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“Strange winds began to blow as the sun tilted toward the west, and soon enough, thunder and lightning followed suit.”

“One fortunate piece of news, at least, is that the weather forecast claims it won’t rain tonight.”

“Even with the fierce winds howling, the local weather agency still predicts clear skies.”

“During the early evening, the deep blue sky became a blanket, and the crimson sunset sprawled across the land.”

“With a crackle of dry lightning, our visitor arrived.”

—

**Episode 16 – Six Million Dollar Man**

—

“If you were to ask most intelligence officers living abroad when their most precarious moment is, the common answer would likely be when they first meet an informant after a mission.”

“However, if you twist the question slightly and ask what the most ordinary risk is, people would respond with this: it’s the moment they encounter local civilians.”

“In an era where travel vloggers are flourishing, average income levels are rising, and access to information and travel has become overwhelmingly high, this would seem like a curious answer.”

“You’d think with all those heartwarming episodes shared online about meeting locals, dining, and sharing accommodations while traveling, there wouldn’t be anything dangerous in that.”

“However, for intelligence agencies, departing for a mission is a somewhat different kind of travel, and due to the nature of our identities, most foreigners we encounter locally are often considered associated with counterintelligence agencies.”

“Consequently, the vast majority of intelligence officers regarded contact with civilians as inherently risky.”

“My views weren’t much different.”

“During my days with the Intelligence Service, my first posting in China was notorious for its high-intensity counterintelligence operations, and Russia, a successor to the KGB—known as the origin of counterintelligence in socialist states—was no exception.”

“Throughout my decade-long career in intelligence, most of the countries I visited experienced or were experiencing socialist governance, and excluding allied nations, those countries weren’t particularly welcoming toward black-haired foreigners.”

“Thus, quite a few civilians I encountered were informants connected to counterintelligence agencies. In some cases, I dealt directly with employees from the primary agency, and China was a prime example.”

“Considering this, areas in Africa and the Middle East tended to fare slightly better. These were regions where state-led surveillance systems hadn’t deeply rooted themselves.”

“Oddly enough, I found armed groups, which received government support, to be more terrifying than government-backed counterintelligence agencies.”

“Such experiences still proved valid during my current work with the Military Intelligence Agency.”

“In both the Kien Empire and the Mauritania Continent, this held true. Especially in places where the locals were predominantly scammers or bastards, the lessons learned from encounters in the Third World were still relevant.”

“So perhaps… when facing a local who knocked on the door of my lodgings during the early evening, I couldn’t muster a bright smile.”

—

I was inspecting the SUV when I casually threw a question at the resident who came to visit me.

“Were we meeting for the first time?”

“Yes.”

The local man replied in a deep voice. He was scrawny, but there was an undeniable spirit in his voice and eyes.

I didn’t know his name, for he hadn’t introduced himself. However, I clearly remembered the role he held in the village.

“Vigilante Leader, right?”

The man nodded affirmatively.

“In a local state with more than four major tribes coexisting, it’s necessary to learn at least five languages to communicate smoothly with all citizens.”

“However, individuals with a certain level of education could talk using Mauritania’s official language.”

“I was fairly proficient in that official language of the Mauritania Continent. My previous experience in the Middle East helped me master both fusha (modern standard Arabic) and various regional dialects.”

“Thus, I posed my question with reasonably good pronunciation, and the man responded in a distinctly rural accent of the official language.”

“It seems you’re quite educated. You can speak the official language too.”

When I posed my question with a tone of curiosity, the man’s lips parted.

“Missionaries who came to the village when I was a child taught us. They were the ones who introduced letters to kids without access to public education.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Missionaries” likely referred to the Clerics of the Cult, considering that even those uninterested in religion are aware of the fact that cults send out priests and monks across the globe for missionary work.”

“I didn’t know where those missionaries operated or their activities. I had only heard of their capture and execution by the government around three years ago, a major news highlight that made waves worldwide.”

“As is typical in nations with established state religions, any religion aside from Al-Yabd is generally shunned here.”

“It isn’t hard to imagine the fates awaiting apostates and heretical clergymen in areas where the government imposes the death penalty.”

“However, the death of missionaries held no significance for me.”

“What mattered was that the Vigilante Leader stood as someone capable of communicating without needing a translator.”

“And he was our third visitor today.”

I tossed the wrench into the toolbox as I opened my mouth.

“You’ve come because of the magician, haven’t you?”

“…”

“The Elder and the Village Chief visited earlier. Both made the same proposal.”

The purpose of this man’s visit was undoubtedly similar to that of the Chief and the Elder.

My guess was confirmed. The Vigilante Leader met my gaze, as if weighing my thoughts, nodded solemnly, and spoke.

“I heard from the Village Chief that you’re leaving the village tomorrow.”

“That’s right.”

“Could you not stay a little longer in the village?”

The third visitor made the same request as the previous two guests. My response echoed those I’d given earlier.

“It’s impossible.”

Before the Vigilante Leader could utter a word, I promptly cut him off, offering a believable reason.

“I still have places to cover for my reporting.”

I declined the request under the cover of being a war correspondent.

But the real reason for leaving was embarrassingly simple: I had already gathered the information I wanted.

Despite the protests from warlord guides, I had ventured out to the rural outskirts to scout a government army forward operating base.

The government army had become a threatening presence, a blade hanging over the throat of Nayyan Al Bas, an executive of the Three Groups of Warlords.

I was there to assess the armament level of the government forces, understand how their “operations” could be impacted, and determine how to support the warlords against the mechanized units of the government.

And that intelligence had already been relayed to the Military Intelligence Agency.

“Regrettably, there’s nothing more for me to investigate here.”

Having acquired the necessary documents, there was no reason to linger. This sentiment was shared by the warlord as well.

However, it seemed the local residents viewed things differently.

“Please, think it over just once more.”

The Vigilante Leader earnestly requested that I stay longer in the village.

Seeing a gentleman older than me bowing down, I felt a strange sensation.

Yet my position…

It remained the same.

“You saw it yourself yesterday, didn’t you? The locusts that eat humans and gnaw at grains. We were lucky last time, but at this rate, we won’t last long…”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t really help you.”

I firmly drew the line. There was no way to assist.

The vigilante leader’s face changed strangely, clearly displeased with my answer, but that wouldn’t change my mind.

“Why not seek help from the Al Bas Tribe instead? The honorable Hassan Tribe leader is close to their chief, so I’m sure that person knows a thing or two about honor. They would gladly assist you.”

I had suggested going to the warlord for the third time already.

“Isn’t this area the territory of the Al Bas Tribe?”

“They won’t help us.”

“Is it because you are migrants from another tribe?”

“Yes.”

This too was the third time I’d heard the story today.

The residents who settled here were not the indigenous people of this area. The tribe they originally belonged to was not Hassan but another tribe. When the goblins, waving the banner of the Red Revolution, waged a bloody civil war against the local government, they left their hometown and migrated here. This was a story from over 20 years ago.

There were countless people fleeing civil wars, so this shouldn’t be a problem. However, the trouble began when, just before leaving their homeland, the warlord stole supplies that were seized from a foreign relief organization.

In a land where honor is valued as highly as life, dishonorable actions become subjects of social condemnation. It could even jeopardize one’s life.

Fighting duels to preserve the tribe’s honor, or a father beating his son to death for bringing shame upon their guest, was a common scene in the Middle East.

But to steal others’ belongings and flee from their hometown? That was an act beyond dishonor, something that could justify murder without reproach.

Thus, the Al Bas Tribe ostracized the settlers in this border region. They spared their lives but left them to solve their own survival problems in the middle of the desert.

In other words,

The village residents were left without even a hill to lean on, despite the threat to their lives.

The tribe from their homeland was bent on revenge, and the tribe that accepted them turned a blind eye to those who had brought dishonor upon themselves.

Ultimately, they had no choice but to beg for help from a foreigner they barely knew.

“If this continues, we will all die. Please help us just once.”

“…”

The vigilante leader persistently urged me to reconsider.

“The monsters aren’t the only problem. The raiders from the border have begun to run rampant.”

“I’ve heard that too. The orcs that have tamed the indigenous creatures are raiding villages, right?”

“And the goblins are an issue too. The remnants from the civil war still remain in areas untouched by the government army. This is a situation even the warlords can’t meddle with.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that. And I’ve heard there are armed robbers operating near the village recently?”

“…”

Suddenly, the chatty vigilante leader fell silent.

I turned to him and asked again.

“Isn’t that right?”

“…You’re correct.”

The reply was starkly different from the confident tone he’d had before. I silently nodded, choosing to keep my words to myself.

“You have a lot on your mind, leading the vigilante group.”

The leader responded only by nodding silently in agreement. His expression wasn’t particularly bright, but he was a man who wouldn’t easily give up.

His attempts to sway me continued.

Initially appealing to emotion, he then proposed a deal.

“I’ll treat you lavishly during your stay in the village. I promise.”

“I’m afraid I’ve already received an excessive amount of hospitality.”

“What about money?”

The burly man discreetly suggested a transaction.

He led me past the huts where the residents lived to the warehouse. Inside was a bag filled with a considerable amount of cash.

The vigilante leader said that this was the wealth the villagers had accumulated over the years.

Next to the money bag, which contained a mix of worn local currency and foreign notes from various places, there were similarly shaped bags piled up. When I peered into an unclosed bag, I saw crisp bills piled high.

It was evidently a significant sum.

“I will give you this. In exchange, please stay in the village.”

“…….”

“There’s no need for Asud to stay in the village. As a journalist, you likely have matters elsewhere. I will give you all this money. Instead…”

He cautiously unzipped the bag, lowering his voice. Then, he presented a secret request.

“I hope the magician will remain here.”

This was the crux of what the three guests wanted to convey.

They wanted Camila to stay in the village.

The reason could be easily guessed without deep thought.

-Crackle!

The sound of a lighter echoed through the shabby warehouse.

With a lit cigarette held between my fingers, I savored the deeply inhaled smoke.

“…….”

The response came just as the smoking cigarette crumbled underfoot.

It was already the third time I had spat out that answer today.

*

When I returned to the lodging, a heavy darkness had settled around me.

Dry thunder and lightning shook the heavens, while Camila, covered with a blanket, lay motionless with her back turned.

I sat on the floor, checking my equipment.

As I applied pressure with my fingers, the dust cover peeled away, and when I flipped my wrist, the trigger cluster fell free.

I oiled the mechanism, pulled the trigger a few times, and with the sound of metal clashing, the parts meshed together smoothly like a predator’s teeth.

Setting the rifle aside, I began to inspect the pistol.

The pistol designed after the Kien Empire’s model was heavier and more rudimentary compared to the original. Still, it was a gun, and it did fire properly.

“…….”

While I laid out the magazine and handled the ammunition, I found myself lost in thought. Clack, as I clicked the smooth bullet into the foggy light, its rough exterior gleaming.

In a neighborhood where honor was valued more than life itself, how could those who had lost their honor possibly live?

An answer to that question would come soon enough.

Click. After sliding a round into the chamber, I approached the window.

“…….”

The dry thunder and lightning roared above as the twilight over the border began to stir.

 

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