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A restless night.

The civil servant let out a long yawn as he stared at the dim waiting room.

Was it because it was a Friday night shift or the gloomy lighting? It was a sleepless night, yet drowsiness flooded over him.

In the dark waiting room.

The civil servant fought against the wave of sleep and held his position.

“…….”

How much time had passed? Just as his head slowly drooped down and he began to draw three worms on the paper, he was awakened by the sound of tapping on the glass.

“…Um, what can I help you with?”

“I came to retrieve an item.”

“Oh, okay. Please give me the number and password.”

He had thought the person had come to catch the early morning train, but it turned out they were here to retrieve something. The civil servant took down the numbers the man recited on a piece of paper and dragged his tired body towards the locker.

After turning the dial and opening the door, he handed over the heavy bag that was inside the locker to the man.

Returning to his seat, he suddenly thought.

“…Right. The recipient list.”

He realized he hadn’t written the recipient’s name on the list.

Recalling the regulation a bit too late, the civil servant took the paper with three drawn worms and a pen and stepped outside.

However, the man had already disappeared somewhere.

In the dim waiting room with the drizzle falling, the sound of the civil servant’s footsteps searching for the vanished recipient echoed in vain.

Episode 5 – Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy

As time passed, I began to adapt to two lives. More accurately, my biological rhythm was finding its balance.

To be honest, the lives of the Defense Attaché and the Operative could hardly be described as comfortable, even in casual remarks.

And the result was this.

My body grew heavy.

“Ugh.”

Maybe it was because I was cutting back on sleep? I always felt sluggish, and my head felt heavy.

“Frederick, are you okay?”

“Ah, yes. I’m always okay….”

As I stood up from my chair, a slight dizziness hit me, and turning my waist made my joints scream with every crack.

Honestly, even I could see my body was in bad shape. From Pippin, who spent the most time with me, to Jake, the Military Intelligence Agency staff, and even Camila and Lucia, they all worried about my health.

Clevenz even suggested taking a day off, but honestly, I didn’t think resting for a day would change anything about my condition.

“Would you like to receive a heal?”

“Sure. Do it once.”

“What do you mean by once? This isn’t a magical healing.”

It wasn’t that my body was sick; it was just that fatigue was piling up, so receiving a heal wouldn’t help much. Still, the priest’s healing seemed to wash away something darkly charred in my heart.

Well, at least I wouldn’t collapse from overwork. I had no real health issues, so that was a silver lining.

To think I could receive this saint’s healing, which normally took a year to obtain even after a huge donation, just for a simple request. Fortune that didn’t belong in my fate finally seemed to come my way.

Lucia scolded me as she gathered the light emitted from her healing.

“At the very least, you should sleep longer. Your skin looks all gray.”

“I’ve got too much work. But I received a heal, so I should be fine, right?”

“Sigh… As I’ve said many times, fatigue and stress cannot be healed with holy relics. There’s no remedy other than resting.”

Her words were more like a sigh mixed with advice than a scold. This was probably advice drawn from her experiences as a priest on the battlefield. One could tell just by the tone of her voice.

I accepted Lucia’s scolding humbly while snatching a dragon-shaped chocolate that Camila was holding.

“Ah! How can you just take what I’m holding! There are new ones here!”

“Nothing tastes better than stealing someone else’s snacks.”

“Ugh….”

This was a conversation far too childish for our ages. Camila’s cry over stolen snacks and my stealing them were equally immature.

Lucia sighed and placed her hand on her forehead.

“Please, have some dignity.”

“Who cares? There’s no one watching.”

I flopped down on the plush hotel suite sofa and started snacking.

If anyone saw this, they would surely think, ‘Is this really a Defense Attaché?’ But today, who would say anything about me taking it easy?

“I saw someone, either a journalist or a paparazzi, flying around the hotel this morning. What if they take a picture…?”

“The police dispelled that earlier, so they were dragged away. They used magic to catch them as they fell.”

“Is that allowed? Seems too dangerous, right?”

“Well, as long as they don’t die, they can be saved. As long as they can pay for the potion, that is.”

The three of us sat on the sofa, chatting casually.

Lucia, who brought relief supplies for medical services, Camila, who was going back and forth to the library for magic practice, and I, who was lounging in the hotel room while handling the duties of the Defense Attaché and Operative.

“…Is it still not over?”

“Considering there’s been no contact from the police, it seems so.”

“Sigh.”

This was all because a protest was currently underway near the hotel.

*

I had already heard intelligence about protests occurring at the Magic Tower.

From my long-time acquaintance Sophia, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs document from Abas, and the local police—three sources in total.

The protesters were an extremist group of magicians. Their purpose was a mix of protesting the entrance of Saint Lucia and voicing grievances against the government.

This was just your run-of-the-mill protest by any earthly standard. The only difference was that the protesters were using magic.

Honestly, I wasn’t overly worried. No matter how much they flew and crawled, they were still protesters, and once the police intervened, it was clear they would be suppressed quickly. Moreover, the opponent was the Magic Tower Police.

Most magicians in the military and police forces were combat mages. While magic varies in use and function based on specialization, trained military mages were effective no matter where they were placed. And the Magic Tower Police had the second-highest number of combat mages after the military.

Additionally, the Magic Tower had already received intelligence about the impending protest from the Information Police.

Even though it was an unregistered illegal protest, the police, informed in advance, would be waiting nearby to use tear gas (magicians are still people, after all) and dispel the magic, ultimately rendering the extremists helpless.

The problem was that the protest was far more intense than the Magic Tower Police had anticipated.

And I was about to experience firsthand the fiery taste of protest in this world.

“Hey! Hey! Get that broom down! Hurry!”

“Dammit, deploy the cavalry! Just push right through!”

“Molotov cocktails! Molotov cocktails!”

The green magic shot forth from the police, while magic launched by the protestors illuminated the smoky air and exploded on the street.

The road was littered with broken glass and fragments of pavement, and occasionally the oil from the Molotov cocktails swelled up, devouring everything around it.

“…Wait a second, isn’t that a spirit? Why’s there a spirit in a Molotov cocktail?”

Upon closer inspection, it was indeed a spirit and not just oil. The flames spreading around opened wide towards the pavement fragments, devouring the bricks and growing larger, moving toward other debris.

“Why on earth is there a spirit in a Molotov cocktail…?”

“There’s a spirit summoner among the participants…! Dammit!”

I had come to the protest site to see for myself since I hadn’t received any updates. I was aghast at the sight of the magicians protesting.

In my lifetime, I had never seen anyone stuff a spirit into a Molotov cocktail and throw it. I’d heard of spirits being used in bidets, but never in a Molotov cocktail.

This protest at the Magic Tower was far beyond my expectations—an absolute spectacle. In my 28 years of life, I had never encountered anything quite like this and couldn’t quite put it into words.

With the hazy tear gas filling the road like a fog, dangerous fragments and flames lay scattered on the ground, while both police and protesters flew above, swinging clubs and casting magic at each other.

This wasn’t just a metaphor; both the police and the protesters really were flying. It was possible because both sides had magicians. The numbers seemed balanced, leading to a fierce battle raging in the heart of the city.

The scene of a historically preserved beautiful building standing alongside modern structures while a fierce protest unfolded was strikingly unbalanced.

However, without a moment to admire it, the cavalry surged forth like a tide, breaking the formation of the protesters. It was so natural that I almost mistook it for being in Britain.

Like a frantic chariot rushing in, they disrupted the formation, but the protesters seemed to have experienced this before and quickly reformed, ready to retaliate with magic.

The police were no pushovers either. A combat mage in riot gear used dispel magic to nullify the protesters’ spells, shooting jets of water directly at them. Naturally, the protesters did the exact same thing with their own magic.

When an activist was hit by a water cannon, a Molotov cocktail broke, and with soggy hands, they grabbed the spirit that had spilled out and hurled it into the air, where a protester on a broom caught it and flew toward the police. Then, as the flying police mage dove down, embracing the protester, they smashed them into a building, while other police magicians started showering spells, causing the ground to quake as if an earthquake struck.

This could easily be mistaken for a riot. I had never witnessed a protest that resembled a civil war so closely.

As I found myself dazed, watching this protest unfold, a police officer approached and grabbed me.

“Let’s retreat for now! This area is too dangerous, Colonel.”

“Wait, weren’t things fine until now?”

“It’s expected to get more intense now that we’re about to proceed with the suppression!”

“What do you mean ‘now we’re going to suppress’?”

It was absurd, but it was true.

Police who had bypassed the scene flew in from the alleys (they really did fly) into the street coated in a crimson fog, cornering the protesters as magic flew in every direction, making the protest even more intense.

With the vibrant orange, green, red, and purple smoke swirling over the fiery road, it truly felt like hell.

“…I’ve seen some really bizarre sights.”

Ultimately, having vaguely grasped the situation at the scene, I strolled beneath the protective barrier set up by the police mages, quietly making my way toward the police command post.

I should have been careful. However, the police representative mentioned that they would send a messenger to the hotel, so it wasn’t entirely without gain.

And around the time the evening sun set, the messenger the police spoke of arrived at the hotel.

“Nice to meet you, Colonel. Support has come from the Central Office.”

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

The messenger sent by the police was a person with impressive bronze skin. From his appearance, he seemed to be an immigrant from the southern continent.

He spoke Abas with quite a decent accent, allowing us to communicate smoothly without the need for an interpreter.

“May I ask your affiliation…?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s difficult to disclose that due to my duty.”

The messenger was from the Information Police.

The Information Police is the internal intelligence organization within the police. They are responsible for counterespionage and counter-terrorism tasks, collecting and disseminating public safety intelligence, and cooperating with foreign government agencies.

Generally, the Information Police hold powerful authority within the police force, and because they operate a nationwide intelligence network unique to the police, they sometimes surpass intelligence agencies when it comes to domestic information.

Anyway, the Information Police don’t capture criminals like other police do; they are primarily focused on preventing crime. And since collecting information about protests is typically handled by the Information Police, this person was surely well-versed in the current demonstrations.

I received his handshake and wore an official smile.

“I understand.”

“Thank you for your understanding.”

Like any intelligence agency, the Information Police are a department where security is paramount.

And it’s an unspoken etiquette in the intelligence sector not to pry too deeply into personal details, so I didn’t bother to inquire about his background.

The Information Police exchanged typical pleasantries and quickly got to the point.

“We are currently facing difficulties in suppressing the protests.”

“Are you saying it’s likely to drag on?”

“Regrettably, it seems so. For safety, it would be best if all foreign guests remain at the hotel for the time being.”

That meant the protests would last longer.

I swallowed my silence and posed a question to the Information Police.

“Are you saying it’s akin to a lockdown, meaning complete isolation from the outside?”

“Not to that extent. However, when you go outside, you must be escorted. It will require more enhanced protection than what is currently in place.”

“……”

Listening to the Information Police, it was clear that the situation was serious.

He continued explaining with quite a solemn expression.

“A radical group is leading the protests, which makes the situation quite precarious.”

“If we are under official protection, can we be assured of our safety?”

“Not necessarily. If this drags on, it seems that it will be difficult to manage solely with police personnel, which means we cannot guarantee absolute protection.”

It looked like the protests were indeed severe.

It wasn’t that the police covering the entire Magic Tower were truly insufficient. However, if they gathered all the dispersed police forces to quell the protests, it would create gaps in law enforcement in other areas.

The Magic Tower Police were likely trying their best to stabilize the protests as well. Still, with the size of the protestors, merely sending in a few more troops wouldn’t extinguish the flames. Probably.

This issue was best left to the experts, so I decided to report to the Military Intelligence Agency first.

I gestured for Pippin and Jake, who had been lingering nearby, to come over.

“Pippin, call the Defense Attaché Office now. We have signs that the protests will prolong, making it difficult to carry out our duties.”

“Yes.”

“And what’s the schedule for today?”

The Magic Tower wasn’t the only one whose feet were now on fire due to the protests. While our situation wasn’t as chaotic as what the Magic Tower was showcasing to its esteemed guests, we were still in hot water.

Immediately, I couldn’t carry out my duties as a Defense Attaché, Lucia had to postpone her diplomatic service, and Camila had to make do with limited magical practice using a small number of borrowed spellbooks.

However, it seemed the situation wasn’t too dire after all.

Pippin began her report.

“There aren’t any important engagements, so I think rescheduling them later would be fine. I can request scheduling changes when contacting the Attaché Office.”

“Thanks. Anything else?”

“The supplies needed for medical services are all stored at the hotel, and aside from not being able to go out, there don’t seem to be major inconveniences. Oh, and we’ve received word that all necessities for the group will be supplied, so they just have to request.”

It sounded like the Magic Tower was managing to handle most issues well. After losing face in front of our guests, they probably wanted to make things right in full swing.

I quietly turned my gaze and moved toward a secluded area.

The observant Jake began talking to the Information Police to divert attention, while Pippin followed me into the secluded spot.

Once we moved to a less overheard place, the reporting resumed.

“…What about the operation unit?”

“I received word from the liaison that everything is fine.”

No issues had arisen for the staff involved in the operation. That was a huge relief.

“What about headquarters’ directives?”

“There haven’t been any directives related to the current situation. A notice was issued not to approach the northern regions due to an ongoing counter-espionage operation…”

“That’s unrelated to the Magic Tower. Anything else?”

“The desk conducted a project evaluation, and since there were no significant issues, they said we could continue.”

It seemed that the operation analysts assessed that there were no problems with the operation.

The implication was that there was no possibility of detection from anti-espionage agencies, and since our cover was still valid, we could proceed to the next stage.

Normally, I wouldn’t have access to the analysts’ evaluations as an operative, but Pippin had connections in that area, allowing me to sneak a peek at their findings.

In any case, they said there were no issues.

“What is Unit 51 doing now?”

“They are staying at home.”

Fabio Verati seemed to have been staying at home ever since his youngest daughter was kidnapped.

From the calls being made here and there, it was clear he wasn’t staying home voluntarily; the representatives from the Magic Tower were likely forcing him to remain there. Probably for security reasons.

I clicked my tongue.

“Meeting at home is too risky… Is there no way to contact him separately?”

“Actually, a representative from the Magic Tower came today and requested a meeting with the manager and Unit 51. It was more about helping the family of the victim find stability through talks rather than an investigation.”

“Do you believe that?”

“No. Who would believe that?”

It was unclear whether it was truly for Fabio Verati’s peace of mind or if they intended to confine him in a dimly lit room for interrogation.

I’m not a fortune teller to figure that out.

The important thing is that the Magic Tower was searching for unofficial ways to reach out to me.

As I contemplated the Magic Tower’s intentions for a moment, Pippin continued.

“Anyway, they did indicate that it was okay for you to take your time with your response. But diplomats believe it would be best to contact them as soon as possible before relations with the Magic Tower sour.”

Generally speaking, regular diplomats cannot engage in the operational activities of intelligence agencies.

However, senior diplomats can do so. In fact, high-ranking diplomats such as ambassadors or consuls sometimes intervene in the activities of intelligence agencies as local overseers.

Of course, my case is slightly special. The Military Intelligence Agency has thoroughly covered my identity, so the Ministry of Foreign Affairs doesn’t know I’m associated with them.

I’m just a soldier attached to the Defense Attaché Office, merely asking the diplomats not to make things awkward for themselves.

In other words, this isn’t an official order. It doesn’t need to be ignored, but I don’t have to follow it blindly either.

Pippin chose her words carefully.

“Since the protests have erupted, how about using that as an excuse to postpone the schedule? To put it bluntly, the failure to suppress the protests is the Magic Tower’s issue, not ours. Plus, you’re not the only one who has people to look after.”

“Why do you have to say it like that, making me feel like the head of the family?”

“More like a caretaker, isn’t it?”

“Touché.”

Certainly, Pippin’s approach is the norm.

Passing the buck to another department by saying it’s not in our jurisdiction is routine for bureaucrats, and overlooking a fair amount of nonsense is common practice in diplomacy.

But my thoughts were a little different.

“Tell them to start rescheduling with the representative office.”

“Huh? Right now?”

“Why are you so surprised?”

“Are you going to meet them right away?”

It seemed Pippin misunderstood something. Just because I said I was making an appointment with Fabio Verati didn’t mean a meeting would happen immediately.

“I said to start rescheduling; I didn’t say we would meet tomorrow. And who knows how things will unfold?”

It’s fine to grab hold of an opportunity and stretch it out, so I didn’t feel the need to explicitly say to leave it to the diplomats. After all, my schedule was known to the diplomats, Pippin, and Jake.

There’s no need to rush. The more anxious you are, the longer the detour you may take. It’s not our etiquette to pull the trigger just because the bait is there. Taking a bit more time and proceeding at a calm pace is perfectly fine.

I rubbed my tired eyes and said to Pippin.

“Send a request to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for the documents I asked for earlier.”

“What documents… Ah, yes. I understand.”

“Right. Mention that we’ve been keeping an eye on the cult and other countries. Also, add that there are no specifics to report yet.”

“Yes.”

Right now, we are in a position well ahead of others, so there’s no need for impatience.

Building an intelligence network at the Inquisition will surely take some time, and we already have the means to lure Fabio Verati.

The Military Intelligence Agency is much further along than other intelligence agencies.

For now.

“…….”

After sending Pippin off, I quietly reflected while gazing at the somewhat chaotic city nightscape.

Alchemist, Francesca Ranieri.

It was time to meet her.

 

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