Episode 2 - Heroes of the Continent
In the capital of the Abbas Kingdom stood the Kien Empire embassy. The empire and the kingdom had maintained a frosty diplomatic relationship for years. Lately, though, they'd been trying to get along better. To be precise, it was the emperor's recent whim. When the living god himself wanted something, naturally the empire's Foreign Ministry and Imperial Guard Agency poured massive efforts into improving ties. Of course, as with all things in the world, effort didn't guarantee success. Still, the empire tried. Mainly by throwing money at it.
Money draws power. That's why the Kien Empire embassy in Abbas was a must-pass for diplomats on the promotion track. Same principle as Korean diplomats clamoring for postings to the US, China, Japan, or Russia.
"What the hell is this?!"
The embassy's security chief bellowed, hurling the newspaper across the conference room. The intel analyst scooped it up and handed it to the ambassador.
"Ambassador! Care to explain?!"
"Ah, no, I just..."
The ambassador's face drained of color as he scanned the article. He couldn't believe he was being indicted for espionage. Truth was, he was a spy. Affiliated with the Foreign Ministry's Central Continent Division, Section 1. Officially the Abbas ambassador, but a spy nonetheless.
Why? Blame the cozy ties between the Foreign Ministry and intel agencies. They swapped personnel freely—planting agents as diplomats, slotting ministry vets into intel posts. Honeymooners had nothing on them.
The ambassador had been under Imperial Guard Agency oversight even before his assignment, trained there during his transition, and deeply involved in "overseas operations" with the Guard, Reconnaissance Command, and more. Everyone knew he was a spy. But he was a white agent, not black ops—legal-ish, dancing on the edge. Don't get caught. If you do, just get expelled. That's how he'd played it.
Until he got caught.
"Linked to anti-state groups?!"
"I-I just thought it was academics at a conference..."
"Did you know they were anarchists? Hell, did you even know anarchism's a subversive ideology?!"
He hadn't. Learned after attending—and never went back. It was a 30-minute stint four years ago.
"Abbas is tying you to anarchists. Saying our empire backs anti-state groups! Splashing it all over the press!"
The security chief yelled. By rank, he shouldn't talk that way to an ambassador. But he was a hardened Imperial Guard Agency vet from Counterintelligence Division 1, Overseas Branch—someone even ministry lifers feared.
"L-Let's all calm down..."
"Calm down my ass!"
BAM! The counterintel guy slammed the desk. He oversaw all spy ops in Abbas. If the ambassador went down, so did he. (He had two kids' college tuition to pay.)
"We're all fucked here!"
"Hey, watch it! You threatening the ambassador?!"
Division 1 vs. Division 2. Counterintel vs. Operations. White agents clashing. Other agents rushed to separate them.
That's the Imperial Guard Agency for you—everyone at each other's throats.
The ambassador watched, cradling his wrinkled face in his hands.
"..."
Still salvageable. Refuse summons via diplomatic immunity, take expulsion. Alert HQ before it blew up bigger...
"A-Ambassador!"
His secretary burst in, freezing at the chaos. A plain Foreign Ministry clerk, he couldn't stare down intel agents grabbing collars.
"Wh-what is it?"
"A wire from HQ."
The ambassador sighed heavily. Orders, no doubt. He read the dispatch with dread.
And nearly fainted.
Imperial Foreign Ministry has decided to expel the Kien Empire's Ambassador to the Abbas Kingdom.
Expelling diplomats was routine in international circles. Nailing a white agent for spying? No big deal. Nations flexed carriers, jets, missiles all the time—just tantrums to make a point. Deadly, sure.
Military Intelligence indicting the Kien ambassador wasn't earth-shattering. The assassin's corpse yielded no leads on backers. Plenty of unID'd black agents out there. Circumstantial at best.
It was a warning: We know what you're up to. Back off.
But...
HQ took it as provocation. National tantrum flipped to tit-for-tat in seconds. Bad timing for reciprocal expulsion.
What was the Guard doing? Probably scrambling.
Desk-jockeys had no tact. Anyway, mutual expulsions made it a "major incident."
"Ambassador?"
"..."
"Contact HQ."
Provocation escalated to local skirmish.
*
A storm swept the continent. It started with two Church terror attacks. Poison needle assassination led to empire ambassador indictment, which triggered kingdom expulsion. Tit-for-tat sealed it. Absurd blockade accepted.
Military Intelligence followed up. Seemed anti-empire, but targeted Guard Division 2. Most spies were Ops Branch.
Empire got the hint. Envoys visited multiple times, per ministry chatter. Emperor wanted to quash it. Might fizzle if nothing else popped.
Then the pope stabbed him in the back.
Guard and ministry's pet companies—gone. Official and unofficial overseas ventures vaporized. Pedro and the pope's survival play.
Church's face was smeared. Inquisition sacrificed scapegoats to black magic groups. Scare people into priests' arms, boost prestige. Shield Inquisition too—interfere now, get branded heretic and burned.
Real black mages? Funded? Who cares. Headlines mattered. Inquisition slaying necromancers sticks in minds.
But really, checking Guard Division 2's overseas ops. Empire's Veronica lobbyist schmoozing the Church was infamous in the know.
Church cut the leash, attacked. Empire retaliated.
Slaves snapping chains. Chaos erupted.
*
Intel reaches everywhere. Diplomacy, defense, economy, politics, media, academia. Spy wars rage across domains. Lobbyists sway pols. Cards left everywhere for firms. Diplomats trade secrets. Cash at conferences buys intellectual mouthpieces. Wine and dine media execs. Industrial spies steal tech. Meddle in disputes to screw rivals. Monitor foreign troops. Fund think tanks, lobby, bribe, persuade...
Intel's everywhere and nowhere. Forget James Bond—most handle paper over guns. Why else the periodic shooting drills? Hilarious watching desk-jockeys with beer guts at the range. Blame instant meals at desks. Workload's killer.
So these multi-front skirmishes? Intel folk clutching pearls.
Decade-long spy hunts, endless pol-lobbying budgets—poof. Next quarter, mass hiring.
Public doesn't care. Foreign meddling's the hook. Pols hemorrhage speeches, bureaucrats drop bombs, anchors raise doubts, profs spew hot takes.
Amid it, "someone's" cabinet cracked open. Not me. Nope.
Empire spies booted from Magic Tower. Dirty money to exiles exposed. Some minister droned 1:51 on "foreign capital's impact." Aimed at Kien. Exiled pol's death reopened—obvious culprit. Tiny Ratuan whined about empire backing rebels. Half-true. Details later.
Empire hammered omnidirectionally. Others catch flak too, but less than them.
Confusion reigns. Worse than election smears. Daily scandals break. Info flood—spies collect, analysts crunch. Fog of war. Fog of bullshit. People flail in the mist.
"Someone" fired the flare, summoning the fog. I clocked it as my smokescreen. Flashy, massive.
"Colonel?"
'Speak.'
"Send manpower."
My move.
*
Colonel laid a perfect board. Not a dance floor—a grill. Main course: Guard Division 2. Sides: foreign intel. Division 1 sticks to home, no hooks.
Bomb and needle? Division 2 ops. Circumstantial, sure. Guard or Church? Unknown. Colonel tossed everyone on the grill.
Intel sharpies sniffed the author. Motive too. Telepathy-level, agencies piled on empire. Subtlety: smack pet peeves too. Chaotic brawl.
Guard, cause of it all, assessed and mobilized.
"Captain, empire embassy security chief wants..."
"To meet?"
"Yes."
"Tell him I'm busy."
"Roger."
Not busy—awkward. Bomb/needle perps were Division 2. Even Division 1, tread light. Plus, they ghosted our last official comms. Petty grudge.
Shooed the ministry suit, back to conference.
"S-sorry. Continue."
'Yes, sir. Tracked Church guy's residence who took the bomb. ID'ing now.'
"We got that, easy."
'Roger. Raid found industrial explosives in basement.'
"Evidence secured?"
'Photos, video. Grabbed samples.'
"Hand off explosives, rest to Intel."
Bomb guy found. Analyze explosives, match terror. Circulated sketches—nabbed quick. Agents done. Now scary uncles' turf.
"Hear me?"
'Loud and clear, ops officer.'
"Good day, team lead. Arrived?"
'En route to south suburbs office.'
"Border crossed then. Mind sharing gear?"
'Standard Intel kit.'
"Got it. Plan ready at office."
'Thanks.'
"You too."
Scary uncles crossed border. Techies in tow. Uncles kidnap Church guy, techies crack him. Intel flows, I smash bombers. Issue: trial dummies. Chatted with Pedro.
"We take ringleader, Inquisition the rest."
"Why you?"
"Need black mage firewood, right? Big fish embarrasses Church."
Inquisition pushed black magic terror. Church perp? Face loss. Plus, nukes mage ties. Pope bloodthirsty for necros—spin as such. Somehow.
"Busted! Got you lotsa wood—quit greed."
"No backlash, yeah?"
"Sure."
Deep-six in riverbed, no recovery.
*
Simple directives. Asked spec ops to snatch Church bomb guy, counterintel for intel extraction. Left Ekaterina alone. Friend or foe? TBD. Cooperating on probe. Interrogating vs. enduring? Different beasts.
'...So not purge, just check?'
'Yes...'
Weeks of hardcore grilling wrecked her. HD vid showed it all. Sleepless relays: wake on dozing, repeat questions, endless statements. Simple, breaks anyone eventually.
'Again.'
'...Division 2... planned terror...'
Expected. Finished, she facplanted asleep. Splash failed to rouse. End vid.
Rubbed bloodshot eyes, popped painkiller, more vids.
'Why here?'
'Orders... suppress...'
'Suppress who?'
'Ops agents...'
Hundreds repeats. Dozens vids. Psyops report: mostly truthful.
Division 2 planned terror. Division 1 countered. Failed suppress, gunfight.
Disinfo checked—no word yet. Takes time.
Odd, though. Purges/pull ops? Recall home first. Promotion, medal, leave—then counterintel probes, purges. No slapdash with loyals.
But counterintel deploys overseas? Guard couldn't recall ops agents.
Orders ignored. Mutiny. Disobedience.
"If true..."
Rebellion. Departments shooting? Civil war.
Guard internal civil war.
"Fuck..."
Throbbing headache, clutched table, staggered. Unhealed body + work = wreck. Doc begged rest; more pills instead. Asked Lucia for heal—no dice on fatigue. Eat, sleep. Easier said.
Groaned gripping table, finally sat.
Knock knock.
"...Who?"
"Pippin."
"Come in."
Pippin entered, dragged a chair opposite.
"Slept?"
"Yeah."
"In your chair." She pointed at blanket. Smacked lips, no retort.
"Please take care. Staff and Hero worry."
"That bad?"
"Yes."
A bit run-down. But work waits for no sleep.
"Anyway, why drop by?"
"...Message."
"What."
Pippin pulled a note silently, handed it. Unfolded, read aloud.
"One week. 01:00. Under bridge. 25-2. What's this?"
"Dead drop, time."
"Who."
"Not us. You."
Me? Pointed; she nodded.
"Who wants me?"
"Saintess Veronica."
Veronica. Kien baroness. Guard ops beneficiary. Empire lobbyist.
"...Why her?"
"Why'd a lobbyist call a meet?"
She wants my stance.
"Position statement, probably."