquisition’s archives!”

“……”

“I felt like the sky was falling. For five years, it felt like I was playing hide and seek with ghosts. I couldn’t even specify the face, name, gender, nationality, or even the number of suspects. But then, Director Leoni brought in new information!”

A new photograph popped up on the screen with a snap. As everyone’s gaze shifted to the screen, I confirmed the face of the man in the photo and took a sharp intake of breath.

No.

Why on earth is that guy showing up here?

“…Fabio Verati?”

*

The man in the photograph was Fabio Verati. He was an information officer active in the Magic Tower’s similar intelligence agency, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

However, in reality, Fabio Verati was a disguised spy. That meant he was an information officer infiltrated into the Magic Tower by the Patalia National Security Agency to monitor it.

Bang! Bang! The analyst continued, tapping the staff against the screen.

“Fabio Verati. He’s the overseas information collection officer for the National Security Agency. A senior information officer who had been active in the core of the Magic Tower government until last year.”

The analyst sent by the Royal Intelligence Department walked back and forth in front of the screen, leaning on his staff. The light filtering through his glasses made his eyes gleam in the darkness.

“Director Leoni received information from the National Security Agency that this man had handed over documents obtained from the Magic Tower, and I analyzed a staggering volume of data spanning ten years. And it was from those documents that I discovered the wizards who committed the terror and fled!”

Pressing a button on the remote, the screen changed.

In the newly revealed photo, names of certain individuals were densely inscribed. It was a list of Secretariat employees delivered through Clevenz.

The analyst circled several names on the list with a marker. Junior analysts desperately implored him, “Sir, that’s the screen company’s property…” but the plump information officer didn’t heed them at all.

He capped the marker so it wouldn’t dry out and adjusted his glasses with his thick fingers, pointing at the screen with his staff.

“The names I’ve highlighted here are wizards with substantial charges among the suspects. They are civil servants from the Magic Tower who frequently or for extended periods dispatched to the Mauritania Continent… We’ve narrowed it down by rummaging through traces left during their business trips: public transport history, train tickets, regions visited, credit card transaction records, and the base stations that picked up their mobile phone signals.”

As a junior analyst manipulated the device, analysis data appeared. Information officer Abas hacked the servers of the base station, and information officers dispatched to various continents infiltrated card companies and banks to collect all the data.

Though the analysis alone couldn’t yield precise information, it roughly seemed that at least eight branches were involved in the operation. Of course, given Leoni’s nature, it was highly likely that even the branch heads were unaware of the operation’s specific details.

What the index finger does, the thumb does not know. To deceive others, he starts by deceiving his own family. That’s Leoni’s way of handling things.

The most orthodox approach, yet also a shortcut to a family obliteration.

No matter how much one is a family member of an employee, they cannot access classified information. Dad would leave home silently for months without returning when I was a child. Back then, I thought my parents were fighting, but it turned out he was on a business trip to mainland China and Hong Kong.

Knowing the full story, I couldn’t help but respect my mom, who endured that to maintain their marriage. Usually, people don’t easily understand such things. Maybe that’s why Leoni has been divorced three times.

Anyway.

Determined to refocus on the briefing, I snapped out of my thoughts just as the analyst returned to the main subject after diverging into a long-winded monologue.

“Jean Marbo, Gabi Schneider, Karim Boumediene, Juan Pablo Martinez. These four were the most likely suspects found in the data we received from the National Security Agency. Considering they were holed up in the areas where the terror occurred for over two weeks, including the day the attacks happened, it’s almost certain. They’re quite clever. Planning ahead through reconnaissance.”

“Any new findings?”

The sub-team leader’s question got a nod from the analyst.

“Of course.”

Flipping through the screens, the analyst wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, pointing to the screen. It bore dense records of intelligence I had collected over the past few weeks.

“Director Leoni activated the information network in the Empire’s northern region to investigate these four terrorists. Their patterns of behavior, social circles, locations of hotels they stay at, hotel structures and security states, restaurants and cafes they frequently visit. We could perfectly plan for abductions or assassinations.”

The operations team leader crossed his legs and leaned his arm on the back of the chair while listening to the explanation.

“What happened with the interrogation?”

“Gabi Schneider? That yielded something as well.”

The analyst ordered his subordinates to prepare the data. A loud typing sound echoed briefly before new material appeared on the screen projected by the magical projector.

It was video footage.

In the video, Gabi Schneider was tied to a chair.

Looking influenced by the torture, she was hyperventilating in a state of extreme anxiety. The information officer standing in front of her had his arms crossed as he fired questions her way.

“[Who else were you moving with?]”

“[Um, Jean Marbo…]”

“[And?]”

“[Karim Boumediene! Ahmad Bin Rabani!]”

“[Tell me about Ahmad Bin Rabani.]”

The analyst, leaning on his staff, approached his subordinates with a printed photo in hand, which he attached to the screen.

“Ahmad Bin Rabani, appearing in the video. That’s the name of the newly discovered terrorist.”

The analyst explained that by interrogating Gabi Schneider, they had gathered evidence about the terror and the terrorists involved. Of course, this material wouldn’t be accepted as evidence in court. Information obtained through torture is legally invalid.

But that was a concern only for the courthouse.

This place wasn’t one that questioned such matters.

As he continued his explanation, the operations team leader clapped a few times.

“Alright. Did you find the location?”

“I found his name on the delegation list of the Magic Tower. He’s also in the north.”

“Good, good.”

“But don’t get too excited. Because….”

The analyst pressed the remote, and the footage began to play.

What had been paused suddenly sped up.

“[Is this person Jean Marbo?]”

“[Yes… Yes, that’s right.]”

“[And who is this?]”

“[Karim Boumediene….]”

“[And this woman?]”

“[I don’t know, I don’t know. It’s a face I’ve never seen before. I swear.]”

“The investigator showed photos of Secretariat employees unrelated to the terror a few times, and she answered truthfully each time. She passed the lie detectors and the psychological warfare officer’s tests too.”

“She didn’t lie.”

But was that really the case?

As the analyst made a significant remark, he rewound the video. In it, the investigator was shoving the photos in front of Gabi Schneider.

“[Who is this?]”

“[…I don’t know.]”

“[I asked who it is.]”

“[I don’t know. I can’t tell. Please….]”

“[Does this look like a joke?]”

“[Eek!]”

The information officer standing next to the investigator struck Gabi with a bundle of rubber hoses. The sound of whip-like lashes echoed through the speakers.

A quick glance at Gabi Schneider’s back in the frame showed her handcuffed hands were swollen. The rubber hoses hurt just as much, but when their handcuffs were tightened enough to cut off circulation and then they were struck, the pain intensified.

Well thought out.

Just when that thought crossed my mind. Gabi Schneider, drenched in sweat, finally found her voice, trembling with her lips.

“[…Huff.]”

At that moment.

Bang! The sound of an explosion echoed over the speakers.

As the explosion rang out, a splash of red blood covered the camera. Was something obstructing the lens? In an instant, half the video was coated in crimson liquid. Profanities and screams echoed through the speakers as half of the frame collapsed to the ground. It seemed someone had bumped into it.

In the remaining footage, the investigator, clutching his face, was screaming. The sound of a steel door slamming open filled the air, and the murmurs of other information officers rushing to assist the investigator could be heard as they gasped in shock.

The only visible footage was swiftly moving shoes pounding the floor.

The analyst pressed the button to freeze the video, set the remote down, and spoke heavily.

“Gabi Schneider’s head exploded while she was being interrogated. The internal investigation found that the investigators used no explosives at all. The medical examiner’s opinion is that an explosion occurred inside her brain.”

“……”

“Yeah. She was eliminated.”

 

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