Episode 2 - Heroes of the Continent
From the second floor of the annex overlooking the party hall, in a dimly lit area cordoned off by shady men in suits, a spy met another spy.
The security officer and I sat facing each other across a small table.
"Before we get into the real talk, let me assure you that the Kien Empire's Imperial Household has no involvement in this bombing."
"Is that so?"
"His Majesty the Emperor has personally expressed his regrets."
The emperor expressed regrets. And the Imperial Household had nothing to do with this incident. Whether that was true or not, I had no idea. Politicians always deny everything the moment something blows up. So I took it to mean the emperor was paying close attention to this matter.
"I want to pass on our regrets regarding the terrorism. Are you alright?"
"Fortunately, there were no injuries."
"That's good news."
The suit took his glass to his lips and, for show, tilted it back dramatically. After smoothly downing the drink, he wiped the fingerprints off the glass with a napkin and spoke.
"There's an unwritten rule in diplomatic circles not to bring up important matters hastily, but given the circumstances, I'll get straight to the point."
"Please do."
"According to our sources, a second terrorist attack is planned."
Episode 2 - Heroes of the Continent
The first day we arrived at the Papal State, the bomb went off. A crude bomb using industrial explosives and a timer. Sixty-two civilian casualties.
The most likely targets: Camilla Lowell or Cardinal Raphael.
Black magic user. Religious reform group. Empire-orchestrated terror. Rumors flew wild—suppressed under the Inquisition's media control.
I suspected the Kien Empire at first. More precisely, the Imperial Guard. It was suspicious. They were a traditional enemy of the kingdom, and right after the attack, they started intel ops without any official statement.
Maybe not the Empire—could be someone inside the Church. Raphael, ex-Inquisition chief, had plenty of enemies. Someone nursing a grudge from his reckless heresy hunts might have commissioned the hit.
No solid intel. Just gut feelings guiding the investigation.
Then an Imperial Guard agent, who'd been silent, approached me—with word of an impending attack.
"...Thanks for the valuable intel. Mind if I ask something?"
"Go ahead."
The security officer readily agreed.
"You said you're from the Overseas Counterintelligence Division, dispatched to the embassy. What exactly do you do to get terror intel like this?"
I wasn't asking because I didn't know what counterintel did. Embassy counterintel agents handled preventing leaks, disrupting spy ops, approving contacts with foreign agents, that sort of thing. What I wanted to know was how a counterintel guy got terror intel.
"If you're asking about sources, I can't disclose that."
The suit slipped away like an eel, reading the room.
"As you know, I have a duty to protect my informants' identities. You know the regs."
"Ah, yes. Of course."
Sources are off-limits. Fine. The source wasn't the priority now.
"...Do you know where or how the attack will happen?"
"We don't know that either. But we suspect it won't be another bomb like last time—different means."
The bombers' identity was still unknown. Usually, terrorists issue statements claiming responsibility. Not these guys. No manifesto, no demands.
Meaning the bomb wasn't for ideology or leverage. Pure assassination.
The suit opened a new bottle and refilled his glass.
"Any guesses on the target?"
"...Likely Camilla Lowell or Cardinal Raphael."
"Exactly. So whoever benefits from the Hero or the cardinal dying is a suspect. Though it could be someone else."
Someone else. Me?
"By 'someone else,' do you mean me?"
"As the Hero's companion, you could be a target too."
"...No, let's skip that for now."
I paused. The silence hung; the suit tilted his head curiously.
"...Why tell me this?"
To get intel like this, the terrorists and Imperial Guard had to have some connection—local asset, mole, someone feeding them the tip and analysis.
"Wondering how we know terrorist intel—and why we're sharing?"
"Yes."
"Simple: we're not the terrorists."
The suit grinned.
"His Majesty eagerly awaits the Hero's visit. But since the attack, the schedule's been delayed."
In short: We're not the bad guys.
Thinking it over, no reason for Imperial Guard to bomb and delay things when the emperor wanted Camilla ASAP.
"So who do you think's behind it?"
"Not official Guard position—just my take. Probably a faction inside the Church..."
"That's enough."
I stood abruptly and headed downstairs. The whirlwind talk, starting with thunderbolt news, wrapped in just over thirty minutes.
I immediately canceled everything and returned to the embassy.
*
Rushed back with the news, but the embassy was already pandemonium.
"What's the situation!?"
"What do the Inquisition say? What? How the hell don't you know that? Connect them now!"
"I'll read it out—telegram to Foreign Affairs. Hurry!"
Chaos. No focus, no prep. The ambassador stood dazed like a lost soul; attachés paced anxiously.
Agents finally cleared a path; I reached the conference room, locked the door, drew the curtains, strode to the center, and activated the comms.
"Busy as it is, thanks for your efforts. Per my intel, a second attack targeting the Hero is imminent. Colonel? You hear me?"
-'Yeah, I hear you. Second terror warned?'
"Yes. Straight from the guy I just met."
I relayed everything concisely. Colonel stayed silent, focused; agents scribbled furiously.
-'Thanks for the briefing, Fredric. A few questions—can you reveal the source?'
"Imperial Guard Overseas Counterintelligence, embassy dispatch."
-'Counterintel at the embassy. Summarize the intel.'
"Second attack imminent. Means, method, date unknown. They didn't have details either."
Colonel and I traded questions; agents' hands blistered transcribing.
Then the ambassador butted in.
"So, uh, another bomb targeting the Hero? That's what I heard?"
"Don't know if bomb or bullet. But another attack's coming."
"Ah, y-yes. Thank you, Major Fredric. I have questions. Can you analyze the ringleaders, location?"
"...Here, now?"
"Yes."
What the hell, baldy? No cross-verification, and he wants analysis? Even CIA grandpa couldn't.
As I debated spitting on his squid-face, Colonel cut in.
-'Mr. Ambassador, turning intel into actionable takes time. It's not instant like stamping buns.'
"I know, but the Hero's official schedule restart is imminent—no time to wait. We coordinate with the Church at dawn tomorrow."
No time. The ambassador, finally snapping to, straightened and continued.
"Dozens of Church events pending. Every nation's ambassadors await the Hero's appearances. Delay again, and...?"
-'Foreign Affairs won't like it. What losses from delay?'
"Overseas ventures tank. Firms with branches abroad fold; kingdom-wide business suffers, economy shakes."
In a word: fucked.
Hard to believe one Hero's seclusion does this, but reality.
An agent entered with papers.
"Inquisition says no intel on second attack."
"As I said, from Imperial Guard. Inquisition wouldn't know."
Skimming the memo, ambassador blabbered again.
"Share with Inquisition? Their jurisdiction—pool intel, plan countermeasures."
Idiot? Share spy-gotten intel with counterintel?
-'Hand that to Inquisition, Guard agents die. Think Guard stays quiet?'
"Ah, aa! R-right. My mistake."
Imagining a bullet to the head commuting home, he backpedaled.
Post-spat, deputy raised hand.
"Announce the attack warning officially?"
Another dumbass idea. Face soured, but he pressed.
"Show we know ahead—scare terrorists into hesitation?"
"You moro—"
"Pardon?"
"N-no. Deputy? N-nice insight. But terrorists bombing Church heart won't tune into embassy announcements and quit."
Terrorists aren't sane. No statement post-attack means no negotiation intent. Pure hitmen, no backing out from threats. They had the balls to bomb already.
He nodded, understanding, and shut up.
Then a stern glasses guy asked—unknown department.
"Clarify one thing: embassy safe from attack?"
Targeting the embassy. Valid point. I mentally mapped structure, knight positions.
"Given guards and layout, safe for a time even if attacked."
"Terror on a diplomatic mission?"
How the fuck should I know? I'd be a fortune-teller.
"Not impossible, but very low odds."
Glasses wiped thick hands on face in fear; ambassador mopped brow sweat.
I planted hands on table, lowered voice.
"No statement post-bomb. No negotiation intent. Means assassination pure... so..."
All eyes locked.
"...Reconsider resuming Hero's public activities. Just once more."
Downed water to soothe scorched throat. Movie flashes: embassy shootout. 13 Hours? Rooftop rifle resistance. If shit hits, me too—pistol on embassy roof.
Room mood sank; hollow silence reigned.
How long? Ambassador's weak voice broke it.
"...Let's break for now."
The three-hour void meeting ended like that.
*
Days passed. Embassy staff scrambled prepping official schedule—kingdom orders pending, so proceeded as planned.
Dawn today: homeland comms arrived.
Embassy second-floor terrace. Hand in pocket, leg jittering like a maniac, took the call.
"What's the word, Colonel?"
-'Sorry, Fredric. Proceed as scheduled.'
Ridiculous call left me speechless.
"Just go ahead?"
-'...Higher-ups decided.'
Orders. From top brass or king to intel direct.
Sigh-worthy, but soldier's lot: obey duty. Jittered leg, spoke.
"What do we do?"
-'As Hero's companion, closest guard duty. Your subs—Pippin and Jake? Separate tasks.'
"What tasks?"
-'Intel gathering, safety checks. Support protection from rear.'
Hero guard added. From manager to meat shield—bullets, blades. Relief: Pippin, Jake off front line. Colonel's consideration.
"Thanks, Colonel."
-'...Watch your back.'
Post-advice, detailed mission, authority.
-'Terror unpredictable. Coordinate control with authorities if needed, cancel schedule—avoid risks.'
Church negotiation power. Huge for quasi-diplomat me.
-'Pulling intel agents in Church for Hero guard. You command.'
Ignore hierarchy, procedure. Overreach into Foreign Affairs, ranks—but upper echelons' tacit okay.
Getting scary.
-'Key authority: somewhat illegal.'
Leg froze. Military Intel does illegal daily. Colonel calling it "somewhat illegal"? Next words terrifying.
Gathered dread, barely spoke.
"What... do you mean...?"
-'Higher-ups granted you black ops command.'
The knife hilt was in my hand.