Episode 4 - Why Only Me?
"The Magic Tower is declaring independence?"
"Yes."
"Does that even fucking make sense?"
I couldn't hide my shock. It felt like all the blood was draining from my body. Like a life-flashing-before-your-eyes montage right before death, old memories flashed before me in an instant.
I wanted to deny the reality staring me in the face. I wanted to run away. But as always, the world had to crush my wishes so neatly.
The Church's saintess spoke up.
"It's already been agreed upon internally."
"……."
"There'll be an official announcement soon, so brace yourself ahead of time."
I thought to myself, Should I just quit right now?
Episode 4 - Why Only Me?
It took me about three minutes to calm down. I bolted to the bathroom, cranked the faucet to full blast, splashed water on my face, and scrubbed it dry with toilet paper before I could finally steady myself.
"Hoo…."
"You okay? Maybe call it a day and head home?"
"No. I'm fine."
I wiped the remaining water from my face with the towel Veronica handed me and mulled it over.
Okay, first things first—the Magic Tower was declaring independence.
"Um, Saintess. About this Magic Tower independence thing… wasn't that all settled ages ago?"
"Settled? What do you mean, settled?"
Veronica pouted and launched into a ridiculous pantomime, acting out a comedy routine.
"Look, the Inquisition pisses me off, so I rise up full of venom, right? Then bam, 'Hey, let's make peace!' and they extend a hand. I grab it, and surprise—it's poisoned! And get this, all the guys around me who had my back are clapping while I'm getting screwed over?"
"……."
"Wouldn't you be grinding your teeth in rage if you were me, Major? Or would you just sigh and give up like, 'Oh well, it's over'?"
Her tone and gestures were comical, but the message behind them was anything but. That made Veronica's performance a tragedy, not a comedy.
"The Magic Tower never gave up on independence. They just couldn't speak up."
"……."
When the Magic Tower rose against the Church, intelligence agencies across the continent covertly aided them in the war. National intel outfits fed the Tower damning dossiers on the Church, while military intel "lost" crates of supplies and funneled them over. Once the Tower scored a win against the Church and formed their mini-nation, every intel agency swapped applause for anxiety.
It was only natural. Back then, most nations were absolutist monarchies—dictatorships, basically. Everyone figured the Tower would weaken the Church enough for mutual destruction. Instead, the Church came out fine, and the Tower built a pseudo-state. A democracy, no less. How do you think that looked to dictators when the "masses" "rallied" for a "revolt" against "religion"?
Pretty words called it self-determination, but to the elites, it was rebellion. Of course they'd fear revolutionary sparks spreading across the continent. Hell, Patalia straight-up democratized after watching the Tower beat the Church, toppling their regime. No surprise the neighbors freaked out.
In the end, the nations decided to put down their hunting dogs. The intel agencies that once backed the Tower turned on their former allies like rabid wolves. If the Church hadn't stepped in as mediator with that Nastasya Accord bullshit, the Tower would've faced endless assassinations and coups.
Of course, that's all ancient history now. Most absolutist monarchies evolved into constitutional ones, and the spooks active back then retired decades ago—long buried. Only historians, history majors, and new recruits in intel school remember it.
So it all felt like some distant fairy tale. Except to the Magic Tower.
"……."
Now, a century-old dream of mages was rearing its head again. No one knew how the continental balance would shift.
The Imperial Army could brand the Tower anti-Imperial and launch ops. The Imperial Guard Agency and other Empire intel could assassinate their political leaders wholesale. Or maybe the Tower wouldn't declare at all. Maybe the Empire would let them go. Who the hell knows—the world's unpredictable.
"……."
I kept trying to divine the future, but I'm no shaman. No clue what was coming.
So I thought: Do what you have to do. Do what you can do.
What was that?
"……."
I'm an intelligence officer. I work in the shadows, finding paths where there's no light.
I had to find the path.
"…Saintess."
I asked Veronica.
"What else is going on? No way the Tower just flips to independence out of nowhere. There must be internal drama."
She replied.
"Tons. Way too much. If I spelled it all out, it'd take hours."
"……."
"That's why I told you to book a room, damn it…."
The saintess ruffled her hair in frustration, pondered for a bit, then started spilling sporadically.
"Let's start from the beginning of this mess."
"Go ahead."
"The Imperial Guard Agency approached first."
*
Veronica was the Church's 58th Saintess. Once a baron's daughter, she became an orphan in a freak accident and ended up in a Church-run orphanage. During her divine power test, they discovered she had an absurd amount for her age—unbelievable reserves.
Word reached the Imperial Guard Agency's domestic intel desk. The analyst reported up the chain: section chief, director, all the way to the Agency head. The boss ordered verification. Years of collection and analysis confirmed it was legit.
They briefed the Emperor, and that sealed Veronica's fate as a saintess.
The Empire's intel ran ops across assassination, sabotage, politics, propaganda, economy—you name it—to make her a saintess. She became the Church's saint and the Empire's lobbyist. Fancy term for a high-level asset under Imperial Guard control.
For whatever reason, she got fed up, snagged a big score, flipped off the Agency and the throne, and bolted. Then she double-dipped with Military Intelligence and the Inquisition. Whatever she touches turns to survival gold.
In my report, I called her a "bat-like figure" with "high betrayal risk if it doesn't suit her interests."
And sure enough, she betrayed them.
"Couldn't stomach it and backstabbed them? Not a bat—a fucking guppy."
"Argh, seriously! It wasn't betrayal, so shut up!"
Veronica bellowed, pounding her chest and ranting.
"They came to me first! Begging! With cash!"
"Does that make any goddamn sense? Why approach a traitor? Talk straight."
"If I'd betrayed them, would I be blabbing? Use your head!"
This world defies common sense from the jump.
"Hmm…."
Still, her reaction rang true. Traitors don't act like this.
So I decided to trust her.
"Alright, lay it out."
I coaxed and soothed her until she calmed, then got the full story.
She downed a glass of ice water and wiped her mouth.
"About five days ago, I think. At my usual hookah spot, puffing away, when this lanky old dude sits down and introduces himself as a diplomat."
"…Hookah?"
"Fuck, that's not the point right now. Anyway, he says he's from the Imperial Embassy and asks for a favor."
"What kind?"
"Tell him what's going down in the Tower. Vague as hell, so I press for specifics, and he says, 'Anything useful—bring it all.'"
Useful intel. Politics, diplomacy, defense, economy, society, culture, science, magic, tech. That's the rundown.
The Tower has no army, so defense intel's limited to foreign military contracts for gear. That's Imperial Recon Command's turf, not Guard Agency. Basically, everything but defense.
"…How many Guard plants are in the Tower, and they're asking you?"
"Beats me. Didn't ask, wouldn't tell anyway. I stonewalled, he backed off. Then a few days later, back again—with a bag of cash."
She recounted it calmly.
First guy was probably a low-level Guard Church branch operative. Looked late 20s—not team lead. Second was over 40. Analyst at least, maybe section chief.
"Looked desperate. Vague asks turned super specific."
"Specific how?"
"Intel on the Oracle committee."
The Oracle—the Tower's ruling body. Korea's Blue House equivalent.
"Current Tower Lord's term's ending, so one's vacating. Find out the top candidate for that seat."
"……."
The Oracle's like a Roman oligarchy—committee of members. One leader risks dictatorship, so they rotate Tower Lord duties, then retire to elder status.
Current Lord's term ending soon—one seat opening. Tower politics in upheaval.
I asked Veronica.
"…New Oracle member's settling in—coordination chaos. Why declare independence now? No bandwidth. Wait—top candidate's Empire guy, right?"
Tower's boast: talent from everywhere. Problem: talent from everywhere. Anyone can join Oracle, so one nutjob could wreck it. Current Lord's tight with the Emperor—pro-Empire, pro-Imperial.
Pro-Empire seat goes to pro-Empire pick. Stinks of intel op.
"Guard Agency—no, Empire intel's puppet wins easy. How's independence happening? Two candidates, both."
Doesn't add up. Pro-Empire lets Tower go free?
Like China's president backing Hong Kong independence.
But Veronica looked at me like I'd said something dumb.
"You haven't heard?"
"Heard what? Learned about Tower independence here."
"That candidate? He's out."
"Pardon?"
What bullshit is this?
"Empire mage candidate. Noble family, right?"
"Yeah, I know."
Memory jogged. Trading company bigwig, overseas ops. Morning brief said—wait.
Family runs a trading company?
"……."
"Company shredded, bankrupt. Family ruined. No time for Tower—packed up ages ago. Other one's domestic biz, survived fine."
Ah, life.
Legs buckled. I staggered, grabbing Veronica's arm to steady.
"You good? Hurt somewhere?"
"…So who's favored now? Next Oracle seat."
I eyed my asset.
She answered.
"Shaman from Lushan and an alchemist. You probably know her."
Train convo flashed back. Name slipped out.
"…Francesca Lanieri."
Alchemist.
"Those two are tops now."
Recap: Guard idiots fuck up, Clevins and I crush 'em. Intel swarm piles on Guard. Fallout: Empire's Oracle plant #1 tanks. Alchemist—who'd normally flop—gets seat, future Tower Lord shot. Current pro-Empire Lord's term ends, no Imperial puppet left. Boom—independence.
"…Ah, life."
I collapsed on the hotel hallway floor, eyes closed.
Tears or just wet eyes? Why does this shit only happen to me? Fucking hell….