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“About four hours after crossing the border, I arrived at a small city named Kaliya Hoon under the cover of darkness.

Camila lifted her head and surveyed the surroundings.

“…….”

The buildings were made of the common brown-gray bricks found in the Middle East, stacked layer upon layer. Pedestrians and vehicles intermingled on the streets.

Beyond the dust-covered windows lay a small town, with the sounds of tires rolling over sand and gravel. Piercing through the deep blue darkness, Camila faced the warehouses as she arrived.

Meanwhile, a voice crackled from the radio in the driver’s seat.

Colonel Frederick, diligently pressing the keys with a soft glow, held the radio to his ear and mumbled something. Though it was a foreign language he had never learned, understanding it posed no great challenge.

“…It’s me, Dmitri. I’ve reached the warehouse you introduced. Just checking beforehand—are they really sure to have the goods? Hmm… then there shouldn’t be a problem.”

The warehouse, arrived at in the early dawn’s dimness.

As an SUV passed by the warehouses with its headlights off, people approached. Frederick turned off the engine and walked toward them.

Camila assumed the people who came to greet them were soldiers. The term ‘assumed’ was used because in this area, not only the military could be seen in uniforms.

One of the local soldiers waved, and a group of soldiers appeared from a distant warehouse.

The local men in uniforms greeted the foreign dignitary in suits warmly, and after their greetings, Frederick exchanged casual pleasantries with a different group of soldiers.

“Hmm….”

The soldiers emerging from the warehouses were not ordinary people by Camila’s standards.

Unlike the shabby uniforms worn by the local soldiers, theirs were camouflaged patterns with a superior quality. Above all, their ethnicity was different.

Among the locals with dark skin, the foreigners with lighter skin were strikingly noticeable.

While observing the presumed foreign soldiers, a symbol suddenly caught her blue eyes.

A patch attached to the right sleeve of the uniform. A laurel wreath drawn on a yellow background. An eagle soaring skyward.

It was the first time she had seen this symbol, but she roughly understood what it signified.

After all, a similar organization existed back in her hometown.

Peacekeeping Force.

The laurel wreath and eagle within the yellow globe symbolized the peacekeeping force in this area.

Local soldiers guided us into the warehouse.

What I witnessed there was a mountain of piled weapons.

“…….”

As I looked up to see how far it was piled, I spotted magic lights hanging from the ceiling.

The heaps of rifles seemed ready to touch the ceiling of the warehouse. There must have been at least eight such peaks.

Confirming the staggering amount, I turned to the local soldiers.

“Exactly how many are there?”

The Woodland-clad officers whispered something and relayed the answer through an interpreter.

“They say there are about 2,000 rifles.”

That was enough to equip a battalion.

“Have you prepared the goods I mentioned?”

“Of course.”

“Good, very good.”

As I assessed the piled rifles and ammunition in the warehouse, Camila, who had stealthily followed us, gasped at the astonishing sight of the weaponry.

Dressed in robes that had caught everyone’s attention, she suddenly bounced toward me, wide-eyed with surprise.

“What on earth is all this…! Who are those soldiers over there…!?”

“What do you mean, what?”

I replied with a smirk.

“It’s Christmas presents for Hassan.”

*

Acquiring weapons in a war-torn area is easy. Just pay, and weapons are sprawled everywhere.

However, supplying weapons to the three-group warlords required more than what’s found on the market. The quantity was insufficient, the performance lacking, and above all, the price was steep.

It would be difficult to win over Sheikh Nasir Al Hassan with such shabby goods. So what kind of supplies should I offer?

High-performance military weapons.

It was preferable to have ample quantity and low price.

But finding good items at a low price was nearly impossible. Even Camila, who knew nothing about the black market, wondered, “Is that really possible?” upon hearing that we could get military weapons for cheap.

“Found it.”

“Bevut anti-tank missile. Produced in ’68, and weapons donated by the Kien Empire Army in ’85.”

With a dramatic reveal, dusty weapon boxes emerged from the haze.

The local soldiers skillfully opened the boxes for us. Inside were the anti-tank missiles of the Kien Empire Army that I often saw in Military Intelligence Agency reports.

“Missile weight 11.5 kg. Warhead weight is 1.8 kg. Including the launcher, it’s a total of 27.5 kg. The later model exceeds 30 kg, making it cumbersome for infantry, but this weight can easily be managed by an infantry brigade.”

I patted the dusty launch tube while listening to the government soldiers’ explanation.

A Bevut anti-tank missile produced in ’68 would indeed be an electric model. Weighing 27.5 kg, including the launcher and aiming device.

While it lagged behind the next generation of anti-tank missiles of the Empire Army, which employed magic-guided homing and various modern conveniences, it still had two advantages that overshadowed all previously mentioned drawbacks.

Price and power.

“Thanks to this, I was able to turn the totem that the rebel shaman carried into dust. And not just the totem, but the shaman controlling it as well.”

The local officer, who looked quite seasoned, boasted confidently and smiled slyly.

He pointed at the stacks of anti-tank missiles and presented a deal.

“We have the sights, the mountings, and the bodies here, including the missiles. However, you have to buy the missiles separately. But if you buy six, we offer two missiles for free.”

I nodded and presented a bag full of cash.

“I’ll take them all.”

Thus, I purchased all the anti-tank missiles stored in the warehouse.

Of course, that wasn’t all I acquired.

“All the firearms stored in this warehouse as well. There are ample parts for maintenance and replacement.”

“Let’s finalize the contract immediately.”

I bought 2,000 rifles from the neighboring country’s army depot.

The mountain of stacked firearms belonged to the local stationed troops. Among them were factory-ordered Communist items and some seized from the rebels.

While Camila gazed in a daze at the mountain of firearms and ammunition, I shook hands warmly with the government officer in front of the weaponry.

“Wow, you’re quite the big spender, huh!”

“Is there any more besides the stock here? Firearms, I mean.”

“Of course.”

“Are they military firearms?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

The firearms stacked in the warehouse were all either old and shabby or second-rate weapons. As expected, they were leftovers from secondary battle groups and rebels.

Yet, I still bought 2,000 rifles.

The reason was simple.

“Those here are going to be used by rear troops, local police, and rebels. Show me the real deal, not these.”

“…Isn’t this enough?”

Most of the firearms seized by the government army in a civil war are rerouted to the black market. Since they can’t fight the rebels for pennies, they also indulge in earning side income by selling weapons to the black market.

Typically, this rerouted weaponry eventually ends up back in the hands of the rebels and warlords, but most government army officials are aware that the weapons they sell go to the enemy.

However, since money is far more important, they simply don’t care.

“Either way, if you leave them here, the warlords will take them. Just give them to me. In return, let me see your warehouses, on the condition that I take all the items here.”

I bribed neighboring government officials to establish a route for acquiring military firearms.

Not the cheap rifles found in the market, but quality military supplies produced in systematic factories.

The military depot had everything: rifles, machine guns, sniper rifles, ammunition… even heavy weaponry.

The neighboring country’s regular army’s military depot was filled with Kien Empire weapons.

Some were provided by the Imperial Ministry of Defense, while others were products manufactured in their capital after purchasing a license. There was a variety of sources.

I bought all those weapons.

“I’ll take it all.”

“All of this?”

“Yes. Every last piece.”

The instant I said that and produced a bundle of cash, a huge operation to clear out the entire warehouse began.

Soldiers were transferring firearms piled into truckloads, and boxes of ammunition were being moved as well. Watching in a daze, Camila turned to me with a bewildered expression.

“How did you even hear about selling these weapons…?”

“I didn’t inquire among the sellers.”

“Then?”

I wiggled the radio on my finger and answered.

“I asked them to sell.”

*

In the global black market, one can obtain all sorts of weapons, from Western-made anti-tank missiles to Soviet-made SA-7 portable anti-aircraft missiles, but unfortunately, acquiring missiles in this area’s black market is nearly impossible.

However, saying “nearly impossible” implies that it’s not entirely impossible either.

A few days ago, after contacting Leoni, I sought ways to procure weapons.

“I need a route to acquire military weapons.”

-‘What kind of weapons?’

“Tanks and anti-tank weapons capable of countering armored vehicles. They shouldn’t be domestically produced but rather from sellers with ample stock.”

-‘Sellers like that are typically military folks.’

Leoni quickly sent me a list of names of government army personnel rumored to be engaging in illegal arms deals in neighboring countries, likely inactive at the moment.

Equipped with the list, I sought ways to connect with government officials from surrounding countries through my information agents.

The social department chief of the Magic Tower press, Dmitri.

-‘What? You’re looking to buy weapons from the government army? Are you crazy?’

“Yep.”

-‘You must be nuts. What exactly are you planning to buy?’

“Missiles.”

-‘You really have lost your mind. Missiles are…’

The connections of the former major media journalist from the Empire, now the chief of the Magic Tower press, were formidable.

He was the most well-connected media figure I knew, whose network even reached the war correspondents and correspondents wandering across the Mauritania Continent.

“Whether it’s missiles, mortars, or machine guns, it doesn’t matter. I need someone who can sell military weapons. The higher up, the better.”

-‘Hey, do you think I’m a private investigator? This isn’t some employment agency where you call to find someone for you!’

“So, do you know anyone? Yes or no?”

-‘…Give me an hour. A junior is in Kumana or Amshasa right now. He has connections with the government army and the international forces. He might be asleep right now, so hold on a bit.’

The correspondent that Dmitri introduced provided me with contact details for the officers of the international force.

They were stationed near the border, conducting security maintenance operations and thus maintained familiarity with the officers controlling the region.

I approached them to express my intention to purchase weapons.

“…Weapons?”

“Yes. Weapons.”

“Oh, no! These weapons are seized equipment from the rebels. According to regulations, rebel equipment is transferred to the local government….”

Of course, it wasn’t going to be easy.

The personnel of the international forces held firm that the weapons seized from the rebels must be submitted to the local military per protocol.

“To the government army? Are you really trusting those guys?”

I smiled widely and argued for their persuasion.

“Go ahead and hand over whatever weapons come out of here. Where do you think all those weapons will return to?”

“All arms submitted to the government are to be destroyed.”

“Oh my, how many years have you been here, and you still don’t see what’s happening around? Destroyed? The government guys wouldn’t dare destroy arms. They’d sell them back to the black market if they could.”

The fact was straightforward.

It was the international forces who seized the weapons, but it would be the famished local soldiers who were guarding the storage. They were always ready to sell whatever weapons they had stored for a juicy side income. They actually had.

Ultimately, the weapons seized by the international forces make their way back to the rebels through the hands of the government army and brokers.

Thus, the international forces would conduct military operations against the rebels disrupting order to seize arms, which would then return to the government army, in a perpetually cyclical flow within the never-ending civil war.

I would utilize that exact point.

“Either way, handing them to the government just means that by tomorrow morning, they’ll be back in the rebels’ hands. The government soldiers gorge on their share of fame and money while you all sit idle. What are you going to do? Will you be out there shooting at the rebels again tomorrow?”

“…….”

“Please hand it over to me. I’ll scrape it all together and toss it into the desert beyond the border. I’ll give you a good price for it.”

It was well known among the United Nations military officials that leaving weapons in the hands of hungry soldiers often resulted in disaster. That the weapons seized today would return to the rebels by tomorrow was common knowledge.

“…Are you sure it won’t fall into the rebels’ hands?”

“Rest assured. I’m going to gather all these guns and toss them over the border.”

For the record, the United Nations officials themselves were mostly starving soldiers.

The armies of developed nations that eat well and live comfortably don’t participate in peacekeeping forces like the United Nations. Isn’t the UN peacekeeping force mostly composed of third-world troops?

Thus, it wasn’t particularly difficult to entice the impoverished officials of the coalition forces.

“I believe you will keep your promise…”

“Thank you. You made a wise decision.”

The judgment was cautious, and the decision was swift.

I purchased weapons from the United Nations officials and, with the help of the military intelligence agency staff stationed in neighboring countries, informed the government army units.

Upon receiving the news, the government officials came storming in, furious.

“Don’t you find it disturbing that the weapons might fall into the rebels’ hands anyway?”

“Hmm… that is a concern.”

“You’d rather toss them outside. Why would you want to keep that smelly, bug-infested trash inside?”

I charmed them into opening the government army’s weapons storage.

Crossing the border through thick darkness, I returned to Hassan’s territory by lunchtime.

Carrying the weapons.

“These are anti-tank missiles used by the Kien Empire’s army. There are rifles, machine guns, sniper rifles, and mortars.”

“…….”

The weapons were piled high in front of the main camp of the Hassan Warlord.

It was too much and too heavy for an SUV, but fortunately, I had an excellent pack mule at my disposal.

“Haek…! Haek…!”

“Stop gasping and fly faster. What kind of witch rides a broomstick slower than a vehicle?”

“How can I gain speed with a missile on my broom…?!”

Camila soared across the sky with the tremendous weight of the anti-tank missile and heavy weaponry strapped to her broom. It was a super-fast delivery service to rival EMS.

Even if it was slow, flying alongside a vehicle traveling at 60 km/h was good enough. However, it seemed like she was struggling, as she kept gasping, reminding me of a camel I had seen in the desert.

She pulled the load well, and she even had two humps.

So, does that make Camila a camel?

“…….”

A silly thought, but whatever. As long as I could get the goods delivered on time, that was all that mattered.

What was important was that I brought weapons to showcase.

It was my job to sell them.

“Look here.”

I presented a document to Nasir, the leader of the Hassan Warlord, who was scrutinizing the weapons.

It was an analysis report on the government army outpost, compiled by senior analyst Larry from the Royal Intelligence Department, along with Pippin and Charnoy.

“I see the government army has settled in the border areas managed by the Al Bas Tribe. They have over thirty armored vehicles in their mechanized units.”

“…I already know that. Do they have tanks?”

“I can’t say for sure. But what difference does it make if they don’t have tanks?”

You aren’t even able to handle armored vehicles, right?

It’s unfortunate, or perhaps fortunate, that Group 3 Warlords didn’t have anti-tank weapons. While it was good news for the government army that had armored vehicles, it was a tragedy for me, who needed to support the warlords.

I pointed to the picture of the outpost and asked Nasir.

“Can you handle these guys?”

“Um….”

“It will be tough without anti-tank weapons. Considering urban combat conditions, the armored vehicles developed by the empire won’t even be scratched by rifle bullets.”

So, the warlords couldn’t possibly face the government army with armored vehicles, no matter how hard they tried.

Here, I presented a deal.

“If you promise to help with this venture, I’ll give you all the weapons from rifles to anti-tank missiles. Of course, ammunition too.”

“Where’s the storage for the weapons?”

“It’s just across the border. You can walk there and fetch it yourself.”

Of course, simply providing weapons wouldn’t be enough to gain Nasir’s favor. While anti-tank missiles are indeed hard to come by, it wouldn’t be a sufficient reward to risk losses by stepping into the conflict between Asen and Sanya.

I understood his mindset well. So, I attached an additional condition.

“What good is it if you only see the exterior of the weapons? You have to use them in practice.”

“…That sounds like a proposal to send them into actual combat.”

“Then are you not interested in using them? It’s a good opportunity that has come up.”

“A good opportunity?”

“Take a look at this.”

Nasir received a photo. It depicted the face of a middle-aged local man.

The leader of the Hassan Warlord recognized the man in the photo immediately.

“It’s Hakim. An official from the Sanya responsible for connections.”

Shahir bin Adnani Al Hakim. A core official of Group 2 Warlords.

Currently, he was handling contacts and diplomacy with external organizations, but in the past, Al Hakim had caused a conflict within the territory of the Hassan Warlord. Therefore, he was the perfect target to win Sheikh Nasir Al Hassan’s favor.

Regardless of Nasir’s satisfaction, I was determined to kill this guy. He communicated with the Kien Empire. If I didn’t remove him now, who knows when another opportunity might arise?

I pointed to the photo and added an explanation.

“He’s currently within the territory of the Hassan Warlord.”

“Hakim is on our land?”

“He’s been hard to find as he stealthily operates along the border. We’ve had our own speculations about Al Hakim’s whereabouts, but this time we were fortunate enough to get a trace.”

“When you say border, do you mean the territory of Sanya?”

“Precisely, it’s in the triangular area where the government jurisdiction, Sanya Tribal land, and Hassan’s territory meet. You can cross over in a vehicle and hide anywhere.”

I suggested eliminating Al Hakim and performing a test firing for the anti-tank missile.

And then,

“Bring the ammunition!”

“!!يلا,يلا,يلا (Hurry, hurry, hurry!!)”

I succeeded.

– ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ !!!!

The missile, trailing a red flash and gray smoke, collided with the vehicle.

The vehicle hit by the missile that soared through the air was sent crashing to the rocky desert below.

Having ambushed the Sanya warlord’s officials alongside Hassan’s combatants, I rummaged through the completely wrecked vehicle, sifting through the charred corpse. According to the intelligence report, they had filled the lower molars with lead, and upon pulling out the lower jaw of the backseat corpse, there it was—a molar filled with lead.

Once it was confirmed that Al Hakim was dead, Nasir and the other Hassan officials were elated.

Perhaps it was because the performance of the weapon was now guaranteed, or maybe it was because a competing warlord’s official was dead. It was probably a mix of both.

Either way, good things are good.

“You saw the demonstration, didn’t you?”

“I did. So, when can you start supplying the weapons?”

“Immediately from today. I’ll give you the intermediary’s contact, and you can just fetch them from the storage.”

“Thank you. Then it’s time to discuss the costs?”

I had my final negotiation with Sheikh Nasir Al Hassan.

Truthfully, it wasn’t even a negotiation in the formal sense. Nasir was already leaning in my favor.

Thus, the conversation was merely a brief adjustment of mutual interests and scheduling.

“As I mentioned earlier, I’ll receive payment in the form of information and cooperation.”

“I shall assist you under the honor of Hassan.”

In exchange for weapons, capital, and intelligence support, Nasir promised extensive backing.

I shook his hand, marking the end of a brief yet intense negotiation.

“Thank you.”

It was the moment the intermediate goal of the operation was achieved.

*

After dropping off the tired pack mule (from Britain) at my lodging, I went to find the leader of the Al Bas Tribe.

“Use this for military funds.”

I presented a money bag filled with foreign currency to the leader of the Al Bas Tribe.

It was, in fact, a gift from the military intelligence agency to the Hassan Warlord. While Hassan had his own sources of income, an amount like this would equate to half of what a warlord collects in taxes over a year. That meant significant money from the perspective of the warlord.

“Thank you very much.”

The warlord’s accountant, Nayan Al Bas, received the military funds with a delighted expression.

He seemed to have vaguely realized that I wasn’t just a war correspondent but an agent of a foreign intelligence agency. However, a message had been sent from my dear cousin, stating that he should be treated as an important person as the leader of Hassan.

It seemed he decided to just brush aside that a foreign spy had deceived him.

“I owe you another debt, Asud.”

“Not at all. I’m the one who should be thankful. But when you say ‘another,’ do you mean…?”

“I owe you my son’s life from before.”

Hearing Nayan’s words, I nodded in understanding.

Oh, so that was it. It was about the robbery incident. It seemed Nayan was aware that I bought time for Farid to survive back then.

In truth, it was more about stalling for Camila to escape, but good enough. A father wouldn’t care about such matters when his cherished son returned after dipping his toes in the Jordan River.

“Please take your rest. I will offer you the best accommodations here.”

“Thank you.”

After scheduling to meet Farid next time, I exited Nayan’s office.

I needed to approach military intelligence for the final report, summon support troops, and check everything before the full-scale operation, so it was time to be busy.

As I hurried across the corridor, suddenly—

“Excuse me.”

A beguiling voice caught my ankle.

I turned to see the identity of the speaker. Near Nayan’s office terrace, a local woman stood, her back to the brown city, speaking to me.

Due to the backlight, her face was shrouded in shadow, but I easily recognized her.

The robe covering her head and upper body was not something anyone could wear.

The cape and cloak with a hood signified something rather simple.

“…Are you in need of a shaman?”

A shaman from the Mauritania Continent approached me.

 

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