Episode 2 - Heroes of the Continent

Click. The recorder stopped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠working once playback ended. Pedro, having confirmed the recorded conversation, slowly opened his mouth.

"…Interesting content."

"What do you think?"

I shook the recorder lightly and grinned.

"If this leaks out, a lot of people will be in real trouble. Feels like it's worth trading for, doesn't it?"

The conversation between Cardinal Raoul and Cardinal Raphael. The hidden secret of the two papal candidates. The recorder in my hand was something the Inquisition absolutely had to secure.

"I think it's sufficient."

Pedro smiled. It was the same kindly old man's smile as always.

"Tell me what you want, Major."

"Give me a free pass."

He looked puzzled for a moment, but as a veteran with fifty years under his belt, Pedro hit the nail on the head.

"In exchange for burying this secret, you're asking for a guarantee of free rein in your intelligence activities…."

He nodded slowly. Pedro was someone with a lot of interest in me. Borrowing Bernard's words, he thought highly of me. A friendly attitude and an offer too good to refuse. Just as I'd predicted, he accepted.

"Granted."

Words have no price tag. Pedro had handed me a blank check.

I set the recorder down in front of Pedro, and Priestess Rebecca picked it up and tossed it into the fireplace. The Inquisition chief smiled brightly.

"Now the deal is sealed."

Pedro pulled a bottle of liquor from under his desk. Priestess Rebecca brought two glasses, and he handed one to me. The Inquisition chief beamed.

"The moment you leave the Church, I'll classify all records of your activities as top-secret Level 1."

"I haven't heard a thing today."

"A fine deal, Major."

The glasses clinked. The contract was made.

I knocked twice on the door and opened it. I'd gotten permission to enter, but there lay Camilla Lowell on the bed.

"…What are you doing?"

"Lying down to sleep."

"Ah."

Right, it was the middle of the night. All the overtime had messed up my sense of day and night.

Camilla Lowell pulled back the covers slightly and sat up. She was in sky-blue pajamas.

"Where'd you get those pajamas?"

"Lucia gave them to me as a gift."

"Oh, I see."

Why didn't she give me any? A petty thought, but there it was. We'd only exchanged a few words, so we weren't close enough for gifts anyway. I just nodded. Camilla Lowell and Lucia ran into each other often at events, so it made sense they'd swap presents.

Same for me. I held up the bag.

"Brought you a gift."

"Ooh, what's this?"

Camilla Lowell took the bag and opened it. It was stuffed full of medicine bottles.

"Nutritional supplements and first-aid meds. You seemed tired lately, so I picked them up."

"Thank you, Major!"

Vitamins—or whatever you call them. Not the cheap homemade stuff from healers or local docs, but potions squeezed out of the Magic Tower's alchemists and physicians.

"Not sure if they'll suit you, Camilla Lowell, but they're pretty common here."

"Whoa—these must've cost a fortune…."

Camilla Lowell gaped at the labels on the bottles. Whether from training or some skill, she could use this world's language freely.

She pulled a cold drink from the fridge and handed it over. Feeling the chill of the bottle, I slowly scanned the room. Standard embassy staff quarters, but the interior was a touch upscale.

"Settling in okay?"

"The renovations? Consulate? It's like a five-star hotel—super comfy!"

Yeah. This room was for high-ranking diplomats. As Camilla Lowell busily sorted the medicine bottles, she said,

"The staff next door are all so nice, and the food suits my taste!"

"Good to hear."

"Yeah! Even the foreigners who drop by sometimes bring gifts."

I pulled a detector from my pocket and scanned the pile of gifts she'd mentioned. Keeping her distracted with chit-chat while checking for bugs.

"Nothing inconvenient?"

"Nope! Just the carriage rides are a bit rough."

"Yeah, long carriage trips kill your back and butt."

Good—no bugs. The agents probably handled it. They'd likely checked the gifts already while running recorders next door.

"Glad you're doing well."

Camilla Lowell smiled brightly. According to the psych report, she was mentally unstable. She'd seemed to stabilize a bit after the bombing, but it was worsening since the official schedule started. Seeing her force that smile gave me a strange feeling.

I pocketed the detector and turned to say goodbye.

"Major, take these!"

She handed me a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠few medicine bottles. What the—?

"You look exhausted. Take care of your health!"

"…."

"Come on, take them."

"…Thanks, I'll put them to good use."

She beamed. Just a normal smile.

I popped the pill into Pippin's mouth as she refused and clamped her jaw shut. Pippin reluctantly took a sip of water.

"How old are you guys that I have to baby you with meds? Take them yourselves."

"Instead of supplements, how about less work?"

Jake spouted nonsense with a tired look. I flipped him the bird and stuffed medicine bottles into their pockets.

Who else has a boss like me? Looking after his subordinates' meds and all.

"We want less work, not meds."

"Cut the crap, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir."

I quashed Jake's bullshit easily. Rank is power, after all. I flopped into my chair.

"Why am I so damn tired lately…."

I sighed weakly and slumped. My body felt heavier these days—not fat, just exhaustion making it hard to move.

Pippin looked at my squid-like sprawl with pity.

"Get some rest."

"Can't till we catch the terrorists…."

Still no leads on the terrorists. Not a capability issue—scope. Investigating both the Church and the Imperial Guard at once? No way results in a month.

"The Inquisition suspects the Imperial Guard."

"The Guard suspects the Church."

What a clusterfuck. Two suspects, each accusing the other. No hard evidence, but both spreading plausible intel to muddy our waters. Total shitshow.

"Total shitshow."

"Right? Even you guys see it."

"Gotta catch a suspect first to extract info…."

Jake muttered with a sigh. Truth is, we had a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠suspect. Imperial Guard First Division Counterintelligence agent Ekaterina Ivanova. The assailant who attacked me right before the bomb. Perfect timing, perfect escape. Problem: she's still in a coma.

"How'll we interrogate when she wakes?"

"Colonel said start with a statement."

"A statement? That work?"

"Make her write a month's worth of activities."

"Fucking insane."

Pippin shook her head with a quiet curse. Statements are standard everywhere. Toss 'em pen and paper, make 'em write hundreds of pages a day—they confess eventually. If not, then….

"Torture?"

"You nuts? She's been out a week—torture her and she dies."

Torture isn't magic. Don't torture clueless idiots. Especially with one suspect—jumping to torture is suicide, per counterspy expert Colonel Clevins.

"Colonel said it, so we trust him."

"You ignore me but listen to him?"

"C'mon, we listen to you! Colonel's just… the authority on this stuff!"

"Can't say 'torture expert'?"

"Sounds off."

"It's accurate."

Colonel doesn't torture often, but he does when needed. In this mad world, playing saint helps no one. No delaying what must be done.

"Anyway, no docs or techs now, so no torture. I won't allow it."

"Yes, sir."

"…That's the plan for now."

It was 1 a.m., everyone asleep. I stood on the embassy terrace, gazing at the dark world.

I heard the colonel's oddly menacing mutter. He sounded pissed.

"Some fishy parts, but we'll investigate once the captured spy wakes."

"No need to go that far, right?"

Not set in stone yet—too hasty? But the colonel had his reasons.

True enough. He's rolled in intel longer than me. I trust his call.

"Got it. What should we do?"

I'd told Pippin something similar. Trace the explosives' import path, and we tie it to the terrorists. I memorized the tasks.

As we wrapped up specifics,

"Pardon?"

"Ah…. I get at least six hours."

Lie. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Barely five. But too much on my plate to whine.

"Will do."

Call ended. Good advice to chill, but reality won't allow it. Still, he said rest, so….

Heading to bed, my phone rang.

Recognized number—probably an agent. Too many to ID quick. I cleared my throat.

"Um—ah—ah—kahak!"

"…Hello?"

"What's up?"