Episode 5 - Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy
Spies dispatched overseas fall into two main categories. The first is the well-known white agent, operating under official cover. The second is the black agent, working under non-official cover. My status was closer to white.
To pull off proper tradecraft, black was ideal over white. But with my face plastered everywhere, no cover beat diplomat for personal security. So Military Intelligence slotted me as a military attaché, granting international law protections. Military attachés enjoy the same diplomatic immunity as envoys. As long as I held that status, I could dodge arrest and detention.
But for me to deploy abroad as a diplomat, the host needed to approve. In diplomatic circles, that's called agrément.
Agrément was typically for high-level envoys like ambassadors, ministers, or consuls-general. But my case was special—Hero's companion—so Abbas broke protocol and formally requested it from the Magic Tower. Higher-ups gave no special heads-up, and by custom, approval was routine absent issues. So no one, myself included, sweated it.
The problem was...
The Magic Tower had rejected agrément.
Episode 5 - Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy
"Give it a nice big one."
"Where?"
"There. From that forest way over there to here."
At my gesture, Camilla Lowell spat fire. Crimson flames bloomed from her palms, engulfing the trees and spreading with voracious hunger to devour the woods.
Moments later.
"Kieeeek—!"
"Aaaaooow—!"
Monsters unable to bear the heat burst from the forest. And right then—
Whoosh!
A massive blaze pierced the monsters' maws, burrowing into their innards. The searing heat ravaged their soft flesh, sending them into frenzied madness. Then a gust of wind swept in from somewhere, wrapping the monsters in smoke from the burning trees. Their tough hides, which had withstood shelling, and the tender meat beneath crisped in the blink of an eye. Perfectly seared outside, juicy within.
I pulled back from the tumbling, roasted monsters on the dirt, dragging the magic-happy Camilla with me. Grabbing the radio, I issued the order.
"Yeah, it's me. We're clear of the zone—light 'em up."
With that, a shell slammed into the ground, followed by a barrage raining down on the monsters' heads. The artillery battery was showing off.
I glanced at the tactical map and chuckled lightly amid the earth-shattering barrage.
"You okay?"
"Yep!"
"On to the next sector. Head east from here."
In the No Man's Land just off the border—a monster den mixed with vagrants and refugees. Amid unclaimed wastes, with a burning mountain range as backdrop, soldiers and mages on broomsticks cut across the sky.
Just another ordinary afternoon in this familiar dark fantasy world.
*
With the Magic Tower's official statement rocking the continent, a pride-fueled showdown between the Church and Tower had begun.
The Tower struck first. By formally barring entry to Saintess Lucia—a living saint—the controversy ignited continental politics.
The Tower, ever wary of the Church; the Church, pathologically obsessed with killing mages; the first dual saintesses in history; the public security crisis sweeping the land; demons pushing south from the north; civil war heat rising from below; poor harvests and plagues. International society, playing the waiting game amid these twin saints and fragile times, was shaking.
With the thin ice cracked, frozen issues reared up, and talking heads fanned the flames on camera.
Too complex to detail fully. Just know the continent was flipping out. Not wrong, either.
Anyway, applying persona non grata to Lucia made Tower-Church tensions crystal clear. Long needled over heresy and black magic ties, the Tower vented fury, grabbing mics to rap about Church smears. The Church fired back, branding the Tower an immoral mage den, the avatar of selfish factionalism defying these peace-starved times.
Truth? Hell if I know. Politicians probably don't either. Events piled too fast—even intel vets and diplo brass were reeling.
Agencies included. Everyone scrambling to parse the chaos.
What was clear: no one saw this coming. Church and Abbas government alike bristled at the Tower's move.
The Church halted all official schedules for Lucia's entourage. The PM, set for trade talks on day three, raged at the derailed deal (read: economic policy implosion).
Domestic press quoted "government sources": PM personally summoned the Kien Empire ambassador and Tower rep to the residence. Tower wasn't a state but an imperial autonomy—diplo protocol and politics both pointed there.
But PM handling envoys directly, not a minister? Showed how gravely the government viewed this.
No small matter.
Ignoring what diplos told him (unreported), government's stance held, suggesting no game-changing chat.
Anyway. In politics, business, or ops, truth matters little. Timing rules.
From that angle, Tower's ambush was spot-on. Cracking the ice gave underwater serpents—lurking for a Church bite—a shot.
Politicians and diplos holding breath, but official stances from governments loomed soon.
How'd I know?...
"Lushan and Patalia will float positions this week. Backing the Tower, hitting the Church."
"Endorsements?"
"Not that strong. Testing waters first, looks like."
Veronica fed me premium intel. Ex-Imperial Guard intel officer turned lobbyist, she was more self-serving politico than saintly cleric. Her skills shone now.
I jotted her tips.
"Empire?"
"Officially, boilerplate only."
"Unofficially?"
"Fucked."
Imperial Guard and Foreign Ministry playing hot potato, she said.
"Tower's nominally imperial autonomy, but sovereignty or not, this crosses lines. Empire looks like it can't control them..."
"Needs a fall guy for management failure?"
"Yes."
"Got it. Talk later. Ping me on fresh stuff."
I scribbled every scrap from her. Ugly handwriting—would I even read it later? No fix for that. No smartphone sucked here.
Wedged the comms unit neck-and-shoulder, scribbling awkwardly, when Veronica hit me with:
"Where are you? Voice echoing."
"Toilet."
"...Why take my call there? Gross."
"Outside now—what, come to me?"
"Field work?"
"No. Official duties."
"Lucia's off-schedule today, no? With the Hero?"
"Yeah."
"Doing what?"
Cracked the bathroom window, peered out. Acrid smoke wafted; redheaded mage roasted marshmallows on burning logs. I told Veronica.
"Campfire."
Today's task: burn forests.
*
A line from a novel I'd read ages ago popped up.
It was a pleasure to burn.
A book-burning man's tale in a censored future. Reading it was simple joy amid breathless fieldwork. Unearthing a first-edition original at a used bookstore? Ecstasy. Only other time locally: snagging Kawabata's Snow Country in Japan. Rare then, now.
I recalled it now because of Camilla.
"Heehee."
Ex-muggle, present magical girl Camilla Lowell grinned childlike, waving a perfectly toasted marshmallow.
"Camilla, do you enjoy burning things?"
"No? Why treat me like an arsonist."
You are one.
I shut my mouth. She'd turned woods to firewood, grilling snacks with glee. Salamander-shaped marshmallow wriggled away at her touch. She skewered it firm, thrust into flames sans hesitation. Ripped off a leg, offered with sunny smile.
"Want some?"
"Nah."
She popped the golden morsel in, chewing happily. I asked, queasy-faced.
"That... goes down okay?"
"It's food!"
"But your arson just now..."
"No Greenpeace here—what's the harm?"
She brazenly spouted nonsense, tearing another salamander leg. No eco-group lawsuits, so torching pristine forest's fine? Miracle logic. French who'd bombed Greenpeace ships would applaud.
Maybe.
Utterly absurd, but I just sighed deeply.
"Haa... Elves'll complain. Burned another forest."
"...Elves?"
"Yeah. Nature-loving race."
Eco-fascists who love it too much.
Idle banter as we surveyed the torched woods.
"So what's this place?"
"...Asking now? After burning?"
"Eh. Thought it was a training ground for magic practice. But if national land, is torching okay?"
Quick on the uptake. I flung a charred twig.
"No Man's Land. Not national."
This was No Man's Land. No state claimed or controlled it. Ownerless dirt, basically.
Sure, railroads, mining, pioneering drew folk. Residents existed, so "no man's" was iffy.
But.
"Minus a few zones, it's monster turf. Even military steers clear. Big corps get army escort for state projects; private devs hire adventurers."
"Huh. So why burn?"
"Winter's coming."
Winter's brutal for life. Homeotherms hoard like ants for spring; poikilotherms hibernate.
Monsters too. Gotta eat to move.
"So every fall, they descend, plaguing civvies. Like animals raiding crops—except they eat people."
"Aha."
Camilla nodded sagely.
"Budget-tight, so magic practice here—kill two birds!"
"Well... not wrong, but no need to phrase it like..."
Continent chaos cramped outings; library runs bored me. She wanted practice, so scouting empty ranges hit No Man's scorched-earth op. Dual-purpose: train, save payroll.
Fainting incidents aside, no major issues. Burned way more than expected—MoD thrilled at saved funds. One girl handled a battalion's workload; they nearly flipped.
Offered budget for full op stay. Accept, and they'd cartwheel.
No intent to hide, but hearing it from her felt odd.
"......"
"Frederic."
"...Yeah?"
Lost in thought, she beamed as always.
"Be honest."
"...About?"
"No hiding."
What? Tilted head at the vague prompt; she leaned in, whispering.
"This... no compensation, right...?"
"...Pardon?"
"Burned forest."
"No, that's..."
"No owner—who sues!?!"
She squeaked in panic.
"Don't want lawsuits here too...! Once torched a cornfield, paid farmer thousands... Law team reamed me...!"
I stared blankly at her teary, whiny outburst. Thought: She's not right either.
"I can hire a lawyer, right...?"
"......"
"No...?"
Calming her took fifteen minutes. Babysitting ain't my gig.
*
Next day, Camilla and I joined the No Man's scorched-earth again.
And there, I met an unexpected guest.