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The black waves crash against the golden fields, and bizarre sounds traverse the blue sky.

The sound of thousands of locusts rubbing their wings is more grotesque and nauseating than one could imagine.

In the wake of the black locust swarm, flames burn the foliage.

The flickering flames swaying in the wind above the overgrown brush create a dreamlike atmosphere.

A convoy of vehicles, led by an old SUV, begins its descent down the sloping hills.

Episode 16 – The Six Million Dollar Man

We split up and headed down to the village in separate cars.

The SUV, racing down the steep hill, quickly captured the attention of the residents.

As I passed through the village entrance and onto the road leading to what I assumed was the town square, I quickly scanned the area.

Was it because I had just been attacked by a monster, or was it just that a foreigner who is seldom seen made an appearance? The faces of the locals, drifting past the window, were unmistakably marked with wariness.

I parked the car briefly in the square and gestured for the Warlord Duo to approach.

“Could someone please explain what on earth is going on?”

*

As the Al Bas Tribe members explained the situation, the hostile gazes of the residents softened somewhat.

After parking the vehicle in the square and waiting slightly, the village elders soon made their appearance. They introduced themselves as the village chief and elders, and transmitted their message through an interpreter.

“They say welcome to the village.”

Farid Al Bas translated the elder’s words into Kien for me.

“This gentleman is the elder of this place. He keeps repeating his gratitude for helping to eliminate the monster. He’s very appreciative of the long journey you’ve made.”

He quickly interpreted the exchange between the elder and the war correspondent. His skills were almost at a level of simultaneous interpretation, which, considering that journalism was Farid’s major and not translation, could hardly be called anything less than impressive.

In addition to his rapid interpretation speed, he spoke with impeccable standard pronunciation. It seemed his study abroad experience in a country adjacent to the Kien Empire served as the root of these translation skills.

“They understand that the village isn’t well-off and that they can’t properly host guests due to the recent locust attack.”

“No worries. It’s only natural to help when lives are at stake.”

The village chief and elders welcomed the foreigner who had suddenly appeared, recognizing that one of them had turned the lethal locusts into ashes.

The Al Bas Tribe members gathered the villagers to vividly relay the events they had witnessed.

The tale of the magician who blew away the swarm of locusts that filled the fields with a mere wave of her hand.

The heroine of the story was none other than Camila.

“Heh.”

Thanks to that, she was able to hear praises about herself being sung around her, basking in glory.

As the villagers hailed Camila as a heroine upon hearing the truth, Farid raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed.

“Where on earth did they find such a skilled magician?”

I simply shrugged my shoulders in silence.

Farid eagerly translated for the villagers who had approached me around the chief and elders.

I was curious about why he, who had been quiet until now, had taken it upon himself to interpret, but there was no time to ponder that.

With a decent interpreter at my side, I began to probe the elders and villagers about the state of the village. How large it was, the number of residents, how many paths led out, and what geographical features surrounded it, and so forth.

This was all part of the intelligence collection.

Perhaps I should have researched this basic information prior to the assignment. The Military Intelligence Agency had withdrawn all reconnaissance assets from the area to the neighboring countries due to intelligence suggesting escalating conflict in our allied nation, making all information gathering my own responsibility.

Fortunately, the local residents did not appear to be wary of the foreigner peppering them with questions. The Warlord’s collaborators had sufficiently explained my situation as a journalist.

Of course, Farid’s fluent eloquence was also an undeniably positive factor.

“So, there are about seventy residents living here, is that what it means?”

“Actually, it’s 64. Excluding the ones who just passed away.”

Farid was cooperating earnestly with the interview. It was so bright and proactive that I began to wonder if he was really the same person who had wanted to shirk guest duties with his subordinates.

When I asked why he suddenly behaved this way, he replied,

“Oh? You mean this morning? I had my own circumstances back then.”

“Your circumstances?”

I inquired back at Farid.

He began to rub the back of his neck with an awkward smile.

“Ah, well, you see, I don’t really enjoy getting involved with tribe matters.”

“Tribal matters?”

“More accurately, my father’s matters. You know Asud, right? My father. Nayan Al Bas and who he is.”

His words suddenly ignited a hypothesis in my mind, and that very hypothesis soon slipped from Farid’s lips.

“My father is the accountant for the warlord. People all say he’s a wonderful person who does good work, and so does my uncle, but I think that’s a misguided notion.”

Uncle refers to a father’s cousin. Nayan Al Bas’s cousin is Sheikh Nasir Al Hassan, leader of Group 3.

In other words,

It became clear that Farid had doubts about the tribe. To express it accurately, he did not have a favorable view of the entire Hassan Warlord group.

That assumption was soon validated. Right from his own mouth.

“Honestly, though I have been fortunate enough to study abroad because of my father, I have a vague idea of where that tuition came from. That’s why I didn’t want to come back here.”

“……”

“I thought that if I just graduated with a journalism degree, I could easily get a job with a newspaper or broadcasting company. I even thought that after becoming a journalist here, if I got chosen as a correspondent, I could go abroad. Who would have imagined the president would shut down all the news outlets?”

“Censorship is something that dictators often do.”

Farid smiled calmly, a bitter smirk adorning his lips.

“…It’s just like that. Don’t worry too much about it.”

While he might think of this conversation as a trivial complaint, what we had just discussed turned out to be valuable intelligence for me.

It was as if a possibility opened up to recruit the son favored by the Al Bas tribe leader as an information source.

Of course, the topic of intelligence gathering was a bit premature for someone aspiring to become a journalist.

“I apologize for the treatment this morning. My father suddenly assigned me a task. I really don’t enjoy working with his subordinates.”

“I understand.”

Farid bowed his head slightly in apology. He turned out to be a better person than I had initially expected. For the son of a warlord executive, he was surprisingly relatable.

Having resolved the misunderstanding, Farid and I returned to the main topic.

“This area is the northernmost territory of the Al Bas tribe, led by my father. All the people here are under his influence.”

He started explaining about the outskirt village with a surprisingly confident demeanor.

Contrary to his desire to avoid tribal matters, he held a wealth of knowledge. Just as his father had assured.

Farid recounted the backstory of how this village came into existence. According to him, it had originally not belonged to the Al Bas tribe.

“This village didn’t exist until two years ago.”

“Two years? So, it’s a recent settlement?”

“Yes. It was established by people who moved here from Asen following relatives.”

Established by settlers. It had been a while since I heard that term.

Settlements refer to places where families of the same surname gather. Notable instances include the Tang family from Sichuan or the Peng family from Hebei.

Such settlements typically possess a closed-off nature, often attributed to the tight-knit communal culture characteristic of rural areas.

“Why did the residents come from Asen to here?”

“Due to oppression from the government army. There were also conflicts within the Asen tribe. You can think of them as people who temporarily sought refuge.”

“And what is the relationship between the Al Bas tribe and this village?”

“Our tribe and this place? We just know each other as neighbors, really. In fact….”

Farid glanced around.

A barren plain and the remote village sprawled before us.

“The tribe doesn’t really pay much attention. Since it’s so isolated.”

“So, Hassan doesn’t see this place as a strategic stronghold.”

“That part, I can’t say. I’d rather not get involved in their business….”

A cluster of monsters residing in the northernmost territory of the settlement.

It felt like they were stringing together a series of unwelcome terms. While it seemed to be under the tribe’s control, it also seemed like a neglected area, which was concerning.

I quickly scanned the village to identify the potential threats.

“How far is the nearest village or city from here?”

“The village you just gathered information from is nearby, the city is about five hours away by car. But why do you suddenly ask?”

“Just curious.”

The layout of the Al Bas territory began to form in my mind. There’s a village with about 200 residents two hours away and a small city with 3,800 residents five hours away.

I asked the child of the Warlord’s accountant.

“Are there any stationed units in the nearby city?”

“A unit? Oh, there is. It’s not a military one, but it’s the police.”

“The police, you say?”

“You’re the police operating in the tribal territory, huh? Filled to the brim with tribesmen.”

There was no way to accurately gauge the level of those police, but the fact that they could request reinforcements was somewhat reassuring.

We wandered through the village, observing the residents’ way of life.

Fortuitously, we spotted a house with an open door, and peering inside revealed a rustic scene—an old radio and a single light bulb perched in a home that could be described as idyllic (or, in another sense, utterly empty).

It’s one thing to have nothing because it’s the countryside, but where did they acquire that radio?

“Where do the residents get their essentials, like electronic goods?”

“From what I’ve heard, a traveling merchant comes from the city periodically. If someone needs something, they get it through him.”

Ah, so it’s a trader, then.

I was familiar with itinerant merchants plying their wares in third-world remote villages; it was common enough, and I had even disguised myself as one before.

With Farid, I left the village and headed towards the fields.

Where the murderous locusts had swept through, nothing remained. No crops, no grass, not even the workers who had toiled there.

However, thanks to the timely formation of a defense line, a significant portion of the farmland was protected from the plague of locusts.

As emaciated adult males were gathering embers using water and dirt from a well, a man who seemed to be their leader gestured towards us and began taking photographs.

As I waited, an elder approached, tapping his staff. Farid listened intently to the elder and then translated.

“He says you’re welcome to look, but please don’t take pictures. It startles the people.”

I cautiously stowed my cheap camera in my coat. The elder then offered a gentle smile and greeted us in a short greeting in Kien.

“Welcome.”

I felt no need to interpret that.

While Farid was leading the elder to a nearby rock to sit, I began observing the strongmen.

Their nutritional and sanitary conditions weren’t exactly ideal, yet they were remarkably calm, organized, and simultaneously wary of me.

There was an implicit hierarchy evident in the signals and commands exchanged among them. I immediately called Farid and inquired about their identity.

“Those men?”

Farid looked around at the strongmen before replying, “They’re a self-defense group, as the elder explained.”

“Self-defense group?”

“There’s danger lurking near the border.”

The son of the Al Bas tribe leader chuckled dryly.

“There are monsters, robbers, plunderers, and soldiers. This place has more enemies than guests. Last year, famine led to plunderers running rampant in these parts.”

I nodded silently.

“Sometimes humans are more dangerous than monsters, aren’t they?”

It has always been that way.

*

Once the murderous locusts had retreated and the situation stabilized, the villagers began to return to their home.

A somber atmosphere lingered over the village, with only about 60 residents remaining. There was a weight of sorrow for the deceased and lost livelihoods.

Yet, in the heart of the village, a lively spirit emerged.

“Wow!”

The villagers warmly welcomed the warlord’s men and two outsiders.

The atmosphere was electrifying.

Campfires flickered everywhere, surrounded by food, and the faces of those gathered around radiated with smiles.

At the center was a girl with red hair.

“Yay!”

Camila, having received the villagers’ enthusiastic welcome, jumped up and down.

“Did you see it? Did you see it?”

“Yeah, I saw it.”

“When I unleashed the flames! The locusts just—boom!”

Having saved the villagers from the locust attack, Camila instantly became a hero.

The village chief and elders welcomed the foreign magician who saved lives and saved the village as an honored guest.

“Try this! It’s delicious!”

Camila offered me skewered lamb.

“Okay, okay, just calm down a bit…”

“Wow. What is this taste? The spices are unique, really.”

“Geez.”

The British magician (a former Muggle, aspiring spy) was hastily devouring the offered food.

According to tribal tradition, the village women provided us with food and lodging to welcome their precious guests. Despite the meager means, the residents cooked local dishes using a substantial portion of their available ingredients. Everything was for Camila.

In truth, Camila was the only one who had saved the village, but the hospitality was afforded equally to all of us.

Whether it was a warlord or not, if they hadn’t brought a magician here, we’d all be dead from monster attacks. The logic of the villagers held that anyone who facilitated the magician’s arrival was akin to a benefactor who saved the village.

If that’s the case, then I also had the right to a warm welcome.

Once the villagers heard that “the magician accompanied by a war correspondent” had arrived, they laid out enough food to break the serving tray.

Yet even amidst the grand feast, I found it hard to eat.

The reason was simple.

“Do I really have to eat this…?”

The ingredients were mostly locally sourced. While some had come from the city, that was less about distribution and more about storage and preparation happening entirely in the village.

So here’s a question:

How do they store meat and fish in a rural village in the third world without refrigeration?

I already knew the answer.

Based on the experience of myself and my seniors who frequently traversed Africa and the Middle East, in these villages, meat is not stored separately in refrigeration; it’s left out at room temperature. There’s simply no refrigerator.

Therefore, all food materials must be consumed before they spoil. The issue is that in hot climates, meat spoils easily.

Once, during my early days in Africa, I bought cooked meat from a rural restaurant. The warnings of my seniors that I’d regret it became a reality that very evening as I experienced a severe case of food poisoning coupled with high fever and diarrhea.

Since then, I never recklessly consumed meat outside of major cities. The same goes for fish. Most freshwater fish pulled from rivers were riddled with parasites, and eating them could easily lead to needing long-term treatment upon returning home.

If that’s how it is in Africa and the Middle East, what would it be like in the even less developed Mauritania Continent?

“…”

I gazed at Camila, who was blissfully inhaling the food offered to her. She was making a mockery of the village women, eating like she was a vacuum cleaner.

“…Camila.”

“Yes?”

“Uh, never mind. Just eat a lot, okay?”

The members of the Al Bas Tribe and the warlord duo were eating nonchalantly with their hands. Farid, who was somewhat more cosmopolitan, searched for a spoon, only to find there wasn’t such a light of civilization here.

Honestly, I was seriously concerned about their health, but I didn’t need to fret about the locals. Their stomachs were probably tougher than mine; who was worrying for whom here?

No way to estimate how rotten the meat might be or the fish that didn’t even look appealing to eat.

I chose grain dishes, avoiding everything else. Using a plastic spoon taken from my combat rations, I scooped up a spoonful to taste.

“…Mmm.”

The dish I meticulously selected was a porridge. I didn’t know its name, but it looked like porridge.

In water seasoned with spices, rice was added and simmered to create a thick dish that tasted remarkably familiar.

Ketchup.

Yeah.

The taste I sensed in my mouth was unmistakably ketchup.

“…”

A watery porridge heavy on ketchup. The indescribably horrid taste made me want to throw my spoon away immediately, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Not finishing the food offered would be an affront to my hosts.

And besides, I needed to eat something before monitoring the government army’s outpost starting tomorrow. Combat rations are only for emergencies; I must save them for later.

Eventually, I found myself chewing through the food like a trooper.

“Oh my, you’ve finished it all! Have another bowl!”

Just then, a woman appeared from somewhere and filled my bowl with porridge. She held a green plastic container and ladled unwanted food excessively.

“Moreover,”

“Try the meat! It’s chicken brought from the city a week ago.”

“Uh, do you have a refrigerator in the village…?”

“A refrigerator? No, we sold it this spring. The generator broke down, so we got rid of it too.”

“…….”

“Oh my goodness, what was I thinking? Try this fish soup too! The elder specially caught it since we had guests….”

Witnessing that horrifying scene, I quietly spoke to Camila, who was munching on local cakes made of grain.

“…Camila.”

“What?”

“Let’s just survive.”

“…?”

That dawn, Camila and I both fell ill with food poisoning.

It was the inevitable result.

 

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