---

“There’s a cultist trying to assassinate the Saint at the refugee camp.”

The soldier of the Cult said.

“An assassination?”

“Yes.”

“……”

I leaned forward, eager to hear more. Ibrahim, holding a glass of wine, began to speak in a calm manner.

“Before I get to the point, I should explain the background. I’ll start with how we obtained this information.”

—

Episode 17 – The Tree that Drinks Blood

—

It had been a breathless few days.

It has already been ten years since we began operations, bouncing back and forth between Lateran and the continent across the sea. The war between the Cult and the cultists, which had spanned thousands of years, was still ongoing, even with the veil of mystery slowly lifting.

Then, a rumor began to circulate. A whisper that the first child might soon arrive on the Mauritania Continent.

This wasn’t just a simple rumor.

Prominent figures from all walks of society were discussing it on broadcasts that anyone would recognize. They claimed that a bright star who had slain demons and purged the fiends from the North would soon head to the Mauritania Continent with their comrades. There were also whispers of a new Saint cherished by the divine.

At first, it was just a rumor, but soon it was proven to be a fact.

It all started with a decree from the Holy See sent to each department.

“The Holy See has issued a decree. The Saint will be visiting the Mauritania Continent shortly, and we must make necessary preparations.”

The newly enthroned Pope, Raphael, instructed that Lucia’s safety be assured. This was proof that what had once been mere rumors about the Saint’s expedition to Mauritania was indeed true.

The directive from the Holy See was also conveyed through the war committee to the knightly orders operating on the Mauritania Continent. The order was to identify and neutralize any threats that could endanger the Saint and her companions selected by the oracle.

The Inquisition used independently gathered intelligence and information shared by various information agencies to pinpoint all existing threats in the area, and the collated data was soon forwarded to the Order of the Holy Knights.

It was then that a suspicious piece of intelligence was detected by the Inquisition.

“What was that intelligence?”

“It was about a cult organization targeting Saint Lucia.”

The content of the intelligence was serious. However, given the circumstances, it didn’t seem to have a high priority.

Many local religious groups, including Al-Yabd, the predominant religion in Mauritania, were in opposition to the Cult.

To those hostile religious groups, the Saint was a prime target. It would be akin to a high-ranking priest of their enemy walking right into their backyard.

Reports of local religious organizations targeting Lucia surfaced across the Mauritania Continent, and some groups were openly threatening to kill the Saint. Thus, the Inquisition received intel about the cultist organization, but chose not to heed it.

The Inquisition also had limits when it came to processing intelligence.

It was far more rational and efficient to monitor truly dangerous large religious groups rather than probe into a small cult organization.

Therefore, the Inquisition ignored the initial reports. Even when similar reports came in from the same cult organization a few days later, they were drowned out by news of a warlord attacking a religious school and beheading students and clergy.

Up to this point, it was a common occurrence in information agencies.

Not all intelligence contains the truth, and at times, informants would exaggerate events to increase their own value. Perhaps the Inquisition judged this to be a false report as well.

Then something happened.

“An informant who had infiltrated the cult organization was killed. This informant was the one who initially provided information about the cult targeting Saint Lucia.”

In this line of work, it’s commonplace for informants to die, but for an informant to die right after providing crucial intel was serious business.

Upon hearing the news, the Inquisition reviewed the report submitted by the deceased informant from the beginning. They pieced together the scattered puzzle pieces and concluded that the intelligence had a high probability of being true.

I listened to Ibrahim as he recounted the final message that the slain informant had intended to convey to the Inquisition.

“The cultists want the Saint’s blood.”

“…….”

“That was the last message left by the deceased informant.”

Ibrahim sipped his wine with a serious expression.

“The Inquisition used the information to request cooperation from the Order of the Holy Knights. They asked for monitoring of the cult organization. If they intend to harm Saint Lucia, then the Holy See will take full responsibility and insists on stopping them by any means necessary.”

“So what do you think, Ibrahim? Do you genuinely believe that the cult is a threat to the Saint’s life?”

“Yes.”

It was a resolute answer. There was no hint of doubt in his tone.

With his fingertips resting on his lips, Ibrahim continued quietly.

“During the surveillance of the hideouts, we detected signs that several cultists have smuggled themselves into this country. Do you have any idea where that might be?”

Without much thought, I answered.

“The refugee camp.”

“Correct. That’s exactly where Saint Lucia is scheduled to visit.”

There was no need to figure out how a mere religious group managed to track Lucia’s movements. The press around the world was broadcasting every detail of her schedule.

“Of course, the information about Saint Lucia’s movements is classified within the Cult and allied circles. But they can’t fool the eyes of reporters. It’s highly likely that the cultists inferred her movements from news reports.”

“Have you identified the smuggling routes?”

Ibrahim nodded.

“They came in through a broker, disguising themselves as refugees.”

“And what about the broker’s identity?”

The soldier replied.

“Yunus Abdulla Mohammed.”

“…….”

“That’s the very person Jake was following.”

—

Smoke was drawn deep and then exhaled into the air. The weak headache accompanied the awakening effects of the strong nicotine.

“We don’t know exactly what the cultists’ plan is. But whatever it is, it’s clear that it poses a danger to Saint Lucia’s safety.”

I tapped the ash from my cigarette into the ashtray and brought it back to my mouth.

“They’re saying they want blood, so they must be planning an assassination. It’s not a new thing for a priest of the Cult to die on this land.”

“What do they want?”

“Help us capture the cultists.”

Ibrahim stated.

“We’ve already identified that the Abas government is targeting the broker. If not, Jake wouldn’t be following Yunus. We can hand him over.”

Implying that we could take along Sanya’s recruitment officer.

I grasped the intent of the Cult’s special forces.

“So, you mean to say that in exchange for handing over the broker, you want us to provide information?”

“That’s right.”

The Cult would hand Yunus to us, and in return, we would supply them with the intelligence we gathered. It was a kind of deal.

Such deals happen more frequently than one might think in the intelligence industry.

Usually, the one making the deal is the host country’s intelligence agency. The counterpart is the intelligence agency of an allied country that has entered the territory.

Typically, dealings happen informally without notifying the host country. They then get caught when things go awry, and if the deal falls through, it’s the counterintelligence agency’s job to step in.

“Chasing away the viewing agency.”

Although foreign intelligence operations of the information agency are regarded as serious diplomatic issues that infringe on the sovereignty of the host country, the activities of allied country agencies are often tacitly tolerated. When allied companies get embarrassed over trivial matters, it’s more about saving face, so they exchange information and turn a blind eye to help each other out.

I spat out the smoke as I mulled over Ibrahim’s proposal.

“I don’t get it… You guys are tracking the cultists, and you were watching Yunus before us, yet suddenly you’re proposing a deal?”

“……”

It was a question of why they were seeking our help instead of handling it themselves.

At that, Ibrahim offered a faint smile.

“Originally, we planned to take care of the broker ourselves, but Saint Lucia arrived at the camp earlier than expected.”

“Ah.”

“We had no other choice due to the time constraints.”

I nodded in agreement, acknowledging the situation.

We leaned against a quiet bar and continued discussing the details of the operation. Ibrahim requested that they avoid involvement with the warlord issue and simply provide information, and I asked him to share the data on Yunus from the Inquisition and the Utrant Knights.

Thus, the exchange of information concluded.

“Go ahead first.”

“I’ll see you later.”

Ibrahim, having sought my agreement, left the bar first. He surveyed the surroundings, tightened his coat, and melted into the darkness of the alley, while employees from the Royal Intelligence Department who had disembarked from a minivan began to follow him.

After finishing my cigarette, I wandered the streets until I joined Matt.

“What do you think, Matt?”

As soon as we turned the corner of a building, Matt hurried his steps and spoke up.

“Seems like a decent proposal. But we need to get Director Leoni’s approval.”

“Let’s get in touch.”

I reported through secure lines. After receiving the urgent report, Leoni positively evaluated the collaborative operation with the cult’s special forces.

Checking if we were being followed as we roamed the city streets, Matt and I entered a quiet shopping building to chat.

“The cult organization targeting the Saint is probably being tracked by the Order. It would be great if the Director could obtain information through official channels, but if the Inquisition refuses to share, I’ll try to access unofficial routes.”

I decided to gather intel on the cult from Hassan Warlord’s network and cooperators within the Inquisition.

Meanwhile, Matt planned to proceed with the abduction of Yunus.

“Alright. We’ll send the team to the camp at dawn to abduct Yunus.”

“Make it as quiet as possible. If the Peacekeeping Force catches wind, the operation will be ruined.”

“Don’t worry about it. By the way, what are you thinking of doing about the cultists that infiltrated the camp?”

Matt stroked his sparse beard thoughtfully.

“If the cultists after the Saint cross the border, it’ll become tough to track them. I’m talking about the real border, not just tribal boundaries.”

“I have a plan.”

Hassan Warlord has planted informants in the Asen Intelligence Department. If the cultists fleeing the camp venture to another country, they’ll likely pass through the nearest border.

For reference, the closest border to the refugee camp is within Asen Warlord’s territory.

I intended to track the cultists through the Asen Intelligence Department.

“If they go through Asen Warlord’s territory, we can monitor the cultists. If they enter Sanya Warlord’s territory, tracking will be difficult, but luckily, the border in that direction requires a five-day drive to reach, giving us time to catch up.”

“That’s good news, but the real problem lies elsewhere.”

With a serious expression, Matt lowered his voice.

“What if the cultists head straight to the Necropolis without crossing the border?”

The word “Necropolis” left me speechless.

Matt continued, “It’s tough for anyone who isn’t a magician or shaman to enter the Necropolis. To monitor that place, we must infiltrate it with an informant.”

“Do we have any informants?”

“No.”

Matt shook his head.

“We used to, but not anymore. That place has to be a real dump. What about you?”

“I don’t have any either.”

“Fantastic.”

Matt insisted that since we couldn’t send team members to the Necropolis, we definitely needed to source an informant. I couldn’t help but agree—after all, it was a place only accessible to magicians or shamans. Sure, cultists or folks with mystical abilities can come and go, but ordinary folks like us get chased away at the entrance.

Matt began looking for an informant just in case the cultists fled to the Necropolis. He pulled out a secure phone and started contacting acquaintances.

I crossed my arms and pondered while smoking. Then, I suddenly had a thought and gestured towards the phone-wielding Matt.

“What’s up?”

“I just had a good idea.”

“What is it?”

I looked around and locked eyes with Matt.

“While there may not be any informants operating in the Necropolis, I know of one who can get in.”

“Who is it?”

*

The lodging I visited in the dead of night was peaceful.

Thick twilight settled over the desert, faint moonlight illuminated the hallway.

After passing doors marked with numbers and walking for a while, I paused in front of a certain room. It was located on the highest floor of a massive eight-story lodging building.

It was the room of a woman who alone occupied the best floor.

Knock. Knock.

A polished knock echoed in the hallway. I stood by the door for a moment. Just as the knocking ceased, sounds of shuffling and slippers being removed were heard from inside.

“Oh my, what brings you here?”

The owner’s face appeared through the half-open door. She seemed to have just been about to sleep, as she was wearing soft pajamas.

With one hand on the doorknob and the other resting on the door frame, the woman smiled attractively.

Her purple hair swayed softly with even the slightest movement.

“Welcome, Colonel.”

Francesca.

The alchemist from the Magic Tower greeted me with an enchanting smile.

 

---