Episode 5 - Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy: Swords Drawn, Two Blades
"The Kien Empire's Foreign Ministry has announced measures to freeze the Magic Tower's public assets and nationalize its invested assets."
"Some analysts are suggesting this could lead to a default declaration against the Magic Tower..."
"Imperial police launch massive preemptive arrests to stabilize the unstable southern regions..."
"A large column of tanks spotted near Nastasya City at dawn..."
"The Defense Ministry spokesman claims it's a redeployment to support counter-espionage ops in the northern conflict zone, but some say it's gearing up for military action against the Magic Tower..."
At the same time, Imperial police started rounding up mages. A declaration to crush subversives stirring division and chaos, restoring order—but no one knew who counted as "subversive." Hell, tank units had even been spotted abandoning posts near the Tower. No clue what the hell was going on.
But one thing I knew for sure. The Empire had declared full-on war on the Magic Tower.
That was it.
Episode 5 - Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy
The Empire had declared war on the Magic Tower. Not military conflict, but diplomatic warfare—and the international community treated it as war-level shit.
Intel agencies took it hardest. Every outfit monitoring the Empire and Tower went on high alert. Comms networks linking HQs to field ops fired up, alerts blasting to every agent and operative in play.
Military Intelligence was no exception.
"Duty officer! Wake the branch chief NOW and get a sitrep!"
"Staff locations confirmed? What? The fuck you mean you can't track 'em? We're about to get swept up, and you're telling me jack shit?!"
"On it. Pull the armor unit's affiliation and TO&E near the Tower—emergency report."
The police sweeps and rear-echelon moves triggered it. Part of our gig was foreign military intel, so we tracked Imperial Army movements real-time. But we couldn't move our HUMINT assets. Cops were yelling they'd toss anyone sniffing around into lockup, foreign press be damned.
So other assets rolled.
"Team 1, Team 2—air recon, gear up and assemble!"
"Intercepting Imperial Army comms now. Link all idle listening posts and deployed collectors."
"Entering Imperial territorial waters. Stay frosty, prep for engagement. Out."
"Team leads: Scrape every article hitting foreign press. Majors, minors, rags—all of it."
Every Military Intelligence unit mobilized. Mages flew Imperial border airspace scouting unit movements; naval collectors tightroped international waters, eavesdropping on Imperial comms. Officers ran ops from the situation room on radios; NCOs and civvies flipped channels analyzing feeds; grunts hammered out reports at demon speed.
Me? I grabbed the horn and yelled.
"Field sitrep? Everyone secure?!"
-'Cops blanketing the streets. Worse near the Tower—no way in.'
"HQ's working options. Stand by, keep eyes on Imperial moves..."
Of course, agents and ops weren't sitting idle. Intel officers posing as diplomats sniffed around; vetted ops with clean counterintel met sources. Some danced with death; others charged in sans last words.
Result: Raw intel and fresh analysis piled into databases. Agencies forwarded to partners, called emergency meets.
Stand-down hit after just 11 hours. Dawn after that long-ass night.
*
"Sir. All clear."
"......"
"Sir...?"
"...Go home first."
"...Yes, sir. Take care."
Shooed Jake out, sat alone in the office, zoning.
"......"
Longest, fiercest dawn ever. Window to the hall: Burned-out NCO printing copies like a zombie.
Fired up the terminal, logged into the intel DB. 28 new reports, 46 raw tips since I last checked.
"......"
Logged off, killed the terminal. Sunlight leaked through blinds; my face ghosted on the dark screen. Stared forever—couldn't read the expression.
Thought long, then stood, killed the lights, headed to the hall. Lights buzzed, flickered out.
Like that. One star set; another rose.
*
"...Something wrong?"
"Nah. All good."
The world flipped. No need to spell out how. Press already had.
Some intel hit airwaves; sensitive stuff got censored; some never reached journos. Pols, profs, ex-bureaucrats, think-tankers spewed hot takes on news. Press scooped 'em, aired competitively; ratings skyrocketed.
Camilla, watching TV in the hotel room, said:
"War's coming...?"
"Won't happen."
Lucia, the Church saintess beside her, spoke up.
"Common stuff. That."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
Looking back on 28 years, that shit wasn't common here either. But Camilla was new—half-year in this world—so she bought it. From a friend, no less.
Lucia, in matching PJs, white-lied to soothe her.
"Don't worry too much."
"...Mm."
"......"
Camilla twirled crimson locks, humming pensively. Zoned out a bit, then nodded like she'd figured it.
I traded looks with Lucia, slipped back quiet.
Lucia grabbed the remote: "Let's do variety. That... England? They got shows too?"
"Yeah, but if it's like here, I dunno..."
Lucia flipped channels to "top-tier" local variety. Hit a comedy show: Goblin mic'd up, dumping self-deprecating race-bait.
"Alright, listen up. Headin' home from market at dawn. Goin' to see my basement buddy, orc foreman. Light up some mana grass for old times. Cop rolls up: 'Narcotics sweep—come to the station.' I go, 'Why me?' 'That mana grass looks like dope!' Meanwhile, masked beastman right there flickin' lighter over tampon-stuck bottle! Nah, they nab me! Cat ears? Cop'd pass."
Audience cackled. Goblin hammed tragic reality with gestures and riffs; humans roared harder as it peaked.
Lucia laughed; Camilla grinned at the novelty.
Goblin jokes and laughs? Didn't register.
"......"
Slipped out quiet to the hall. Wandered aimless.
"......"
Empire declared war on Tower. Diplomatic warnings still, but no-shy muscle-flexing hinted at kinetic options.
Not just talk. Foreign Ministry sanctions strangled Tower cashflow hourly; police/army blockade cut external links.
Emperor's exact orders unknown, but moderates/hawks compromised for sure. If he wanted Oracle swap, tanks'd flatten it easy.
Maybe intel prepping regime change already. Psych ops trash Oracle rep; diplo block aid; assassins wipe 'em—staged accidents or "natural."
Not guns—too martyr-y.
I knew. CIA did it, KGB, SIS, DGSE, Mossad—multiple times.
Had to. So I saw it coming.
"......"
If Tower doubles down on independence, Emperor greenlights hits—Imperial Guard/Intel Command same playbook.
Maybe. Maybe.
Ran scenarios endless. Unknown psyches/judgments. Global game around Tower. Empire resolve, Church moves. Diplomatic knife-fight reshuffling. Hidden agendas. Positions, wants.
Fog of war. Intel fog blinds; some rando's brainfart rules.
What to do. How.
Wandering lost in thought, hit hall's end.
And there.
"......"
"...You came?"
"...New intel?"
"Yes."
Met my source. Veronica gave a weary smile.
"You look rough."
"Pulled all-nighter."
"...Heard about the border. No time—short version."
She spoke.
"Tower's opening gates soon."
"......"
"Agrimant issue? Getting fixed."
*
During recon, if aircraft or drones crash, spec ops deploy to demo classified gear. Photo shows U.S. spec ops recovering a downed drone. In-story, our side failed corpse/gear denial; enemy search teams entered No Man's Land to secure bodies and equipment.