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I wandered all over the place so much that finding an unfamiliar region felt like a breeze, but Iran was an exceptionally memorable posting.

Why, you ask? Because I got scammed and dragged off there.

After briefly visiting Beijing and Moscow and returning to my home country, there was a time when I twisted and turned in every possible way with the sole aim of going to a developed country.

Besides Chinese and Russian, I also spoke French, and since I was quite confident, it was only natural that I set my sights on Paris.

However, the French scores I submitted while looking forward to life at the Paris Military Attaché’s Office led me instead to Vietnam and Algeria, and my Spanish certification got me a ticket to South America.

This was the karma left from the European Chinky and the original Catholic Taliban (whom we call ‘Conquistadors’ in Spain) who had made a mess of things centuries ago. These guys spread languages all over the place during their colonial rule.

Of course, I consider Vietnam and Algeria as exceptions.

The last time France caused chaos in Vietnam and Algeria was after World War II.

(At that time, even ‘that’ Britain liberated its colonies, while de Gaulle regarded the independence movement as a riot and suppressed it with the military. So clearly, the French government was even worse than the British government. Although the perspective of the Irish protesters in 1972 might differ.)

Anyhow.

Overwhelmed by the unimaginable foreign work experiences, I was desperate to find some way, any way, to change my posting.

One day, my uncle visited and offered a solution I hadn’t even considered.

“Hey, why not learn Persian and try your hand at document translation?”

“Translation, you say?”

“To analyze foreign news articles or documents, translation is a must. It’s just that reading and writing at a basic level wouldn’t cut it for deployment. But if it’s in the translation field, that’s a different story.”

It was a rare foreign language with high demand but also difficult to learn. The level of difficulty was high, especially for overseas postings requiring conversational skills.

However, once you pass a certain threshold, moving to another department becomes relatively easy. This is because there are fewer applicants, resulting in low competition.

Maybe because he was a lieutenant colonel, there was surely a difference in methods.

The problem arose when the North Korean ambassador to Tehran contacted the Iranian Foreign Ministry to sign an MOU for education and culture in 2018. This was during the prime of my position, as I was in the midst of preparing for the handover. Suddenly, I received a call telling me to go for training in Tehran!

It turns out the Reds were diligently exchanging not only education and culture but also in various other fields, and they got caught!

While I was blissfully thinking of getting cushy work in document translation, I was dragged back to the field once again.

“In short, I got scammed,” I concluded, stretching out the end of my explanation slightly.

“So that’s why you were so stubborn about not wanting to come?”

“That’s right.”

Camila nodded as if she finally understood.

As we made our way to our destination, she was curious about the source of my endless discomfort and kept poking for reasons.

Once I shared stories from my past, she finally seemed thrilled to piece together her confusion.

“Is it really that great?”

Camila smiled silently. I wondered what could possibly be so great.

Maybe she was just pleased to discover a secret, her face radiated sheer delight.

“It’s an interesting story! But now that I’ve heard it, I have some questions I want to ask.”

“Feel free to ask.”

“Wasn’t this just bad timing for Frederick instead of getting scammed?”

Head tilting.

Camila, who voiced that opinion, kept tilting her head.

“If he had just had the timing right, there would’ve been no reason to go to Iran… Upon reconsideration, it’s actually his fault, so why speak like a victim?”

“That’s a fair point. Nobody threatened him with a knife, after all.”

“A knife threat? What’s that saying? Is it some traditional saying from Korea?”

“No, it’s not exactly a saying…”

Why would you go and ask for a beating?

—

Episode 20 – Who Threatened with a Knife?

Upon arriving in Ashtistan, a smile naturally crept onto my face.

The desert city seemed to reflect the pages of distant memories perfectly.

Old cars rolling down the road were ‘Peshehot.’ A timeless masterpiece produced by the ‘Liporsk Vehicle Factory’ of the Kien Empire in the 1960s was clouding the air of Shizuya.

For Alexandra Petrovna, it was quite a welcome sight.

To be specific, it brought back nostalgic feelings.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been here.”

The ’50s and ’60s were a continuous period of fierce rivalry.

To prove superiority over the rival nations including Abas, the royal family and cabinet deemed it essential to prioritize transportation projects. Whether in times of peace or war, moving people and resources was the key first step.

Thus, that was the moment railroads and roads were spreading throughout the empire.

Fortunately, the previous emperor, Kolyas’s father, had a keen interest in transportation projects, and his son inherited that passion as well.

Kolyas, searching for a new industry to serve as the empire’s new feet, set several conditions. Simple yet quite challenging conditions.

First, it must be affordable enough to distribute to all subjects.

Second, it must have excellent productivity to meet the demands of both civilian and military sectors.

Third, it must be of such high quality that it can withstand the harsh terrains of the empire.

The clever Chancellor was quick to catch on to the implications embedded in those three conditions. He understood that the royal family’s goal for the transportation project extended beyond merely supplying cars to the empire; they also aimed at profiting from exports.

The Chancellor, along with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs officials, spent months seeking solutions. Finally, they forged a connection with a prestigious company in Patalia, resulting in the birth of the ‘Peshehot.’

The new feet of the Kien Empire’s subjects, a traveler on the frozen roads (пешеход: meaning pedestrian in Russian).

Of course, while other vehicles were born in tune with change and trends, Peshehot remained a monumental model emblematic of Kien’s automotive industry.

With its low price, excellent productivity, and outstanding durability, this timeless masterpiece was cherished by countless people as intended by Kolyas, spreading out across the globe.

In the 1960s, it served as the legs of the allied nations’ citizens and military, and in the 1970s, it became the exclusive car for diplomats and businessmen. It was in the spring of 1968 that I first set foot in Ashtistan.

To be precise, it was a car I had brought as a gift for her. My dear friend, converted to faith before we even met, surprisingly had no vehicle of her own after all these years.

I stopped by to check in and delivered the gift while teaching her to drive as well.

At one point, my friend confused the brake with the accelerator and nearly crashed us into a palace wall, almost sending both of us away from our comrades, but regardless, I distinctly recall returning it after meticulously getting it repaired.

Just 30 years ago, this thing was the only one of its kind, yet now it filled the streets of Shizuya like so.

For Alexandra Petrovna, it was an undeniably nostalgic moment.

“Look, my child,” she said.

And thus, the duke launched into tales of his time.

“That car over there is the very one I brought to Ashtistan first…”

If a spy from Korea with the surname ‘Pche’ overheard, he’d probably be ready to quip, “Elder, make sure to take your ginseng candy before your dentures get confiscated,” and drop that sarcastic nonsense like it’s some profound insight. But the duke certainly had no intention of behaving like an old man.

Being over a hundred years old, everything visible to him sparked memories.

It was a comment he let slip absentmindedly.

“Until 30 years ago, this place was barren. It was only after the magic stones began to be produced in earnest following the Eastern Rift in ’71 that the golden age arrived. The following year I visited the resource department in Ashtistan along with the deputy minister of the Imperial Ministry of Magic. Ah, by the way, all of this place’s natural resources are managed by the resource department. Naturally, the magic stones fall under the purview of the Ministry of Magic, but in this theocratic state, sorcery has a more potent presence than magic…”

At any rate, the archmage began to unfold ‘another’ interesting story entwined with his past.

Suddenly, he thought: why was the disciple not responding?

“…?”

The duke’s perplexed gaze fell upon his disciple. His blue eyes scanned from her toes to her head and finally landed on the protruding bump atop her head.

…A bump?

“Child, why do you have a bump the size of an apple on your head?”

A question tinged with worry and curiosity was tossed out, but no answer returned.

It did come back, but not a valid answer.

“…Ugh.”

Camila, who appeared to have developed a bump on her head, had tear-filled eyes. She looked like she had something to say but also appeared resentful about something.

Then, all of a sudden, she spun around and dashed away with an angry stride, wasn’t she?

-Doo bang doo bang.

Her arms were outstretched and her chest heaving. Quite a spectacle indeed. What made her act like that all of a sudden?

The duke looked at me, probably seeking confirmation on whether I knew what was going on.

And I felt compelled to say, “You. Do you have an inkling why that child is acting like that—”

“I am Groot.”

“…?”

She brazenly fished out a distraction.

—

The car, tinted black, ascended onto the Opal Expressway connecting Shizuya and Mehedan.

The destination was Shizuya.

The road was quiet. Including the car we were in, there were barely five or six vehicles heading towards Shizuya, and the opposite lane had no traffic whatsoever.

It reminded me of the entrance/exit checkpoint of the Warp Gate I just passed.

“…”

I gazed out the window, reflecting on the moment I first arrived in this land.

The immigration office we arrived at was located in a desolate area. To put it nicely, it was tidy, but if I were to put it badly, it felt almost barren, as there wasn’t even any common historical building nearby.

This was a stark example of the utterly failed modernization endeavor of Ashtistan. The immigration office was initially slated to be built on the outskirts of Shizuya. In an administrative context, high-rise buildings were expected to rise there.

The Warp Gate was akin to the international airport for this part of town.

Yet, the Warp Gate in Shizuya should have long been developed but had been abandoned for ages.

The national treasury of the Ashtistan government was so depleted that they couldn’t even afford to develop it.

Of course, it wasn’t always poor from the start. Rather, Ashtistan was regarded as a wealthy nation.

Once, it enjoyed riches and glory thanks to magic stones, oil, and natural gas.

Countless foreign military advisers and companies were eager to pay money to enter Shizuya, and a great theologian of Al-Yabd reigned as the empress of the Mauritania Continent during that time.

But now, the brilliant history of the once-great sand empire was nowhere to be found.

Weapons were overflowing.

Comprehensive international economic sanctions.

Pipes buried along the border and smugglers traversing the coastline, both private and governmental.

Half-finished buildings and collapsed houses left unattended.

Security forces monitoring the finances and broadcasts of every citizen.

The elements that symbolize modern-day Ashtistan were exactly these.

If one were to compare it, this place was like a strangely blended amalgamation of Tehran and Caracas. In other words, it wasn’t a place suitable for living like a human being.

Having visited both places, I knew quite well.

“The roads are unusually clean,” I muttered sullenly as I surveyed the deserted road.

“Surely, it is clean,” Alexandra Petrovna agreed with a nod, implying that her words were fitting.

Yet, to see an almost deserted road, a car protected by thick bullet-proof glass, and rolling with a convoy was an odd sight to behold.

For reference, the vehicle we were in was at the center. Up front was an old military tactical vehicle donated by the Kien forces clearing the way, while black SUVs with heavy tint followed behind.

And through the tinted window of a passing SUV, I identified men in suits armed with firearms.

“Yes, truly a clean city,” I reflected. Did Alexandra Petrovna notice? Most likely, given that her senses surpassed those of an average person.

This ease was likely the result of her experiences.

Who would fear mere guns, having single-handedly dispatched entire armies?

“…”

Staring at the Warp Gate, located quite a distance from the city center, I found myself missing Tehran. Once there, I could just call an Uber and go anywhere.

Incheon International Airport even manages the operations of Imam Khomeini International Airport, creating a close relationship where I would often receive aid when traveling to Tehran.

But here, there was none of that.

“…Damn, so lonely.”

I cautiously closed my eyes and silently prayed.

This time, may nothing happen. And may the archmage’s might hold sway here as well.

The prayer continued.

The procession finally crossed the highway and entered.

Into the heart of Ashtistan, Shizuya.

The faces of the gathering were destined to be stunning.

“Welcome, your Grace! I am Farhad Dastan, the chair of the Cultural Bureau’s Sorcery Institute.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“The honor is mine.”

The grand and magnificent palace was overflowing with officials clad in sharp suits and Al-Yabd theologians dressed in traditional attire.

As I observed the attendees, I noted the presence of theologians in this venue.

“There are theologians, huh?”

“…Theologians? Are you talking about the Ulama?”

At that moment, Camila shot me a questioning look, seemingly unsure if she had heard correctly. I gazed at her with mild surprise.

“Do you know about the Ulama? Looks like you’ve done some studying.”

“Are you belittling me right now…?”

“Not at all.”

I chuckled lightly and added, “I’m just curious about how much you actually know.”

After pondering for a moment, she began to share her knowledge while confessing she didn’t know the intricate details.

“You should know that Al-Yabd is similar to Islam. And that in Islam, there are no clergy or priests, right?”

“Yes, I know that.”

According to mainstream Islamic scholarship, Muslims can communicate directly with Allah at the mosque, thus deeming a separate priestly class unnecessary, unlike in Catholicism or Protestantism.

“Of course, Islam does have something akin to priests or pastors called ‘Imam (إمام).'”

“But an Imam is merely someone who leads the worship, not someone with a degree or ordained like in other religions, correct?”

“That’s right.”

However, this is solely the Sunni interpretation, and the Shia interpretation differs.

“In Sunni Islam, an Imam is not a clergy. Regardless of wealth or education, anyone can lead the worship. But the Shia only recognizes twelve successors related by blood to Muhammad as Imams.”

I looked around at the Al-Yabd theologians.

“But among the Shia, there are individuals known as ‘Ulama’ who study scripture and theology. They don’t lead the worship but interpret the law and apply Sharia to daily life. These Ulama are the real power holders in Iran’s political system.”

To aid the discussion, I named the most famous Ulama figure.

“Have you heard of Ayatollah Khomeini?”

Camila nodded.

“Yes. He led the Islamic Revolution in 1979 and overthrew the Pahlavi dynasty. He’s also the first Rahbar.”

“He’s one of the prominent Ulama. The term Ayatollah is one of their ranks.”

The ranking within the Ulama starts from the student position, Talab (طالب), moving up to Saqatoleslam (سقاتول اسلام) → Hojjatoleslam (حجت الاسلام) → Ayatollah (آیت الله).

Prior to Ayatollah, there was a religious leader known as Marja-e Taqlid (مرجع تقلید), but when Ruhollah Khomeini succeeded in the Iranian Revolution in ’79, that title was replaced by Ayatollah.

In more straightforward terms, the common media reference ‘Ayatollah Khomeini’ could be reformulated as ‘President Hong Gil-dong’ in a Korean context.

“By the way, the highest leader of Iran is called Rahbar. Though the person who leads the legislative body is usually an Ayatollah, to get there, one typically has to pass through the rank of Ayatollah first, like Khomeini.”

“Basically, does this mean the Rahbar also acts as a religious leader?”

“That’s the crux of it.”

Considering that Khomeini also rose to the position of Rahbar having been an Ayatollah, it’s clear how significant the role of a legislator is in Iran.

And this concept applies the same in Ashtistan.

To summarize it all…

“In Ashtistan, an Al-Yabd theologian is essentially a walking institution of power. This is a theocratic state, after all.”

To add weight to my words, the Al-Yabd theologians from the Ashtistan religious body (one of the official state agencies) were surrounded by tight security.

They were obviously strong individuals, towering over 180 cm with pronounced muscles accentuated by their suits.

Were they security forces? Or guardians?

The unspecified bodyguards were positioned to protect the theologians, each shouldering a rifle. It certainly wasn’t the kind of average rifle rebels used.

No wonder, as that familiar compact assault rifle was primarily used by special forces of the Kien Empire.

“Sanctions, my foot….”

I let out a small sigh barely audible to others.

The guards showed up openly armed with weapons introduced by the Imperial Army eight years ago. Back when I worked at the Petrogard branch, I was supposed to ascertain whether the Empire military supported Ashtistan, but I never dreamed I’d confirm it directly here.

“Professor, hurry up. It seems they’ve finished.”

Catching the Duke’s signal, Camila gestured for me to follow her. It was an unspoken cue to move.

I kept a watchful eye on the guards as I proceeded into the palace, following the guide. The government officials and theologians were engaged in various discussions, yet I felt those suspicious gazes of the guards never left my back.

“It’s gotten rather lengthy with the introductions. How are your legs holding up?”

“No issues, Professor!”

“Thank goodness. Let’s hurry along. Someone’s waiting to meet us.”

Alexandra Petrovna gracefully traversed the palace corridor. Smiling radiantly beside her, Camila shot a quick glance my way.

I nodded reassuringly, signalling everything was fine, and she smiled back at the Duke while striking up a conversation.

As we wandered down the hallway, the Ashtistan government didn’t impose any restrictions on me, likely because the Duke personally brought me along, granting me some degree of freedom.

Thus, the only individuals I needed to be cautious of were the guides.

“This way.”

We moved deeper into the palace with the aid of the guides. They were appointed by the government, and after observing them on our way, I could tell they were neither security forces nor intelligence agents—just ordinary civil servants. But being cautious never hurts.

Anyone can relay the information they gather, especially those closest to you.

As I moved while recalling the scenery and the faces of the guides, one of them leading the way suddenly turned around and said, in unison, as if they had all rehearsed it:

“I’m sorry, but esteemed guests, we must ask you urgently to change into these outfits we’ve prepared before entering.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than someone nearby brought over a box. It was a wooden box adorned with exquisite exterior.

The guides, carrying the box, approached the Duke and Camila, lifting the cover to reveal its contents. As I stood next to Camila, I instantly recognized what the Ashtistan government prepared as attire.

A must-have item for women in Middle Eastern cultures.

“…A hijab?”

Camila reacted with astonishment at the sudden appearance of the scarf.

“Why the hijab all of a sudden…?”

“It’s not a hijab, it’s a Rusari (روسری). Here, we call it Rusari.”

I replied to a flustered Camila, and the guide next to her widened his eyes in surprise and nodded. I could almost picture how amazed he would be if a Western visitor rattled off all the traditional attire.

It was a gorgeous scarf filled with vibrant Persian-style patterns. While Camila inspected the Rusari in bewilderment, the guide, who seemed to be the senior one there, politely spoke up.

“This is our traditional attire in Ashtistan, worn by women. We should’ve presented this to you the moment you entered, but alas, we were unprepared, and so must explain it now.”

It was a message that echoed the saying, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” In fact, wearing a scarf is a customary etiquette even tourists generally observe, so it wasn’t a difficult request.

However, the individuals currently in attendance were no mere tourists.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

The Duke’s expression was blank as he shot a sharp glance at the guide, seemingly demanding an explanation for the current situation.

Interpreting his implications, the guide continued with utmost respect.

“I sincerely apologize, your Grace. We have inadvertently caused distress due to our oversight. We should’ve provided ample information as you passed through the Warp Gate.”

“Do you think letting a guest know about the attire waiting for them is explanation or mere notification?”

“…”

“If you had the clothing ready, you could have simply informed the embassy beforehand. Is it truly the custom of Ashtistan to demand the first need of a traveler just arrived?”

This basically implied their country offered hospitality in this deplorable manner. Given how ingrained etiquette was around these parts, the cultural clash was even more pronounced.

The courteous guide started shifting his eyes nervously. I could see him rolling his eyes subtly from my spot off to the side. Though it wasn’t apparent from the front, I caught the bewildered look written all over his face.

Yet the Duke stood firm, unyielding.

He seemed intent on waiting for a satisfactory answer.

“On behalf of the government, I sincerely apologize.”

After searching for a reasonable explanation long enough, the civil servant had no other option but to relay a polished apology.

While what they wanted was not an apology, but rather an explanation, the Duke too had to step back to avoid offending his subordinates.

“Please be more cautious in the future.”

“Of course, we will, your Grace.”

As the Duke accepted the Rusari, the guide let out a sigh of relief, visibly regaining composure. It was almost as if he’d narrowly escaped death.

Witnessing this unfold left me in utter disbelief. Wait, if they knew it was rude, then why did they attack the Abas Embassy?

“We have a changing room prepared. We’ll assist you.”

“There’s no need to make such trouble as to prepare a changing room… Thank you. Child, will you follow along?”

“Do I have to go?”

“If you can dress on your own, then do as you wish.”

“Let’s go together!”

Camila eagerly dashed to follow, while the guides graciously escorted both into the changing room.

For the record, I was excluded. The Rusari was for women only.

“Esteemed guest? Since you are the male, please remove your tie…”

The guide inspected my outfit and requested I only remove my tie since everything else was fine. I feigned ignorance as I untied my necktie.

As I remained standing there all alone, someone called out to me.

“Excuse me, could I have your name?”

One of the guides, someone I hadn’t seen until today, was speaking to me. I slowly processed the situation and observed that a group of female guides behind her were whispering among themselves as they glanced my way.

It didn’t take much thought to infer what was happening.

Ah, these people are just messing around.

“Frederick.”

“Is it your first time in Ashtistan?”

“Yes, it is my first time.”

“Ah, I see.”

The guide turned back to the group and whispered something that I couldn’t make out, but it seemed she was saying, “I told you so!” in a triumphant tone.

While the civil servant had come to gather information, she started bombarding me with a barrage of questions.

“How did you meet the Duke? He’s quite the hard-to-reach figure.”

“I met him through official duties.”

“Did you come from the continent? You don’t seem like a Mauritanian.”

“Correct.”

“I saw you earlier with that red-haired lady. Are there any other companions with you?”

“There are more, but I’m unsure of their arrival times.”

Out of all the questions thrown my way, these three were the only ones with any value.

As for the rest? Oh, they were the likes of this.

“Do you have a favorite food?”

“What’s the last movie you watched….”

“There’s a famous handicraft street in Shizuya; have you visited it….”

What utterly pointless questions.

Can they really go about this freely while at work? I also yearned for a free ride on my salary. I wondered when Camila would return. I needed to confirm our companions’ arrival times…

My mind drifted along a flowing stream of consciousness as the guide’s chatter became increasingly bothersome.

At this point, I half suspected that someone had summoned me from the martial arts world to eliminate me. While the volume wasn’t loud, her incessant chatter felt suffocating.

Just as I continued this mental struggle against the chatterbox, out of nowhere, a low murmur began to build, accompanied by footsteps.

“…Oh.”

Finally, are they here?

I turned my head eagerly towards Camila and the Duke.

However…

“Who the hell are you two?”

Standing before me were not the two I expected, but rather a couple of sharply dressed Suit Men.

 

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