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I shoved the tear-soaked bread into my mouth and dashed toward the Military Intelligence Agency building.

It hadn’t even been an hour since I returned to the base, but I could feel my energy draining away as if I had taken some kind of confession drug.

“Ugh….”

If I wanted to complain, I might as well write my resignation letter.

With a deep sigh, I turned on my communication device.

“Yes, Colonel. I’m at the front of the building now.”

– “You’re already here? Alright, I’ve got an advisor waiting down there, so let him up.”

“Where are you right now?”

– “Room 503.”

The Military Intelligence Agency’s fifth-floor conference room.

– “You can come up slowly; the meeting hasn’t started yet.”

Crap.

Episode 4 – Why Only Me?

After deep consideration, I felt I was definitely screwed.

It was no coincidence that Clevenz had called me to Room 503.

Our Military Intelligence Agency is comprised of several buildings.

The east wing, which houses the domestic part consisting of Security, Intelligence, and Counterintelligence; the west wing, which includes the overseas intelligence and operations; and the north wing, which is home to the technical departments and other support divisions, and finally, the main building where the Director and his various advisory departments convene.

Among these, the main building’s fifth floor was where all employees dreaded going.

That’s where the Director’s office and会议室 were located.

The highest point of the Military Intelligence Agency.

Referred to simply as Room 503, its official designation is the auxiliary conference room of the Military Intelligence Agency Director.

It’s the place where the Director holds daily briefings and summation meetings; it’s also where commanders gather to discuss joint operations. Typically, it’s mostly colonels who go in, and occasionally lieutenant colonels and majors are called in to make presentations.

Generally, being called there for someone like me (below lieutenant colonel) usually means I either did exceptionally well to earn praise or messed up so badly that I’m facing interrogation.

And the only time you get dragged into Room 503 with zero hints, presentation materials, or reports is when you’re in deep trouble.

“…”

“Why do you look so pale?”

“…Hey, do you know why I’m going to Room 503?”

“I have no idea.”

What a useless guy.

“Fine, just enjoy your life.”

“…? I didn’t catch that.”

Wiping the sweat from my dress pants, I took a moment for self-reflection.

Did I send the report without correcting any typos? Absolutely not.

Since I joined this military, I’ve never performed so poorly in paperwork that I’d miss typos. I’ve made enough mistakes not fixing a PPT that now correcting typos is second nature.

Then, did someone manipulate the reports or skim funds? Nope.

I managed all operational funds, and only three of us from the Cult worked together: me, Pippin, and Jake. I had never had a superior besides Clevenz, so there wasn’t even a possibility of some lunatic pocketing operational funds. And it wasn’t like I had produced zero results to feel the need to exaggerate reports.

Could it be that the performance results weren’t satisfactory?

Sigh. That seemed likely.

My initial assigned mission by Clevenz, aside from getting rid of pesky bureaucrats (diplomats) sticking to Camila Lowell, I had not succeeded in any significant way. Conditions were tough, but no matter how you slice it, someone has to be held accountable for the lack of results.

– Ding Dong.

“Please step out.”

Having concluded my self-reflection, I exited the elevator.

“Did you arrive?”

“Good morning, Colonel.”

“It’s morning? It’s practically lunchtime.”

Clevenz greeted me with a cheerful smile. Standing in the hallway while looking out the window, he waved the advisor over with a casual gesture.

“Have you eaten?”

“Yes. Have you had your meal, Colonel?”

“Not yet.”

That means he skipped breakfast for marathon meetings. He could have just said he hadn’t had lunch.

I felt slightly bloated from racing back to base after eating. Or maybe it’s just me rushing back that did it.

As expected, Clevenz scanned my face and casually remarked,

“Are you feeling unwell?”

Yes.

I felt I might get an earful if I said that, so I just denied it.

“No, not at all. Uh, I have a question.”

“Hmm? What is it?”

“What was this call for…?”

“Oh, that? It’s nothing serious; just called you here to attend a meeting. Do you happen to be ready to present?”

“Are you talking about right now?”

“Yup. Like, right this moment.”

Ah, life.

As I blankly stared with a lost expression, Clevenz walked away with a friendly smile.

“Don’t stress too much about your presentation; it shouldn’t be all that difficult.”

“Yup.”

“Just in case, manage your expression well. There are a lot of people inside.”

I forced a smile at Clevenz’s words, flexing my facial muscles awkwardly.

His look shifted slightly as he added some final advice.

“Attending the meeting will also be beneficial for you.”

“…Huh?”

“You’ll understand once you’re in there.”

*

The first time I stepped into the Military Intelligence Agency Director’s auxiliary conference room, it was surprisingly mundane.

Large screens were mounted on the walls, and the wooden conference table lined with chairs was just like any other command center.

But with so few people compared to the seating, it seemed like it was still break-time.

However, the luxurious wooden table and chairs, along with the crystal water bottles placed around, reminded me that this was a world where the rotten class system truly existed. At least this was on the acceptable side.

In this dark fantasy world, there were plenty of people living lavishly while others starved to death. Not everyone was like that, but considering the religious organization that professed to value integrity lived in a government building decorated with ground pearls, it paints a picture of a thoroughly failed world.

Why the hell did I end up playing this ridiculous game?

I should have stopped myself after being fooled by that con artist of a sommelier. Why did I spend money on this crappy game?

While I regretted not having cut off my fingers long ago, Clevenz made his entrance into the conference room, drawing everyone’s attention.

“I’m here.”

At his arrival, the commanders already seated in the conference room all turned to look at him.

“Has Hendrick arrived? Who’s next to you?”

“This is the friend I mentioned last time.”

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Colonel Frederick Nostrim.”

“Oh, I’m glad to meet you too.”

A bald colonel warmly saluted me back with a welcoming smile. Since I was standing there confused, Clevenz quietly whispered in my ear.

“That’s the Security Chief.”

“Oh.”

The Security Chief is the practical department that monitors against military intel leaks.

It sounds like a cool job, but their main task is to watch the military. It might seem like monitoring, but from the perspective of those being monitored, it can feel like surveillance. They actually compile reports on key executives and their movements, which affects promotions, so that department is always under scrutiny.

Of course, that had nothing to do with me. Our staff is monitored not by departments like Security, but by the supervising office of the staff.

As I was exchanging greetings with the bald colonel, another colonel approached, his forehead resembling a highway across Pyongyang.

“Is this the one? The one who submitted the report last week?”

He pointed at me, though the question wasn’t directed at me. As I stood there in confusion, Clevenz replied.

“That’s right. This is the Intelligence Chief.”

The Intelligence Chief.

If the Security Department is for domestic use, the Intelligence Department is tasked with international affairs. Simply put, they collect military security-related intel by going around parliament, the media, businesses, government agencies, and courts.

“I read your report. It was easy to understand.”

“Thank you…?”

The Intelligence Chief praised me, patting my shoulder. I had submitted so many reports that I had no idea what he was referring to, but at least it was nice to hear good feedback.

Anyway, in terms of internal ranking within the Military Intelligence Agency, the Intelligence Chief would rank about third. For reference, second is the staff officer who commands all advisory departments, fourth is the Security Chief, and fifth is the Counterintelligence Department.

Usually, these seniors would be in a tense standoff with Clevenz, but looking at their expressions, they didn’t seem to be bothered by each other.

That was entirely expected. After all, the one promoted to general is none other than Clevenz.

There exists an insurmountable wall between bamboo and star, and failing to be promoted to a general in an intelligence agency with no further ranks means it’s pretty much time to hang up the clothes. So, the conversation flowed smoothly and comfortably.

At least on the surface.

“How is Lena doing?”

“She seems a bit bored these days. She wants to go to the sea, but she needs some monsters to play with before going.”

“I guess the Merfolk are quiet. They always storm the docks around this time last year.”

“Heard from the police side that was the case, but the eastern fleet seems a bit different.”

“I haven’t received any reports from the security side at all. Why am I the only one in the dark?”

The two colonels began chatting about sea monsters and Merfolk. I asked about their wives, but somehow the topic has veered off course. Their thought processes felt just a touch different from others’.

By the way, I still had no idea why I was called here. I glanced at Clevenz, but he just looked back at me and remarked casually.

“Not everyone is here yet.”

“Is that so?”

While the Security Chief was tapping his forehead with a handkerchief, he suddenly spoke up.

“The Director went to the smoking room with the staff officer, so he will be here shortly.”

Just how long do they need to smoke to take this long? Looking at the top seats, I noticed two cactus replicas made of cigarette butts.

What a bunch of chain smokers.

I felt suspicious that they might end up dying of lung cancer before they could retire. But thinking about it, if they received a few good healing spells from a high-ranking priest, wouldn’t even cancer be curable, or so I supposed.

As I filled my head with such useless thoughts, the door of the conference room opened, and people started entering.

“Is the Director here?”

“Oh, everyone sit down.”

“Let’s start the meeting soon, so please take your seats.”

The first to enter was the Director, his face coated in lines of tiredness, followed by the staff officer.

“Sorry for the delay.”

“No problem. It’s fine.”

“Haha.”

“Who is this major over here?”

The commanders, whom I had seen a few times pass by, entered after a few junior officers trickled into the meeting room, and finally, a lieutenant colonel closed the door, signaling that everyone had arrived.

“Alright, let’s begin the meeting.”

*

The meeting was incredibly calm and quiet. With everyone being older and of higher rank, the atmosphere was generally soft.

Of course, this was also because we were having dinner rather than discussing intel reports or summation meetings.

“Alright, let’s eat first and chat comfortably.”

The Director said with a warm smile. The attendees gingerly began to take the pre-meal bread and soup, and shortly afterward, warm food arrived, further softening the atmosphere.

Perhaps due to their age, the menu was mostly easy to digest.

However, I had no intention of eating in this setting. I had already had lunch, and more than that, the environment was too burdensome.

How could I eat in front of my superiors like this? Especially in a setting where it was my first time meeting anyone. So I opted to read the reports cautiously laid before me instead of eating.

For the record, all of those reports were ones I had written. Reports on major personnel movements exchanged between the Cult National Affairs Council and the Inquisition, reports on the internal structure of the Imperial diplomatic missions, reports compiled from meetings with the Imperial Guard members, reports tracking the masterminds behind terrorist activities, as well as the operation plan and post-evaluation report prepared before Cardinal Raul’s assassination, among others.

In that moment, I felt my mind going completely blank. Had I really written this many reports over the past two months? How was I supposed to read through all this?

Most of it was information already in my head (as I was the one who wrote the documents to begin with), but still, the quantity was overwhelming. To present, I needed to sort out at least the information already in my mind.

As I sat there squished at the back of the table, deep in thought, I suddenly heard the Director’s voice from the top table.

“Major Frederick.”

“Yes, Director.”

“It seems Chief Hendrick scared you, but you don’t need to fret too much. I didn’t call you here to scold you.”

The Director chuckled warmly, putting me at ease.

So it didn’t seem like he called me just to scold me. However, I couldn’t exactly relax because a botched presentation would undoubtedly lead to an interrogation by my superiors.

Yet, if I ignored the Director’s advice and continued reading my report, I’d surely be treated as an idiot, so there was no choice but to awkwardly smile and set aside the report I had barely even begun.

While I was trying to organize my thoughts for the presentation relying on memory, the commanders began to speak one by one.

“How are things in the Northern Empire lately?”

“No words to express. The artillery deployed to the front line is firing indiscriminately, ignoring ammunition supply regulations.”

“Are we being pushed back by the Demon races?”

“It’s not that we’re being pushed mostly due to the mountainous terrain. However, it seems we are struggling because of the special operations units that infiltrate our rear. The situation at the command is better off, but it seems the subordinate commands are taking hits.”

The first topic was, as expected, the current situation of the Empire-Demon Conflict.

Although the Empire is a traditional military power with rugged mountain ranges as its border, it should be hard to push back easily, yet it appears special operations units are creating significant disruptions behind the scenes. Although martial law has been lifted nationwide, the northern regions are still under a state of emergency, so it seems the Counterintelligence Department will soon conduct a large-scale anti-espionage operation.

The next topic was the refugee issue.

“How is the south doing? I’ve heard refugees are flocking to the borders.”

“Though the Border Guard failed to maintain security, they disciplined the commander and replaced him with the rear forces, which resolved the situation for now.”

“What about epidemics?”

“They are currently under the Health Department’s control, with medical units and chemical teams deployed to isolate all infected locals.”

“How about foreigners?”

“Formally admitted foreigners are being treated in a separate quarantine. Those who entered illegally have been forcibly expelled by the Justice Ministry.”

According to Clevenz, among those refugees, there were rebels mixed in, but a significant portion were civilians fleeing the civil war.

Since they have all been forcibly expelled, they would probably end up being eaten by monsters in no man’s land, drowned trying to cross the strait, or shot dead by coastal patrols. Even if they managed to survive, they would likely be slaughtered by the government forces.

At that moment, Clevenz spoke up as he listened in.

“The refugee situation is not really our concern; it’s more of the Justice Department’s issue. We have plenty of other matters to worry about, don’t we?”

“Then what problem do you suggest we discuss?”

“There’s the matter with the research institute.”

“Oh, the shaman spy, huh?”

A familiar subject had risen as an agenda.

I paused my thoughts and slightly turned my head towards Clevenz. Just a little, so no one could tell.

Clevenz set down his fork and knife and began to speak quietly.

“As you all know, it is prohibited by international law for wizards to engage in intelligence activities. This applies not only to wizards but also to shamans, alchemists, and spirit users.”

“Are you referring to the Nastasia Treaty?”

“Yes.”

Hearing a familiar name brought my attention to it.

To summarize, the Nastasia Treaty is an international agreement that prohibits people with magical or similar abilities from engaging in espionage activities. It is somewhat akin to the Geneva Convention where the global community agreed to avoid misbehaving against the injured and civilians.

Of course, as is often the case in international politics, the treaty’s intent appeared very noble on the surface. It aimed to ensure wizards’ status and safety in international society and prevent them from being unfairly exploited for immoral tasks.

The cult, which was notorious for its obsession with slaying wizards, even incited wars over it, crafted the initial proposal for the treaty and even sent the Pope to give a speech in the city where the Magic Tower was located, garnering widespread support across the continent for an immediate signing of the treaty. Even the Magic Tower itself couldn’t hold back.

However, the issue was that international politics manipulated a few phrases inserted into the treaty.

“But is espionage a crime?”

“It’s a necessary act for the country. If caught, one gets punished.”

The clause essentially stated that “magic should not be used for criminal or inhumane practices,” but the intent of that clause was to strictly restrict wizards from operating as spies.

It’s been said that the cult was behind the initial proposal for that clause. After all, it hadn’t even been twenty years since a pope’s neck was taken due to a wizard, with inquisitors thrown into the fray. They must have found wizards quite troublesome.

Anyway, the cult went around, trying to pass that proposal before the treaty was signed by currying favor with various countries’ intelligence agencies and foreign affairs ministries. And when the wizards rebelled, the intelligence agencies, which had previously supported the cult’s malice during its uprising, surprisingly accepted the cult’s proposal unconditionally.

They had instigated a war, yet the cult didn’t fall, and suddenly a popular uprising led to the establishment of a sovereign nation. So the intelligence agencies were compelled to unite with the cult to stomp down on the spark of revolution threatening to engulf the nation.

Although the Magic Tower worked diligently to remove the clauses, the situation had already reached a point of no return. There was nothing an outcast mired in international politics could do. Even the empire that had been supporting them had distanced itself.

Finally, the Magic Tower, in exchange for formal national recognition, agreed to sign the treaty and disband the intelligence agency. Although official national recognition was later revoked due to fervent opposition from the Empire.

The signing of the Nastasia Treaty marked a total loss for the Magic Tower concerning diplomatic and intelligence affairs and caused such a massive upheaval that it quelled the winds of revolution across the continent. This incident is still remembered as the “most successful political operation” in the history of intelligence agencies.

Never would I have thought I would hear stories I had only learned in intelligence school in this very setting.

As I indulged in my nostalgic memories, the Director suddenly directed a question at Clevenz.

“Chief Hendrick.”

“Yes, Director.”

“I’m certain I concluded this matter would proceed in consultation with the relevant agencies at this morning’s meeting. Why, then, are we bringing it up here again?”

An unexpected question caused the atmosphere in the conference room to freeze.

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

In an instant, the meeting room became eerily silent. You could hardly hear a breath.

“…”

For a moment, I thought he was just an old tiger waiting for retirement, but it appears generals are indeed generals. Without even raising his voice, the general officers present all held their breath.

So, I held mine.

I didn’t want to stick out for no reason.

As I silently counted the patterned numbers on the wall, suddenly, Clevenz broke the tension, smiling softly as he pointed at me.

“I was going to mention that this kid helped identify the spy.”

What the hell! Why are you dragging me into this?

Feeling panicked, I quickly turned my head to see all the commanders in the room scrutinizing me.

“…What?”

“Didn’t you identify the suspects? That’s what the report says.”

Huh?

“Did that kid do it?”

“Yes, indeed, Director.”

“You’ve indicated that you only accrued practical experience overseas in your personnel assessment….”

The Director trailed off for a moment before a commander seated toward the middle interjected.

“He handled the operations for the Great Empire, Director.”

“Oh? So it’s related to the Great Empire. What was your post? Was it in the Magic Tower?”

“No, Director. It was in the Empire.”

“Direct infiltration, huh? Even seasoned agents find that complicated.”

I sensed the atmosphere shift, realizing that something was going awry.

If I didn’t navigate this correctly, I felt like I might end up cornered.

Thus, I tried to downplay my credentials, preparing to speak, but—

I was already a step behind.

“How about we have this friend take charge? With the task of uncovering the backdrop of this recent spy incident.”

 

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