Episode 2 - Heroes of the Continent
A woman with a hat pulled low over her face stared out from the photo. Black hair, red eyes. It was definitely the attacker. I'd only caught a fleeting glimpse of her face, but I remembered it clearly.
As I peered at the small picture, Pippin began her report.
"These are photos secured by our undercover agent."
She held up another one. It showed the woman clutching a phone, scanning her surroundings.
"Got an ID on her?"
"Ekaterina. Twenty-nine years old. Former military intelligence unit, now an Imperial Guard Agency operative."
"Source?"
"Acquired by our operatives from imperial military personnel records."
"Counterintel check?"
"Documents seized directly from her unit. The paperwork itself is legit—no doubts there."
She handed over papers stamped with the imperial military security mark. A slightly younger photo of her face, along with basic personnel details. Poor work attitude. Disobeying orders. AWOL incidents. Looked like she'd racked up every screw-up in the book before getting dishonorably discharged.
"Which division of the Imperial Guard?"
"First Bureau, Counterintelligence Division."
The Imperial Guard Agency's First Bureau. The mere name soaked the pants of countless imperial citizens. They handled intellectuals soaked in university drivel and purged political losers, hunting spies along the way. Back when I ran intel ops against the Kien Empire, I'd clashed hard with those First Bureau bastards.
But why the hell were they operating in Church territory?
"First Bureau plays domestic ball. Overseas ops and collection—that's Second Bureau turf, right? This intel off?"
"No, sir. I double-checked because it seemed fishy too. She's definitely First Bureau."
I pressed Pippin, but her expression said she wasn't bullshitting. If Military Intelligence handed it over, it'd been vetted solid. I'd put in my time in the intel game—I knew how this shit worked. Even if an agency had one mandate on paper, you'd find half a dozen divisions doing the same damn job under the hood. Take Colonel Clevins on counterintel and me on overseas collection. Hell, I still didn't know exactly what the colonel did. Just that he smashed spies. In high-security outfits, not knowing each other's gigs was standard.
Intel agencies were nests of overlapping departments. Unless you were top brass, nobody knew jack about what the next guy did. Point was, agencies didn't poach turf lightly. Cross that line on purpose? Agency heads'd strip ranks and duke it out in a conference room. No joke—true story. Over here, lawmakers pulling knives to shut down speeches was Tuesday average.
So, embassy counterintel guy feeding me terror intel. Counterintel chick from an intel unit jumping me at the blast site. Imperial Guard counterintel had crossed the line.
Why?
"Tail her?"
"...Yeah."
Something smelled off.
"Major Frederic?"
"Ah. Sorry, Your Eminence."
Raoul Cardinal's question snapped me out of it. My head was tangled from Pippin's intel lately, and I'd lost the conversation thread.
I speared a chunk of meat with my fork and chewed slowly. Nom.
"You've been working hard with all these events lately."
"Not at all. I'm fine."
Across the table, Raphael Cardinal smiled softly and chimed in. Raoul, Raphael, and the other cardinals sat around the round table, slicing into steaks. A feast like this was rare these days.
"Guarding the Hero must be exhausting. We wouldn't want to impose on you, Major. Haha!"
An unnamed cardinal chuckled obsequiously, laying on the flattery. With all the Church puppet-masters here, it felt like food went in through my nose more than my mouth. Uncomfortable as hell.
"Thanks to you, Major, the venue feels much safer..."
"Quite right. As a soldier, your expertise is something else."
"Absolutely... Instills real confidence."
These wrinkled old fucks grinning benevolently, gilding my face. A devout believer might call it an honor. But I knew these "kind grandpas" were tanuki stuffed with dozens of serpents. Their empty praise fell flat.
"Oh, right. I'm really enjoying that fountain pen you gifted."
One cardinal smiled and showed me his. Recent bribes to Church bigwigs.
"Only Abbas court officials use these, huh? Writes like a dream!"
"Glad you like it."
I chewed and swallowed another bite. Delicious. Thinking it over, though—with the attendees' relationships—this setup was hilariously ironic.
Raoul and Raphael, rivals for next pope. Raoul backed Priestess Lucia, building his base. Raphael caught hell for the Hero ceremony terror hit.
And here they were, praising security in front of him. Calling me the expert.
"... "
I glanced at Raphael—his lip twitched faintly. Ex-Inquisition chief's pride taking a hit.
Jesus. How do you eat in this shitshow?
Raphael seemed to agree. He set down his utensils, cutting the chatter.
"Well, dinner's about wrapped. Let's discuss the schedule."
Agenda: Officially recognizing Camilla Lowell as the Hero.
The core issue was certifying Camilla Lowell as the Hero. Process was straightforward: Public speech with some feel-good civic vibes, then baptism and blessing from the pope. Boom—Hero certified.
Security sparked brief debate. Settled on limiting observers to officials and beefing up guards.
Smooth sailing so far.
Trouble: When to hold it.
Raphael spoke first.
"As you know, security's critical. Keep the exact date classified, execute swiftly."
Raphael pushed for ASAP to dodge another terror hit. Ex-Inquisition chief and ceremony head—he wanted fast closure to prevent bigger disasters. Pragmatic. Pope, cardinals, VIPs from everywhere: Bomb there? Unfixable.
His call for low-key safety gained traction.
Till Raoul countered.
"The Hero ceremony is historic. Given its weight, we should invest time for a public spectacle open to all."
Raoul played the optics card. The Church had ballooned on continental crisis hype. Terror shook that. Everyone here but me? Church brass—parasites sucking the Church dry.
Private Hero gig now? They'd get pilloried as cowering from terror. This world ain't pretty. Folks knife rivals at the first whiff of weakness.
Shrinking Church clout? These cardinals—half-politician, half-business—lose big. Cash hits, power slips.
Would it really shrink? Who knows. But humans believe what they wanna, conspiracies need no proof. I saw cardinals waver toward Raoul already.
"Raoul, you're saying a few history-book lines trump human lives?"
"Safety matters, but considering the Church's position and the Hero's stature, a public ceremony's better."
Clash hits, folks "debate." But emotion trumps reason—especially high stakes.
Bam.
"Safety first, as I said..."
"Then ensure it! What was Inquisition doing during the blast?"
"Raoul!"
Chaos. Old geezers red-faced, veins bulging.
"Pope and Hero safety over Church prestige?!"
"Overcoming divine trials, no?"
"You're insane! People dying, and you yap about prestige?!"
"What? Blasphemy—!"
Securocrat grandpa vs. election vet hurling insults. Cardinals split, brawling.
Ridiculous. 21st-century breaking news, but here? Cute. Lawmakers stab speeches with sashimi knives; debates end in punches. Human life cheaper than flies—yelling's adorable.
Though siccing it on the young kid? Obvious snub. They were pissed enough to spew trash, ignoring me.
Words escalating bad.
"Blasphemy? You fuck! I told you not to flap that hole!"
"Hey! Hands off the collar—!"
"Wanna air your six-year-old nun stunt? Inquisition knows, asshole!"
"Wh-what the hell?!"
Securocrat voice boomed, fitting his bulk. Raoul dragged like a ragdoll.
Other cardinals finally pried them apart.
"Y-Your Eminence! Calm down!"
"Raphael! Release him!"
Comedy gold. Didn't wanna dive in, so I spun my chest-pocket pen and cleared my throat.
"...Ahem."
"... "
"... "
"Composed?"
The geezers straightened clothes. Table wine-splashed, floor shattered dishes. Mess.
"...Apologies for the disgrace."
"Eh, debates heat up. World's full of unsolvables."
"Thank you for understanding."
I smiled, pocketed the pen, stood.
"Break. Cool heads."
"...Yes."
"... "
Raoul bolted. Raphael glared at his back, apologized to me, left. Cardinals split half-half, chasing factions.
Noted faces for embassy background checks.
"... "
Alone in the banquet hall, chin-propped, I held the pen to my ear.
"...Raoul Cardinal. Are you saying etching a few lines in history matters more than lives—"
"Blasphemy? You fuck! I told you not to flap that hole!"
"Hey! Hands off the collar—!"
"Wanna air your six-year-old nun stunt? Inquisition knows, asshole!"
"Wh-what the hell?!"
"...That nun incident six years back."
Raphael had dirt. Spun the pen—furious voice leaked.
"...Anyway, Raoul's a problem. A problem!"
"Compose yourself, Raphael. Dragging that up—how could you?"
"Technically, blasphemy's on Raoul! A bishop doing that...!"
"...Oh-ho."
Meeting busted, but goldmine intel. Folks better watch their mouths. Bugs are everywhere.