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The job of a spy disguised as a diplomat is varied.

Attendance at diplomatic events.

Collecting foreign intelligence.

Gathering military information.

Protecting local expatriates.

Analyzing collected espionage.

Safeguarding exiles and providing assistance.

Negotiating with foreign information agencies.

Supporting a domestic company’s overseas branch.

Providing security during visits from senior officials.

Supporting activities for agents in unofficial disguises, etc.

While the specific tasks differ based on affiliation and role, there’s no disagreement that there’s an overwhelming amount of work to be done.

Among all these responsibilities, the next most crucial task after intelligence gathering is ‘protecting local expatriates.’

It’s not particularly hard work.

You simply check in to see if they are doing well, discuss improvements in treatment with the foreign government if they face discrimination or unjust treatment, occasionally gather information, assist overseas voters when it’s time to cast their ballots, and inform expatriates when there are changes in policy from the Ministry of Justice or the Ministry of Foreign Affairs—something like that.

I recall that employees dispatched from the National Intelligence Service to diplomatic missions usually handle such tasks. Especially since North Korean defectors are nationals of South Korea and refugees, the NIS agents stationed in Southeast Asia would visit defectors to confirm their desire to defect and offer ways for them to enter South Korea.

In any case, there are an overwhelming number of tasks associated with official disguises. So many that they are virtually uncountable.

And that was the problem.

“‘You will take care of Saint Lucia’s safety.’”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re supposed to make sure this person is safe, damn it. Why are you pretending not to understand?”

At Colonel Clevenz’s curt order, I could only blink while holding the receiver. What the hell was this nonsense while I was busy preparing supplies for medical service?

I paused mid-packing and questioned Clevenz.

“Is protecting foreigners even a legal duty? I don’t recall that being within the Defense Attaché’s job description.”

“‘Not an official duty. However, a request came from the Inquisition. They asked us to protect the saint since there’s no diplomatic mission. As you know, the Cult and the Magic Tower are still on non-communicative terms, right?’”

“Who the hell…?”

“‘Oh, there’s a cardinal in the group, isn’t there? Bernard or something.’”

Clevenz succinctly summarized the conversation between the Prime Minister of the Abas government and Bernard, the head of the Inquisition.

The Cult and the Magic Tower are still non-communicative, and since there’s no diplomat (disguised as an information officer) present to protect expatriates at the Magic Tower, the Military Intelligence Agency is being asked to look after Saint Lucia in their stead. If they do that, they could help secure a favorable outcome for the upcoming trade agreement with Abas.

“‘Good thing too, they’re busy trying to revamp the economic cooperation anyway. It’ll wash off some debt with the Cult. And the saint is a companion of heroes, and you, as a Defense Attaché, are also a comrade, right? Plus, you’re going along for medical service this time, aren’t you? This should work out fine.’”

There’s no shortage of justification in that statement. Clevenz presented me with a choice.

“‘So, will you do it or not?’”

I whispered desperately, hoping against hope.

“Do I have an option…?”

“‘Of course not. If you want to retire and lie in a national grave, stop blabbering nonsense and get to work.’”

Episode 5 – Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy

After finishing my call with Clevenz, I arrived at a certain area of the Magic Tower. As soon as I stepped out of the vehicle, a refreshing breeze greeted me.

“Wow… the wind is really blowing here. Is this all magic?”

“Yes, indeed!”

The Magic Tower staff member, proud as a peacock, smiled broadly.

Autumn leaves settled on the well-kept road. Each step I took crunched the red and yellow leaves beneath my feet.

“An airborne tower, wind blowing inside, and now even the leaves are falling….”

“All thanks to the wisdom and efforts of our great ancestors. Especially the three sages who put in tremendous effort!”

“Ah, I see….”

I felt slightly taken aback by the sudden overly cheery public broadcast. It’s common for government officials to praise the country in front of foreigners, but this situation felt a bit ironic.

After all, the Cult members were standing behind the guide. We were close enough for soft whispers to be heard clearly, yet this civil servant was speaking at full volume, as if he wanted us to hear every word.

However, there was no confrontation between the Cult members and the Magic Tower staff. The nun, monk, and priest accompanying the saint were people with a certain level of emotional control.

“……”

“……”

Of course, the expressions of the companions were no less than sour.

These were agents from the Inquisition, who had a history of fierce clashes with the Magic Tower, rather than your average religious individuals. Even if I couldn’t read minds, I could tell that they didn’t harbor warm feelings towards the Magic Tower.

Unaware of this, the Magic Tower staff continued to extol the praises of the great wizards who fought during the Liberation War every time we passed a tree or alley.

“The street you’re walking on was established by the druids. It embodies the philosophy of druids who love art and nature, and you might even come across musicians or druids performing….”

I found it painfully tiresome to listen to, even as someone who had no vested interest in the Magic Tower. It was simply too verbose. I’d only encountered this level of public broadcasting when meeting North Koreans.

In this awkward scenario, the most composed person was Lucia, who was holding a medical bag and looking around.

“Are we doing the medical service on this street today?”

“No, we’ll be heading to a location just ahead, a little further along this road.”

The Magic Tower staff pointed at a suspiciously dark alley and smiled. Right then, a goblin, either burning some kind of herbal concoction or something far worse, glanced at us and spat on the ground before slinking back into the corridor.

“……”

“……”

“……”

The spies could do nothing but gape like fish out of water, shocked by the awful image that blurred the line between a ghetto and a poor neighborhood.

Regardless, Lucia, without a shred of trepidation, concluded packing her bag and said, “Let’s go. We don’t have time, so hurry up.”

“Well, um, over there…”

“Is there a problem?”

“No… let’s go…”

Fortunately, the situation I feared did not occur. The medical service conducted in the impoverished area of the Magic Tower was exceptionally safe and successful.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!”

The person who had just been treated bowed deeply to Lucia, throwing off the splint he had been wearing on his foot and jumping around like it was a miracle.

“Next person, please.”

“Um, um….”

A child with bandaged eyes timidly approached. Lucia frowned slightly at the sight and slowly unwrapped the child’s bandage with her gloved hand.

“Oh… my…”

As the filthy bandages fell to the floor, gasps echoed from those nearby. One side of the child’s face was completely distorted like it had been burned. I couldn’t tell if it was a burn or something else, but it looked like the wound had become infected.

Lucia carefully examined the child’s face and asked, “What happened?”

“It was… because of fire…”

Meanwhile, some police nearby were whispering among themselves.

“Didn’t they say there was a big fire around here…?”

“Yeah, I heard it was caused by an alchemist exploding a drug. It spread quickly in the shantytown and quite a few people died.”

“Drugs? Why would an alchemist make such things?”

“Probably because they were low on cash. I heard it was a novice, you know how it is. If someone doesn’t have connections and then runs out of money, they probably wouldn’t teach them alchemy.”

They thought they were keeping their voices down, but their conversation was audible to me. If you’re going to talk quietly, at least do it where it can’t be heard. Why speak like that so openly with a child right in front of you?

Hence, it’s a damn world where it’s hard to attach any feelings, even after 28 years of living here.

Lucia, unfazed by those remarks, gently extended her hand toward the child’s face with a benevolent smile. Suddenly, a bright divine light flowed from her fingertips, gradually enveloping the child’s wound.

And shortly after.

“There, all done! Can you see now?”

The burn that had disfigured the child’s face vanished completely in the blink of an eye. In a heartbeat, it all happened. Everyone around—police, public servants, and even the child who received the treatment—stood in awe, speechless at the miracle performed by Lucia.

I watched Lucia, who was busy organizing the bandages from behind her, murmuring, “It’s amazing every time…”

“Uh, uh, Defense Attaché. I know it’s amazing, but could you help with this…”

“Ah, yes. Sorry.”

One solemn-faced monk, an agent of the Inquisition, looked at me pitifully while carrying a heavy box.

Caught off guard and not focused on work, I awkwardly scratched my head and took the box.

“Whoa…!”

“Be careful. It’s heavy.”

Heeding the warnings from the Inquisition agent, I stacked the received boxes nearby neatly. Meanwhile, other agents from the Inquisition were distributing medicine and holy water to the slum residents with charts in their hands.

I had thought that being part of a medical service would make things easier, but now it felt like nothing less than hard labor. The weight of the boxes packed with holy water was no joke. If I had known, I would have defied the orders from the Defense Attaché Office and Clevenz and just guarded Camila at the hotel instead.

I kept hauling in the relentless flow of boxes, feeling like a seasonal worker dragged into hell on Chuseok. At least the cool breeze outside was a small blessing. However, repeating this act had me questioning whether I was a diplomat or a delivery guy.

“When in the world did we bring all of this? Us?”

“We brought it using magical tools. It reduces weight and increases capacity.”

“What the hell, aren’t you supposed to be a religious person?”

It was hard to believe that agents of the Inquisition were using items made in the Magic Tower. Could they even call themselves real believers? I started wondering if they weren’t the real heretics after all…

“Why did you bring such a fine item and increase the work load?” I half-joked, mixing annoyance and curiosity.

“Do you think we don’t use magical tools that cool the air during summer?”

“Oh, that’s hard to argue against…!”

I cannot resist the air conditioning.

As I half-lost my sanity and exchanged nonsense with the Inquisition agents while moving boxes, Lucia, who had just reattached her recently severed finger, turned around and smiled.

“Are you feeling overwhelmed? It’s okay to take a short break.”

At the saint’s words, the Inquisition agent gritted his teeth and replied.

“No…! I’m still fine…!”

I’m not fine, you crazy bastard.

Of course, if I said that here, it would be plastered across the international news pages the next day, so I had no choice but to keep my mouth shut.

Indeed, the biggest problem with doing medical volunteer work alongside Lucia wasn’t the ridiculously large piles of equipment or the endless stream of patients.

It was the foreign journalists.

*

“All done. Thank you for your hard work.”

What felt like an endless medical service ended with treating a half-crippled Beastman whose tail had almost been severed.

Only then was I able to look up at the sky.

“Urrrgh….”

As I straightened my back, an involuntary sigh escaped my lips. I couldn’t tell if it was a sound that came from me or if it was the old orc who had been dying just moments ago.

I didn’t even have time to contact Priest Rebecca and probe the Inquisition’s intentions. The boxes kept piling up with every conversation, and it was simply maddening. There was no other way to describe it; it was outright insane.

While I groaned looking up at the sky, the exhausted Inquisition agents hugged each other and patted each other on the back, thanking one another for their efforts.

I sat on an empty box, watching the wizards banging each other on the heads with scriptures.

“What a scene.”

“What scene are you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing. Just talking to myself….”

As Lucia sorted through the equipment used in the medical service, she spoke. Her face looked slightly fatigued, but her mouth and eyes shone brightly with a smile.

It was a truly beautiful smile, one that befits the title of a saint.

– Click.

And the journalist, keeping a hawk’s eye on the scene, didn’t miss that moment. He flashed a toothy grin while holding a massive photo tool that could rival a global camera.

The sight was so bizarre, I couldn’t help but flinch.

As I stared blankly at the back of the journalist rushing toward his colleague, Lucia suddenly posed a question to me.

“Is this your first time seeing a reporter?”

“Uh… I’ve seen reporters a lot, but I’m not used to being photographed by one.”

I was currently disguised as a Defense Attaché, but originally I was an unofficial disguise. So being photographed, whether now or in the past, was something unimaginable.

It makes sense. What benefit would a spy gain from having their face photographed? That’s why I didn’t even take that common family photo during my once-in-a-lifetime commissioning ceremony. My mother had bought a digital camera, but she begged me to at least take one picture. Maybe it was because of my father. Taking family photos felt really awkward to me.

Suddenly, memories of my parents hit me, and my nose tinged.

As I rubbed my dusty hands on my face, Lucia handed me a bottle of water.

“Please wash your hands before touching your face. Seriously.”

“Oh, right.”

Maybe it was because she was a healing priest rolled in from the battlefield, but Lucia seemed particularly keen on hygiene. Earlier, I saw her spraying disinfectant on wounds, after all. Considering healing priests just fresh out of the army often don’t care much about hygiene, she seemed to have a somewhat liberal personality.

In other words, she was strict. It also implied that there was no compromise.

No sooner had I thought that, Lucia said while packing her bag.

“Shall we go somewhere else?”

At that, most of the attendants shook their heads.

Questioning the saint’s words? I wondered if they were heretics.

“Oh, let’s call it a day.”

“Yes, yes, that’s right. It’s getting late, so we should head back and rest, shouldn’t we?”

“That friend speaks the truth. Indeed.”

Just say it’s too much, you idiots.

But I couldn’t possibly say such harsh words to the Inquisition agents. If they went somewhere else for medical service, I’d have to join them.

So I stuck close to Lucia, wrapping all sorts of nonsense around a sensible facade.

“Do you see the time? We’ve been here for six hours already. Considering security issues, continuing any agenda here is unfeasible. I also need to attend to my duties as an attaché now.”

“Mmm… You’re right. Then let’s head back.”

“Hallelujah.”

“Pardon?”

Though I wasn’t a Christian, at that moment I had no choice but to praise God. I think Buddhism and Islam also had some sort of similar chant, but it was too long ago for me to remember.

Having wrapped up the medical service and tidied up with the help of the police and civil servants, the sky was now painted crimson.

Lucia gazed at the distant setting sun and said.

“How fascinating. The Magic Tower.”

“Yes. At night, the stars come out, the moon rises, and shooting stars fall. You should hurry to your hotel and enjoy it—maybe soak in the rooftop pool to warm up.”

“I wish Camila could have seen this; it’s a shame.”

Perhaps she was intoxicated by the atmosphere or feeling the fatigue hit her; suddenly Lucia rambled on.

I turned serious and immediately replied.

“Oh, that’s a no-go.”

I had absolutely no desire to bring Camila to such a location. This wasn’t just my personal opinion; it had been a matter extensively discussed and agreed upon at the higher-ups.

Let’s show only the good sides, and even if she finds out someday, let’s delay it as long as possible.

As Camila emerged into the world, the governments of various countries agreed to present her with the best possible image.

After all, showing the ugly and dirty underside of this dark fantasy world to someone already confused from falling into another realm was something incredibly inappropriate. This had been proven by the countless heroes who had passed through this world before.

Hence, the cult treated Camila with utmost care, offering her a full-course tour, and the Magic Tower pampered her in a hotel suite like she was a precious artifact. According to Clevenz, governments had instructed news outlets not to cover various social issues, including incidents, too extensively. Abas was in on it too; even the recent protests at livestock farms were reported downplayed.

In my view, such information control felt utterly futile.

But as is often the case with politics, the judgments of the powerful aren’t always rational and reasonable.

Not everything in the world flows according to one’s wishes.

After all, having lived in England, seeing monsters eat people, bombs explode on the streets, and assassination attempts at banquets, what kind of thoughts would one come up with? Camila had already glimpsed the ugly and filthy underbelly of this neighborhood.

Of course, I could have included recommendations to stop the nonsense in my report.

But I didn’t do that. I was a soldier who followed orders. And I didn’t think politicians or bureaucrats would listen to what I had to say.

So here I was, sighing heavily these days.

“Phew….”

It felt like the more time passed, the more I sighed. If I were unhappy, I could just resign, or maybe I should start guzzling soju like my grandfather.

Living as a spy in this damn dark fantasy world was incredibly tough.

Thinking that way, as I sorted through the empty boxes and loaded the remaining items into the vehicle, a man suddenly approached, waving his arms.

“Wait! Just a moment!”

As the unexpected situation unfolded, the Inquisition agents became alert, and the Magic Tower police extended their arms to stop him. I instinctively fiddled with the pistol I had taken with me. He could be a terrorist.

But the man was no terrorist.

“I-I’m a reporter!”

“Step back!”

“Please, just a moment!”

The man, restrained by the police, waved his identification and pointed at someone.

“Colonel! I need to talk with the Colonel!”

That would be me.

“Hmm…?”

Being pointed out by the journalist, I replied back with a finger pointing at myself. The journalist nodded furiously.

The Inquisition agents, seeing that scene, swiftly placed Lucia in the back seat of the vehicle and physically blocked the door, telling me to take my time.

“Why is a journalist looking for me…?”

I approached the reporter, tilting my head. After I requested politely, the police let him go.

As the authority stepped back, the journalist, who had dashed a great distance and tussled with the police, was gasping for air. He adjusted his crooked glasses and flashed a wide grin.

“Colonel Frederick Nostrim, right?”

“Yes, that’s me, Frederick Nostrim.”

The journalist pulled out a sweat-drenched business card from his grasp and handed it to me.

“Our head honcho wants to meet with you.”

“Head honcho…?”

I took the business card he presented.

And I burst into a hollow laugh.

“…Huh.”

As everyone looked at me with puzzled expressions, I held the card up to the sunlight to see the name inscribed.

“Wow… this person’s here?”

The name of my information agent was written on that card.

 

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