Episode 4 - Why Are You Messing with Me Alone? Veronica Came
Veronica had come. This visit wasn't some off-the-books errand—it was an official one, with the governments already hashing out who was coming, how many, and what the schedule would look like. And when I checked the visitor list totaling 81 names, Veronica's wasn't on it anywhere. But here she was.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"Can't I show up?"
"……."
This bitch is gonna make my head spin. Fuck.
Episode 4 - Why Are You Messing with Me Alone?
"Why can't I?"
"Yeah."
"…You're gonna make my head spin for real. You seriously don't know why you're asking that right now?"
I grabbed Veronica and melted into the crowd. A foreigner in a nun's habit dragging off a saintess might've looked sketchy, but the accompanying nuns didn't bat an eye. Instinct kicked in. These nuns were all Inquisition agents or holy knights. Both under the Inquisition's umbrella, so probably Pedro's doing… Ah, fuck. Not the point right now.
"…Haa."
Problems were piling up faster than I could count. I pressed my throbbing temples, forcing my voice low and steady to calm down.
"How's a Saintess supposed to just show up without a word like this? Huh?"
Two saintesses ditching the Church was bad enough on its own. The whole continent was already on edge from that massive spy scandal, and now history's first dual-saint birth. No one could predict how the Church's internal politics or the global power balance would shift. Why else would the Church slap an embargo on it?
The big papers would hype the two saintesses to boost prestige, dissecting the Church's next moves and each government's wins and losses. The tabloids would churn out conspiracy theories and scandals for sales. Politicians and socialites would leak "sources close to the matter," "high-ranking officials," "insiders" to spew their bullshit theories.
I knew it well. I'd used it myself. To save Lucia from black propaganda (on orders from above), I'd deliberately paraded her in front of the paparazzi for half an hour. The tabloids splashed it on the front page, stirring up a steamy affair rumor like we were dating. They sold papers like hotcakes off that, and even the straight-laced press mistook it for a subtle Abbas signal backing Lucia.
…Yeah. Fine, I admit it. I manipulated public opinion. In our terms, propaganda and political ops. Plain English? Straight-up opinion-shaping. It shielded Lucia somewhat, but the rumors lingered post-op, a pain to clean up. The press was a double-edged sword like that.
So we'd clamped down on coverage this time, the works. And now both saintesses show up here? Together? No need to check the papers for a while. I could guess the headlines.
But that wasn't the real problem.
"Are you out of your mind? The Imperial Guard is turning red-eyed hunting you, and you come here?"
Back then, the Imperial Guard went all-out to bury the scandal of losing control over their agents. First, they sent Counterintelligence and Anti-Espionage to quietly mop it up. Failed, got dogpiled by every intel agency, crawled to the table admitting their fuckup. Lost a ton of front companies in the Church, major chunks of their networks across the continent, including Abbas. They papered over it with a token spy swap, but the network hit would hamstring their ops for the next decade. Hell, maybe 20 or 30 years. Our analysts couldn't pin the full ripple yet. Except the Guard themselves.
And the one who'd smashed the Guard's rear most deliciously? Not Clevins, not Pedro—Veronica. She'd fed me the dirt on their overseas ops. Clevins weaponized it.
That was the issue.
"Saintess, you really lost it? If you're crazy, at least say so—I can find you a psych ward."
Intel agencies never let traitors slide. Failed agents get booted; ones who flip off the state? Hunted to the ends of the earth for payback. So the Guard outsourced the purge of their rogue agents to the Inquisition and Military Intelligence.
No way the Guard was sane enough to touch her here and now, but people are unpredictable. Even if they forgave her, common courtesy was laying low for half a year. Scandal-plagued celebs took a year off.
To me, she was either half-off her rocker or fully unhinged. I'd always thought she was nuts, but this nuts? Never imagined.
Her reaction was way too chill, though.
"So?"
She smiled back at me.
"What're they gonna do? They're one step from being total fuckups."
"Pardon…?"
I stared, wondering what the hell that meant, but she just grinned, offering no more intel.
"Don't sweat it! Lucia and the Hero look done talking—go join 'em. Now's good, before anyone gets suspicious."
The saintess waved me off.
"Catch ya later."
"Hello?"
Who the fuck's about to be the fuckup? The Guard? Or the nobles backing Division 2? Racking my brain got me nowhere.
Veronica's leak seemed heavy, but I wasn't buying yet. No conviction. Sources pump their value with fakes, exaggerations, fabrications first. Never seen her level stoop to it, but you verify the goods before the deal.
Whatever. Later for that. Official schedule first.
This was near-state-visit level: over five events. Welcome with top brass, wreath-laying at the Patriotic Martyrs' Monument, Church visit in the capital, cultural promo show for guests and press, official banquet, etc.
Lucia (the real deal) and her entourage nailed it all. Bernard the Safety Director? Expected. Lucia? Surprisingly smooth, no discomfort.
Honestly, Camilla Lowell and Lucia had light loads. Press and pols swarmed, but escorts blocked 'em. No cable-news sharks or scoop-hungry rats.
Same for me. No one cared about a captain, fewer pests. I dodged cameras anyway.
Not zero annoyances, but intel cops in guard drag handled most.
Events ticked off, last one hit: the banquet.
"…I'm deeply honored to discuss strengthening ties with Saintess Lucia from the Church today. And signing this MOU with Church officials and our government here—truly moving."
"I propose a toast to harmony between our nations and the future of our heroes. To Saintess Lucia, Camilla Lowell, Cardinal Bernard, and all esteemed guests! To the peace and prosperity of our era ahead, and the successes to come!"
The PM raised his glass booming, kicking off the feast. King and queen, PM, Camilla and Lucia, ministers, Church entourage, ambassadors, pols, execs. Actual elite society, toasting away.
Dozens of tables groaning under gourmet spreads. Over 100 guests? Massive waste. But skimping on diplomacy looks cheap, so government splashed cash. Foreign press watching. Country wasn't broke anyway.
But I hated it. Deeply.
"…Our Hero and Saintess might not fancy the menu. Especially the Hero!"
"It's fine. Excellent banquet, Prime Minister."
"Haha! Music to my ears from another world's palate."
PM poured wine for Camilla and Lucia beside me.
"Captain, a glass? On duty, but this calls for it. Right, Defense Minister?"
"Yes, Prime Minister."
"There you go!"
"…Honored."
Skip the why. Dining with PM, saints, Hero, cardinal was hell; guards glaring everywhere worse. And the Defense Minister across kept side-eyeing me.
"……."
Banquet, my ass—get me out. Over an hour left, couldn't bail on security.
No one else seemed bothered. Even Camilla and Lucia.
Stuck suffering lifetime strangers till end. Only free escorting Lucia's crew back to hotel.
"……."
"You okay?"
"…Yeah. Rest up, Camilla."
"Not coming in? Lucia's here too."
"You two chat…."
"Mm, got it. Call if you need anything!"
Camilla and Lucia entered. Government booked 'em together.
Confirmed inside, briefed Bernard, our security, hotel head—done. Mission over.
"…Hoo."
Sigh escaped. Not relief—day not done.
"Let's meet quick, Saintess."
Top three questions burning.
One: Why was Veronica here?
Two: Why unofficial, off-list?
Three: What the hell did that mean earlier?
"Gotta know one and two now, at least."
"Aw, why grill a lady? Kills the vibe."
"Cut the shit, Saintess."
Had to get answers. She was prime intel source; any trouble on her end, I needed deets.
"Thanks for the concern, but I don't need handouts."
"Then why the bugged meet?"
"Okay, stop."
Veronica waved like recalling embarrassment, forehead in hand.
"Babe, no more of that. We're past day one…."
"Drop the cringey pet names. Why're you here?"
"Wait. Business first—one question."
"Don't wanna hear it."
"No romance in you, Captain?"
What bullshit. My cold stare at her brazen rogue act—she griped, pointing around.
"Seriously! Why meet in the hall, not a room?!"
She yelled at the corridor.
I shrugged like what's the issue?
"Why? Problem?"
"Who meets a woman in the hallway?!"
"Me."
"……."
Veronica looked gutted, like she'd met a psycho.
I sighed deep, explaining calmly.
"Vibe, bullshit—hall's safer. Beats a room that might be bugged."
"Inquisition and kingdom swept it—no bugs."
"Who knows."
Bugs are easy if motivated. Bribe staff, maid, hide in clothes or furniture. Agent sneaks in worst case.
Child's play. Constant monitoring's the bitch—needs bodies and time, not cash.
So rooms get bugs, halls don't. Empty.
Ex-Imperial Guard Veronica's take?
"Captain."
"Yeah."
"You got mental issues? Serious. How do you live like that? Pure paranoia…."
"Learned the hard way. Spill why you're here."
Arms crossed, I gestured hurry-up. Drained, she chuckled hollow, opening up.
"Bringing intel. Remember last time? Something big at the Magic Tower?"
"Yeah."
Nodded. No red flags on her—good, no parting ways here.
Relaxed, heard her out.
"Wanna hear what our mages are plotting—"
"They're declaring independence."
"Pardon? Who?"
"The Tower."
"Magic Tower? Independence?"
"Yep."
"…Fuck."
This is totally fucked.