Episode 5 - Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy
Veronica said it. The Magic Tower would soon approve the agrément.
"The agrément issue should be resolved soon."
In the midst of a fierce three-way battle between the Magic Tower, the Church, and the Empire, the Church's saintess—who had once been the Empire's lobbyist—spoke with utter conviction.
I asked her, "How is that possible?"
"Hmm..."
Veronica trailed off with a faint smile. Then, after a moment, she tossed out with a peculiar expression:
"A battle for public opinion...?"
The minister said, "The Church has signaled their intent to actively resolve the diplomatic issue, Prime Minister."
"...Hmm."
While Frederic was hearing out Veronica, a meeting was in full swing at the Prime Minister's office.
The Prime Minister, listening intently to the Foreign Minister, finally spoke. "All right. What do you propose we do?"
"...If I may, there were no specific details mentioned, Prime Minister."
The Foreign Minister politely defended himself, implying he didn't know because they hadn't been told—not because of any incompetence on his part.
In response, the head of the National Intelligence Agency, the Director of the Royal Intelligence Bureau, who was seated nearby, cautiously opened his mouth.
"We've confirmed through local assets that a Church diplomat stationed in the Empire has entered an Imperial Guard safehouse."
"...Is that so?"
"It's still speculative at this point, but we assess that the Church is joining forces with the Empire to pressure the Magic Tower. In conjunction with the recently announced economic sanctions, we anticipate further restrictive measures."
For what was supposed to be a simple report, the situation was ironically telling. While the Foreign Ministry floundered without even grasping the facts, the Royal Intelligence Bureau laid out their own informed speculation based on collected and analyzed intelligence.
This was less a report and more a subtle power play. That was the Intelligence Director's intent, the Foreign Minister's humiliated reaction in front of the PM, and even the Prime Minister viewed it as inter-agency rivalry.
The Prime Minister's face broke into a smile. Half of it genuine appreciation for helpful policy input, half a political calculation to bolster the Intelligence Bureau and rein in the Foreign Ministry's slack.
So the Prime Minister laughed. "Haha. As expected from the Intelligence Bureau. Thank you very much."
"My pleasure."
"......"
The Intelligence Director, not one to rattle his saber openly in a crowded room, offered a curt thanks. The Foreign Minister, inwardly cursing the old bastard for being such a pain in the ass today, forced an awkward smile.
It wasn't a smile born of joy.
"All right. Since the Church says they'll handle the agrément issue, let's set that aside for now and..."
The Prime Minister kept the smile on his face as he shifted topics. Then he spat out a curse.
"What the hell do we do about those damn magic fuckers?"
"Public opinion war? You mean psychological warfare, or political maneuvering?"
"Do we really need such stiff terms?"
She was saying not to get hung up on terminology. Words mattered, but this wasn't the time for semantic nitpicking, so I let her speak freely.
At my cue, Veronica began her explanation. She brushed her silky black hair to one side and started.
"First off, the current situation is super complicated, right?"
"Yes."
A diplomatic war was unfolding between the Magic Tower, the Empire, and the Church. Diplomatic battles don't always happen in the open. They brew in the shadows too. Like a tsunami starting deep in the ocean, the first ripples of diplomatic crises emerge below the surface, not above.
Veronica zeroed in on that.
"This whole mess we're seeing? It's not some fresh-baked incident that just popped up. Whether it's the independence push or rejecting agrément."
"......"
"It's more like a festering wound finally bursting like a pimple..."
Veronica argued that all of this had been foreseeable long ago, a classic pattern anyone could have predicted. I had nothing to say to that. She was right.
The Magic Tower's long-nurtured desire for independence. Dispatching diplomats to a nation with no formal ties. And historically, politically, they'd always been at odds.
Veronica nailed it. "Do you really think the Church didn't see this coming?"
The Empire's former lobbyist, now the Church's saintess, claimed the Church was behind the entire affair. They'd deliberately planted the seeds of the crisis and now held the keys to initiative and resolution.
I summed up her claim in one word.
"Conspiracy theory."
Veronica's assertion was textbook conspiracy—flimsy evidence patched together, and annoyingly, it had legs.
"It's a judgment overly influenced by cognitive bias. I'll grant it's intriguing, but it doesn't strike me as sound intelligence."
Yeah. Even smart people don't always win. Looked like Veronica had slipped up on intel gathering this time. Not that I doubted her skills. Her tips had a near-100% hit rate, each one a critical secret. But given the chaos, I couldn't take her word at face value. People had died, after all. With Axel yanked and everyone charging off the cliff, governments and intel agencies worldwide were losing their minds. She might be caught in the swirl too.
"Anyway, thanks for the rundown. Hit me up if something more productive comes up. I'll be heading out now..."
As I turned to head back to my hotel room, she grabbed me with this: "...Why do you think two saintesses emerged right now?"
Veronica's voice came from behind.
Calling them "magic fuckers" was wildly inappropriate for an official setting. Especially as a slur, it was tough to drop even in private. Like how the South Korean president wouldn't call North Korea "commie bastards," China "chinks," or Japan "Japs" in a cabinet meeting. Even average citizens held back unless with close like-minded buddies—sticking it to keyboards, avoiding it face-to-face. Too crude and hardline for casual talk.
So the Prime Minister's slip was prime blackmail material if leaked. Abbas had plenty of mages too. Meaning he'd uttered a career-ending word in a fit of rage. His economic promises were crumbling, so yeah, understandable.
The attendees instinctively clocked it: the PM was fully off the rails. Translation: he'd smash the Magic Tower at the first chance.
Reading the room, the Foreign Minister jumped in quick. "How about we pursue independent economic sanctions?"
The Foreign Ministry's pitch: sanctions.
"Consider our trade profits with the Empire and Church. Sanctions could turn crisis into opportunity."
Basically, side with the Church and Empire. They'd already pinned the Magic Tower; agrément rejection gave perfect cover. Just pile on the loser.
Abbas's gains from trade with those two were substantial, so the minister's take was solid.
"Hold on."
"...Yes, Director?"
"That doesn't fit the bill."
The Royal Intelligence Director countered the Foreign Minister's proposal. The grizzled intel vet pushed back cautiously.
"The Magic Tower's line aligns with ours, doesn't it? Democratic nations sniping at each other looks bad."
*No, you old fool. The Tower's a dictatorship, not democracy. We're a constitutional monarchy ourselves—hit them, and what'll the Empire or Church say?* The Director spelled it out sideways.
"The Empire's an absolute monarchy, the Church a theocracy. Sure, the Empire has a parliament on paper, but the royals crush opposition in practice. If we sanction the Tower now, we'll just be a joke."
*You're a diplomat—why ignore the tide of history and spout nonsense?* The Director didn't stop, dredging up the Emperor's Independence Day speech from 12 years ago to list "101 Reasons We Can't Touch the Tower."
Intel meddling in diplomacy was overreach, sure. But so what? Times were like that. He verbally pinned the Foreign Minister, pounding away.
Not to be outdone—the Foreign Minister wasn't playing Go-Stop with amateurs—he fired back.
"Going against the Church and Empire here? That's begging for war. Starve the people, use 'em as cannon fodder? That the plan?"
"What kind of talk is that? You're worked up. Heh heh..."
The retort hotter than expected; the Director backpedaled a step.
"Criticism without alternatives is just bashing. Does the Bureau have a way through this mess?"
The Foreign Minister's question hit just as the Director opened his mouth to reply.
"We do."
The answer came from the uniformed old man across from the Director.
All eyes turned. The Foreign Minister, surprised, spoke up. "Director of Military Intelligence...?"
The Military Intelligence Agency chief.
"Got some masterstroke? Doesn't seem dire enough for the military to step in."
*Why're you butting in? Military gone mad, starting a war?* As the minister pressed, the Director cut in desperately.
"Ah, one moment."
Maintain speaking order to hold initiative.
But.
"Please hold, Director."
"......"
The PM, who'd been listening quietly, shut down the Intelligence Director. Ego-bruising, but the PM appointed him, so he relinquished the mic.
Seeing it, the PM smiled warmly. "Haha, thanks for the courtesy, Director. Go ahead, Chief. You're up."
"Appreciated."
The Military Intelligence Chief scanned the room. Locking eyes with the Royal Intelligence Director, he spoke carefully.
"No need for economic sanctions."
"Let's hear it. I'm listening."
And so the bomb dropped in the meeting room.
"The Magic Tower violated the Nastassya Treaty."
Hotel corridor. Amid tight security from police and the Inquisition, two figures met.
The soldier asked the holy woman, "...What do you mean, why two saintesses?"
The priestess from another world—now a spy—replied to this one's priest, "It's weird."
"What is?"
"Everything."
The nun-clad priestess walked slowly. The suited spy's eyes tracked her footsteps.
"Why's the Empire backing the Church? Why'd the Tower reject agrément? Why two saintesses...?"
"......"
"Where'd it all start?"
"The Tower's independence—"
"Exactly—why independence now?"
She stopped abruptly. Silence hung.
The holy woman looked up at the soldier. The spy, piecing it together, said to the priestess, "...The Empire's authority crumbled."
"And why'd that happen?"
"......"
No one here didn't know. The key player spoke.
"...Assassination. Or rather, terrorism from lost internal control."
"Right. You think the Church didn't foresee this mess? The Pope, who watches the Tower closer than anyone?"
The saintess continued. "My take? Agrément got smacked down alongside Lucia's beating. Abbas pitched in to topple the Tower too. Decades ago, sure."
Nastassya Treaty signing. Church-Tower ties severed, formal nationhood denied. Empire suppressing Tower independence. Decades of Inquisition shadows.
The Tower endured, rose as a financial hub. Empire's prestige in the dirt. Religion waning amid science and magic. Church eyeing entry via Camilla pretext. Unwitting saintess in the path. Continent's first dual saints.
Church's 59th Saintess, Lucia.
"......"
The thought clicked—blocked puzzle piece slotting in.
The ducal agent asked, "...Whose handiwork?"
"Raphael, probably. Pope pulling strings behind."
Raphael Cardinal. Ex-Inquisition chief, promising a safe Church. Recently elected. Church in regime-change mode.
Fresh leaders push hardline for momentum—things only doable then. Current Pope foaming at black magic, out for mage blood.
So. For a safe Church. Restore religious authority. Make it great again.
Who first?
The answer: "...The Magic Tower."
Chop the head off the uppity rooster strutting around.
Truth out, Veronica grinned wide.
"You asked how they'd take down the Tower?"
"......"
The saintess laughed.
"All wars start with propaganda."