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The hot sun gently shines down, and as I cautiously close my eyes, the bright moon begins to illuminate all things.

A vessel from the Lushan Federation arrives at the harbor in the crimson desert’s dawn, navigating through the dark, churning waves.

The announcement signaling our arrival stirs the passengers, waking them up one by one, and it also reaches an utterly soaked traveler in the restroom.

As droplets of water drip from the pipes, plop, plop, they hit the sink.

The traveler discards the traces of a long voyage and changes into fresh clothes.

As the harmonious combination of a shirt and corduroy pants peels away like a shell, a plain black top layers over it.

In the space where tied hair had unraveled, black lace adorns it. A veil drapes from the crown, covering down to the chest.

And finally, as the traveler reveals only her eyes and the surrounding skin in the mirror,

the red gaze scans up and down for gaps before ultimately fading away, satisfied, into the edges of the mirror.

The fully clothed traveler steps out of the restroom and returns to her seat. It was a spot by the window with a clear view of the horizon.

A fellow passenger sitting in the aisle temporarily raised his knees for the returning neighbor.

“Did you change?”

The fellow passenger asked in Kien.

When the traveler returned and nodded her head, pretending to be casual, the man smiled with relief.

He lowered his knees and then whispered softly.

“When we reach the harbor, the agents will be there to meet us. A blue vehicle. Two men and one woman.”

The black cloth draped over her face fluttered momentarily.

Soft Kien flowed through the niqab and lace.

“Market research?”

“No. Operational support.”

“…What about the location of the client?”

“Not yet. They should be arriving soon.”

The man shielded his outstretched fingers with his body, and the red eyes calculated the count.

Three fingers.

“Supporting personnel for three hours… that sounds tight. Even mobilizing all branches won’t be enough.”

The red eyes gazed forward, devoid of any expression. The man smiled lightly at the woman’s words.

“Ha. Aren’t you a bit too tense? It’s just one person, after all. But pulling the entire branch’s personnel for it?”

“Just give me the passport.”

“Yes, colleague.”

The man, now unbuttoning his jacket, exaggeratedly retrieved the passport from his inner pocket and handed it over respectfully, while the woman placed her passport atop it.

The wind, tinged with the scent of the sea, forced its way through the open window.

The palm-sized passports fell into the sea, drifting lifelessly. The dark blue waves swiftly claimed them into their depths.

Two passports, embossed with a double-headed eagle.

Episode 20 – Who Threatened with a Knife?

Tourism is the representative industry of the Mauritania Continent.

Some might scoff at the notion, deeming it absurd for a land of primitive dwellers scraping by without substantial industrial foundations to speak of tourism.

However, those who’ve traveled a bit and documentary producers from broadcasting stations always extol this place’s natural beauty to the point of exhaustion.

“Hey! Have you ever been? If you haven’t, don’t speak—that’d be half a life wasted for you!”

It’s generally along these lines.

Seeing the senior pouring out his fervent praises, I thought he was just the type to start yammering after a few drinks, yet I couldn’t help but wonder if the breathtaking scenery was indeed so remarkable that even a drunken fool would blabber about it for 4 hours and 26 minutes straight.

And now, in retrospect,

Wow, maybe that guy was right after all.

“Охуенно….”

A man in sunglasses muttered a curse while gazing at the ocean.

Despite it being sunrise, the heat was relentless. The white foam shattered into bits. Cliffs sculpted piece by piece by the breeze.

Such natural beauty doesn’t come around often.

“What are you so surprised about? Is it your first time seeing the ocean as a land-dweller?”

The man in the driver’s seat asked, discontent evident in his voice. He leaned his arms on the steering wheel, glaring fiercely at his friend sprawled across the hood.

Whatever.

The man in sunglasses pointed at the sea, raising his voice.

“Look. The scenery is amazing!”

“Only your backside is visible. Why don’t you move your butt?”

“What if I hadn’t believed what you said, senior? Aren’t you glad you came?”

“I get it, so please remove your dirty backside from my bike. What are you doing on my car?”

The ruckus pulled me from my sweet slumber.

Disturbed from my restful moment, the woman lounging in the backseat peeled her jacket from her head and shot a glare at the two.

“Can you guys be quiet so I can sleep?”

As soon as her sharp remark finished, laughter erupted.

She spread her fingers and pulled the jacket up to her head, while the man in the driver’s seat pointed at her.

“Hey, look. After getting a thorough scolding from that little grandpa for damaging the supplies, she’s throwing a fit at us.”

“Friends can be such easy targets, huh?”

“Shut up… let me just sleep…”

The woman lying in the backseat, groaning in a tired voice, left the man in sunglasses completely flabbergasted.

It was a shocking sight.

“Wow. You’re sleeping at this beautiful view?”

“Beautiful view? Give me a break…”

The colleague in the jacket mumbled, using her arm as a pillow.

“Do I have time to gawk at such nonsense? Our mission is right around the corner.”

The agents from Section 5 of the 6th Division of the Imperial Guard HQ, responsible for all operations within and outside the country, including those on the Mauritania continent.

They were the employees of the Imperial Guard HQ that could turn even crying babies into silent ones.

…So,

From the lady sprawled out like a sunbathing turtle with her jacket covering her,

the man shouting at her to move from the steering wheel,

to the man with sunglasses enjoying the scenery alone,

these were all the unfathomable agents of the Imperial Guard HQ.

Unbelievably so.

“Well, at best, we’re just the ones cleaning up for the Office of International Operations….”

The exhausted woman mumbled, stretching one leg between the front and back seats.

She was an employee from Section 5 of the 6th Division, supporting overseas operations of the Imperial Guard HQ within the Mauritania continent.

“Cleaning up? That’s an odd way to put it. What would happen to the operation without us?”

“Isn’t that pretty accurate? We’re just doing errands every day.”

When the man in sunglasses frowned, the driver responded playfully, a bit self-deprecatingly.

People think that once they join the information agency, everyone becomes a field agent.

However, that’s half right and half wrong.

Intelligence collection, data analysis, counterintelligence investigations, and covert operations are indeed the four core activities of information agencies, but whether domestic or international, for operations to proceed properly, someone’s support is always necessary.

The 6th Division of the Imperial Guard HQ was precisely the department in charge of that ‘support work.’

You might say it’s a sort of convenience provision?

Whether it’s a safe house or a listening device, the role of the 6th Division is to provide whatever is requested.

For example, if an investigator from the 1st Division needs a suitable cover vehicle to surveil a suspect in a public security case, the 6th Division staff promptly secures an appropriate vehicle.

If an information officer from the 2nd Division needs to rescue an information agent detained in the middle of Abas, the staff of the 6th Division will airlift the weapons, fake identification, and means of escape that the officer will need.

Departments responsible for such tasks exist everywhere, with the CIA’s Directorate of Support as a symbolic example.

In this light, it’s indeed an important department, and it really is.

However, within the Imperial Guard HQ, the evaluation and standing of the 6th Division was considerably low…

The reason is obvious.

“Haven’t you heard what the colleagues call us…? They tease us, calling us handmaids and attendants.”

This isn’t a place you want to end up if you’re thinking about promotions.

The 6th Division employee, resting his arms on the wheel, agreed with his colleague’s complaints.

“Oh please. Anyone with determination to join the company wouldn’t even glance at the 6th Division.”

Those aspiring to be field agents always aim for either the 1st Division or 2nd Division, or at the very least, the 8th Division for comprehensive analysis.

Those gifted in magic or divine abilities? Most of them go to the 13th Division (Research and Development for Intelligence Equipment and Technology), and the outstanding talents are pulled into departments investigating mysterious phenomena.

Those with excellent foreign language skills shine as linguists in the 2nd or 8th Divisions, and those harboring ambitious promotion dreams climb up to the Inspectorate or the Human Resources Department.

To them, the 6th Division is essentially a place of exile, akin to a dense forest.

Though there’s plenty to do, it’s notorious for the lack of promotions. That has been the reason the 6th Division has long been deemed a ‘less desirable workplace’ within the Imperial Guard HQ.

Thus, among the employees, those working in the 6th Division often jokingly referred to one another as ‘attendants’ or ‘handmaids.’

If I were to translate that into a Korean-style nickname, it would be something similar to ‘yellow cow-black cow.’

Of course, these jokes are shared with some discretion.

With colleagues from the same 6th Division, or among friends of decades, calling each other with terms like ‘Hey, come here~’ will elicit a cheerful ‘Yes-‘ in return.

However, if that is uttered by a complete stranger or someone you’re not particularly close with, it’s a fight waiting to happen.

“Support operations are entirely done by seniors, and as new recruits, we’re clueless… but let’s not be too downcast even if we haven’t accomplished anything. The 6th Division is still—hey!—where people live. Hopefully, a good day will come someday, right?”

The 6th Division agent in the driver’s seat tried to lighten the mood, encouraging everyone.

However, the female colleague gave no reply, and the colleague in sunglasses was long lost to the mesmerizing scenery. And just for the record, the two behind were still perched atop the hood.

Turning his head back and forth, the driver of the 6th Division sneered.

It started to get funny.

“The dog is barking, the dog is barking….”

The exhausted voice mixed with the sea breeze and scattered away.

The man in sunglasses finally came down from the bonnet, shaking his shoulders.

“So, who’s coming?”

“I don’t know.”

My colleague, the information agent, replied while gently shaking his arm over the steering wheel.

“Old Grandpa just told us to wait.”

It meant that the resident, the highest-ranking information officer in the area, hadn’t informed us of anything.

In other words, we were ordered to simply wait at the port until someone arrived.

It was a frustrating command, but we had to follow it. After all, it was the directive from the highest-ranking information officer here, routed through the headquarters.

“Maybe I should have had breakfast.”

In a glum mutter, the colleague who had been dozing under his jacket replied sleepily, “Hey… if you’re full, you’ll get sleepy and can’t work…”

Thus, the employees of the Six Nations waited.

For someone they didn’t even know, for someone whose arrival time was uncertain.

I couldn’t understand how we were supposed to make contact with a person whose face we didn’t even know, but the resident only replied that they’d find us if we stood still. Just set the vehicle down and take it easy until they arrived.

That was indeed the truth.

The person coming from headquarters was someone the six employees recognized quite well.

As the three Kiennans, sensitive to heat, were turning into a murderous sous-vide under the searing heat (27.4 degrees), a traditionally dressed man and woman stealthily approached and rhythmically knocked on the glass a few times.

The employee from the six nations asked.

“Did you come from Kudlian?”

The man replied.

“I was introduced by Uncle Juba.”

“Get in. We’ve been waiting.”

The information officers from the homeland took the front passenger and backseat. The six-nation employee, glancing around while wearing sunglasses, hopped onto the motorcycle parked nearby.

The roar of the air-cooled engine faded away, and the dazed six-nation employee kept glancing at the headquarters staff occupying the seat beside him. The information officer, clad in a niqab, remained silent, making it hard to determine their gender.

The six-nation employee driving asked.

“I’ll take you to the field office first.”

The man information officer from headquarters nodded as if to agree.

However, it seemed the informant sitting in the back seat had other thoughts.

“Let’s go to the hotel instead. We’ll need time to prepare.”

“The hotel? Right now?”

“Yes. Straight down this road.”

For some reason, the clear female voice seemed oddly sharp. The six-nation employee nodded in acknowledgment and was about to start when something suddenly came to mind; he rolled down the window and shouted at his colleague.

The colleague, who had been gauging the timing to start the engine, spread his arms in surprise. The six-nation employee whispered that the destination had changed to the colleague.

“They said let’s go to the hotel?”

“The hotel? Then we should go. I’ll go ahead and get things ready.”

“But it might take a while. Longer than you think.”

“Stop whining. How long could it possibly take?”

“If the traffic is bad… about… 2 hours and 20 minutes?”

2 hours and 20 minutes?

The six-nation employee with sunglasses glanced up at the blazing sun. Then he alternated between staring at the scorching seat and the hot wind blowing from the air-cooled engine between his legs.

“Damn it….”

“…Wow, it felt like being burned alive. Ugh—”

The six-nation employee kept gagging with vacant eyes.

It was the aftermath of crossing the sun-drenched desert on a motorcycle.

“Why didn’t you just buy more cars….”

“What can I do with no budget? I’m suffering here.”

His colleagues patted the back of their friend, who had thoroughly absorbed the heat.

The reason he rode the motorcycle wasn’t due to bravado or pride.

It was just that the only available vehicles left were a four-seat car and a motorcycle.

The upgraded vans, with extra payment, had been long-term rented by surveillance and information teams, and the trucks had all been taken away by the special operations team along with SUVs.

Of course, there was the hatchback that the six-nation seniors had cherished for years. Yet that too was out of commission since a few months ago when the military information unit borrowed it for a trip to, what was it, Jamiria or Syria?

“Is the landscaping okay?”

“It’s acceptable for now.”

The two information officers from headquarters had gathered by the window, chatting away.

The man looked through a tripod-mounted monocular, and the woman threw aside her cumbersome niqab to insert a record card into her mobile phone.

The local telecom logo flickered for a moment. When she combined the country code and numbers, a ringtone came through.

“Hello?”

“Yes, Aunt. I’ve arrived.”

“Glad to hear that. How’s the weather?”

The woman’s gaze shifted from the window to the table.

– Blink. Blink.

“It’s clear.”

She took her eyes off the flickering green light and added briefly.

“…Good. The reception is good too.”

Her aunt said.

“Have you secured the base?”

“We’ve secured it. Shizuya, 35th floor of Okchaburvinsk Plaza.”

Her superior asked.

“Who are you with?”

“I’m with Salizan and three others.”

“From the six nations?”

“Yes.”

The conversation paused. It was due to her superior’s habit of readjusting the receiver during phone calls.

“There will be a guest arriving there today. One male. Check the attached documents for details.”

“Yes.”

“Have your colleague switch off for surveillance. Prioritize gathering as much evidence as possible. Avoid contact until you have permission.”

Her superior added.

“If you need support, follow-up teams from neighboring countries will catch up, but that’s starting in four days.”

Backup. Nearby country standby. Moving in four days.

“How long until arrival?”

“Minimum of 36 hours.”

That means they won’t arrive for at least two days.

The pen raced across the notebook. Rotate for surveillance. Evidence collection priority. Avoid contact. Backup in four days. Minimum of 36 hours needed.

The Imperial Guard HQ employee mumbled silently as they continued to jot down notes, afraid they might forget.

“If possible, I’d prefer you and your colleagues to wrap things up alone. You can also ask the six-nation folks or the resident for help if absolutely necessary.”

The pen writing in the notebook halted.

“Didn’t you just tell me to call for support?”

“True. But I’m just a bit worried because they aren’t one of us.”

Not one of our family. It meant personnel from another organization.

Though the specific details were left out, the overarching context was clear. The call ended with the instruction to report every 12 hours.

The woman finally stood up after jotting down that information.

“It’s a call from the director.”

With a soft thud, her notepad flew and landed on the blanket. The man dispatched from headquarters stopped checking the magic recording device to peek inside.

“…Are they really asking us to do this together? No way?”

“It’s a tear-jerking true story.”

This trip wouldn’t be easy either. The Imperial Guard HQ employee shook their head, locking the case containing the magic recording device.

“Everyone.”

Clap! The loud applause caught everyone’s attention.

Except for one person, her colleague organizing the equipment.

“Here are the director’s instructions. I ask for your cooperation for a few days.”

The exhausted employee with a pale face stumbled, supported by two colleagues, who exchanged glances.

And simultaneously turned their heads away.

“…What exactly do you mean by cooperation?”

“It’s nothing major.”

The woman responded to their questions evenly.

“It’s just about watching over a certain man.”

The warm air lulls the sand to sleep, with the mercury column reading 35.4 degrees.

The midday sun was perfect for roasting.

My burning cheeks, beads of sweat pooling above my eyebrows, a pounding headache, my temples throbbing—it made me understand the struggles of a French young man who could endure being stabbed in the forehead but couldn’t stand the blinding sunlight.

In summary.

: I’m dying of heat.

“Haah….”

The sizzling heat seems to suck all the vitality out of me.

I’m just standing still, but why do I feel like I’m dying in real-time? It’s a bizarre feeling, I must say. This cursed weather.

“Why do you keep sighing?”

“Because it’s hot. It’s hot.”

Camila, the fire-element magician or possibly just a diligent fire-element daughter, must have been a mix of both. She slapped my back hard as if to cheer me up.

Though that didn’t pull my semi-lucid mind back into reality.

I dragged my suitcase while Camila, jumping around like a rabid bulldog, pulled me out of the Warp Gate entry office as I exhaled heavily.

Ugh, I really didn’t want to come here…

I lifted my head to look at the city.

“……”

The capital of the Republic of Ashtistan, Shizuya.

A city of religion and sorcery. The home of the Priest of Al-Yabd who led the war between cults and magic towers.

And the heart of the theocratic state, cut off from the world.

Right in the middle of an enemy country.

“Well, here we are.”

 

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