Episode 2 - Heroes of the Continent
Inquisition Chief Pedro had summoned me. Why the hell was he calling me in? I racked my brains hard, but I couldn't think of a single reason he'd want to see me. Truth be told, he was the kind of guy I preferred to avoid dealing with altogether.
Such thoughts swirling in my head, I threw on some clothes and stepped out the embassy's front gate.
"Major Frederic."
"...Priestess Rebecca?"
Black priestess robes. Mint-green hair neatly braided over her left shoulder. The aloof priestess approached me.
"Chief Pedro requests your presence."
Following Priestess Rebecca, I entered the office.
"Ah, there you are at last."
Pedro gestured for me to sit, and Rebecca handed me a cup of tea.
"It's been a while, Chief Pedro."
The old man tilted his head with a warm smile.
"Maybe it's because we've been exchanging official documents so often? We've only met in person once, but it feels like we've known each other for ages."
Over the past month, the embassy and the Inquisition had traded hundreds—maybe even thousands—of official papers. Given the tense situation with the Hero's protection, the paperwork had flown back and forth like group project chats on KakaoTalk. We'd been signing off on each other's names every damn day, so yeah, Pedro and I were familiar, in a way.
I sat across from him, the desk between us. The cushion made the seat plush and comfortable. Out of courtesy, I lifted the teacup lightly and cut straight to the chase.
"Why did you call me in?"
"I have something to discuss."
Then get to it already. I furrowed my brow, conveying my impatience, and the old man burst into a hearty laugh, nodding.
"Right, right. You're not one for small talk, Major."
The crafty geezer slanted his wrinkled eyes. What a pain to talk to.
"I hear you're tracking the explosives smuggling route. Digging through diplomatic channels, from what I gather."
"You knew."
I replied evenly. Given the Inquisition's capabilities, they'd naturally have eyes on me directing my agents. There were only two reasons to sit me down and say this outright.
First: a warning to curb reckless intel ops...
"Need any help?"
Or second: sharing information.
"Locust Publishing. A publishing house established eight years ago in the heart of the Papal State."
A photo slid across the table to me. It showed their logo in elegant script: Locust.
"Run by a man named Yuri as CEO. He shares the title with a bishop, but Yuri's effectively the boss."
A name I knew. A few days ago, Bernard had mentioned him—a diplomat from the Imperial Guard's Second Bureau. In other words, a spy.
"You know him too, don't you?"
"...Black ops, but white-level agent. Lobbying, intel gathering, international crime investigations, from what I've heard."
"He's helped National Security a great deal."
Bernard had dropped that hint. If memory served, he'd promised more intel. And now I knew what that "intel" was.
I set down my teacup and threw a fastball.
"Is the Imperial Guard involved in this bombing?"
"Indeed. Specifically, Yuri used his connections to smuggle the explosives into Church territory."
"Hah..."
Another photo landed. Yuri chatting with a man in a suit. I flipped it upside down on the table.
"Haha! You're pretty pissed, Major. Feeling betrayed?"
"...Well, I saw it coming."
Pedro chuckled good-naturedly and continued.
"I've been with the Inquisition for over forty years now, Major. Care to hear my take?"
I nodded in assent. The chief spread a few photos across the desk.
"Recently, there was a shootout in the southern outskirts slums. Analysis of the casings found at the scene showed they were produced at the Imperial Arsenal. Know what that means?"
"Imperial Guard agents were behind the shootout."
"No bodies or guns recovered, but the Inquisition suspects Guard operatives as prime suspects."
Right. And just for the record, we had the bodies and guns—stashed in a safehouse freezer to prevent rot.
"Personally, I suspect the Guard in both the shootout and the bombing. It's no secret their special forces handle assassinations, sabotage, and bombing key national sites, is it?"
Pedro wasn't talking about just any special forces.
"You mean the Special Activities Division."
"You knew too? This was classified; I hadn't planned to mention it."
"It's infamous. The department handling paramilitary ops."
Special Activities Division. Secret ops unit under intelligence, all activities classified. Even their roster, size, and bases were secrets, fueling dark rumors. They held black ops command authority—if I got serious about taking someone out, scary uncles loaded with guns and bombs would cross the border in trucks. Jake had turned down their first recruitment offer, saying agent work sounded more romantic than spec ops. That guy's a bit off, anyway.
"So you're saying Guard special forces crossed the border and set off the bombs?"
"No. Broaden your view."
Pedro spoke like he was scolding a grandchild.
"If it were special forces, the assassination wouldn't have failed. I think last time's bombing was the work of regular operatives."
"...Too sloppy for pros?"
I'd had a similar talk with the Colonel before. Amateur terrorists lacking proper explosives knowledge—that's why we hadn't suspected the Guard. But now Pedro was flipping the script.
"Operatives can handle intel or simple hits, but not specialized demolition. That's why agents carry pistols and poison, right?"
"...Back to the point."
"Got sidetracked. Sorry, Major."
Pedro smiled apologetically.
"The last bombing was definitely operatives. Whether by the Emperor's orders or overzealous loyalty, one thing's clear: the op failed."
"Botched the op so badly they got purged. Hence the shootout."
Simple logic. Failed to assassinate a key figure abroad. The political fallout falls on the Guard and the Emperor. Politicians deny everything when shit hits the fan, and they freak at any burden. The Emperor probably wrapped it up by purging a few Guard higher-ups. The purge's ripples hit the field operatives who smuggled the explosives and planted the bombs—they got wholesale executed.
For political stability.
"Not a bad script, eh?"
"...Bestseller material."
I replied flatly and fell silent. The Guard purging their failed op team. The Emperor cutting off tails to save the body. Solid concept. But something didn't fit.
"..."
"What're you thinking, Major?"
"..."
Right before the blast, a black-haired woman with red eyes tackled me down. Just a hunch, but she saved my life. If I hadn't fallen, the procession would've rolled forward slowly, and everyone would've been caught in the explosion. Attacking unarmed screamed less "assassin" and more "get down."
She's Imperial Guard counterintelligence. The man who lured me to the party hall's second floor warned me of the second attack. He's Guard counterespionage. Both from the Guard's First Bureau.
"...Something's off."
If Pedro's hypothesis held, why would they help me? If the Guard planned the terror to assassinate "someone," no reason to tackle me out of the blast radius or warn me ahead.
"...Chief. What usually happens when an op fails?"
"Most pull out and go dormant. No point sticking around to leave traces."
I closed my eyes briefly, thinking. This was the shittiest part of spycraft: conflicting intel. One side says Church insiders ordered the hit, another blames the Empire. When info clashes, the thirsty dig their own wells.
Time to sift truth from the disinformation flood.
I rose slowly from the chair, straightening my clothes. Then, to the puzzled-looking Pedro, I said,
"Chief. Bernard mentioned you take a keen interest in me."
"Hah! He told you that? Embarrassing."
Pedro laughed heartily, squirming like he meant it. I pulled a recorder from my pocket and set it on the table.
"A gift, Chief."
"What's this?"
"A bribe."
I grinned and made the offer he couldn't refuse.
"Chief."
"..."
"Work with me. Just this once."