Episode 5 - Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy
A dimly lit hotel room. I paced back and forth with the comms device pressed to my ear. The only light came from the faint blue glow of the secure terminal. I perched on the edge of a chair and asked the operations officer,
"I heard you set up an office."
"Yes, we got one up with help from the mission rep."
The unofficial covers we'd deployed for this op were posing as a private corporate market research team. We'd originally planned to go in as a relief organization or NGO for long-term stays and hopping between regions, but…
"If you stay over 30 days, you have to register your identity within 14. Fingerprints, face—everything gets archived at the Magic Tower. Can't have that."
"Haha…."
To dodge the foreigner registration hassle, you had to enter for one of three purposes: diplomacy, defense, or industry. So a few of us, including me, were posing as diplomatic mission staff. The rest claimed they were here for business feasibility surveys and went undercover as corporate types.
I scanned through the various files the team lead had sent over the secure line.
"You haven't started operations yet, right?"
"Prep phase. Rented a sedan and a van. Sedan's doing pre-recce right now. Van goes live as soon as the gear's loaded."
They were tailing Fabio Verati. Visual surveillance for now, but once the bugs were ready, they'd tap his comms too. That'd tell us who was tangled up in the research institute leak—who sent the shaman spy. Bonus: the real Geoda Bianchi's location.
With our team's combined service time easily topping a century, the vets would handle it fine. I nodded with a grin.
"Got it. See you at the next sitrep then. Can you set a time and place?"
"Of course. I'll ping you once everyone's rounded up."
"Yep. Gotta run—heading to a briefing."
"Ah, yes. Good luck."
Click.
Truth be told, I knew jack about the Magic Tower. Except what came up in the game, that is.
I wasn't a gaming nut, wasn't even good at it, and sure as hell didn't have the free time to sink into it. Maybe it was just my personality. I'd skim community strategy posts plastered on the front page, and if that failed, fire up a YouTube guide while the game ran in the background. If a buddy from OCS hadn't pushed it hard, I might never have glanced at the game.
More importantly, I never finished it. So I had no clue about the full storyline ahead.
But I wasn't a total noob on the Magic Tower. Over 28 years, I'd picked up bits here and there. A few Military Intelligence buddies had been posted there, so I had a rough sense of the vibe.
If I had to compare it to Earth, Hong Kong fit best. An El Dorado sucking in talent and gold from the whole continent. A prophet city leading civilization with the fusion of magic and tech. From the icy northern gales to the scorching southern winds, a dreamlike melting pot of continental cultures. A mystic hub infused with the wisdom of great mages beyond modern magic or science. Staring at that massive tower piercing the rising sun over the horizon filled you with awe for magic.
Listening to a Military Intelligence colleague rave about the Magic Tower until his mouth went dry was like hearing some old coworker back from a Hong Kong trip, eyes glazed over. I'd figured he was just drunk on the local hype back then, but seeing it myself? Spot on.
A dazzling city of lights by night. A surreal blend of cultures. Thriving international finance hub and gateway linking north, central, and south. Yeah, the Magic Tower had a lot in common with Hong Kong. Even the cutthroat spy games. Coincidence? Or dev intent? Who knows.
"……."
Of course, gawking at the Magic Tower wasn't the point right now.
A massive screen covered one entire wall. The beam projector cast mana-light onto it, floating up a presentation deck. I gestured from my seat, and the analyst—sleeves rolled up to her elbows—grabbed the mic.
"Briefing commencing."
Pippin's crisp voice rang out from the magitech speaker, commanding the room.
"The Magic Tower is a nation-state located in the city of Nastasya in the Kien Empire's south. In defiance of the Church's 'Alhambra Edict' of 1889—which first acknowledged mages' existence and branded them heretics—it launched the 'Liberation War' in 1892, achieving independence at war's end in 1903."
First up: a quick intro to the Magic Tower. Basics.
The screen flipped to politics, society, economy, culture, defense, diplomacy, geography, population, race breakdown, transport, environment. Even a quick scan made my head spin. Info overload.
But given the stakes, I stayed sharp. Pippin pressed on.
"The Magic Tower's political system is officially a 'democratic republic.' In practice, it's an oligarchy ruled by the nine-member Oracle Committee. The committee—drawn three each from the three ruling parties—rotates the Magic Tower Lord on a single-term basis to run the government."
Three symbols appeared on screen: elemental magic, shamanism, and astrology. Dead center, dominating: the big three ruling parties steering the Magic Tower. A peek at their unique politics—factioned not by ideology but by academic schools.
The scrappy ones clustered below? Fringe parties. Non-ruling schools within the Tower.
Pippin kept rolling.
"The recent economic sanctions hit the Magic Tower hard. But as the hub of logistics and finance…."
"They banned foreign investors from dumping stocks early on, then scooped them up with sovereign funds to defend…."
Sanctions wrecked them, but they slammed the stock market shutters and bought the dip to avert collapse.
"Post-Liberation War allies like the Patallia Republic, Abbas sharing democratic solidarity, even the absolute monarchy Lu Shan Federal Kingdom with its presidential system. Dozens of nations maintain close ties…."
Not a pure democracy, but cozy with revolutionary kin like Patallia, plus states wary of the Church and Empire.
Continent-wide influx fused cultures nicely—but sparked discrimination and hate clashes too.
No regular army, but permitted irregulars—militias, volunteers, PMCs—kept the peace with gov backing.
All races flocked in, stirring big and small troubles. Rogue mages caused occasional incidents. Smuggling and drugs were minor issues. But security held up decently.
Magic engineering made transport top-tier. Amenities were great too.
Gov ignored warnings, illegal dumping wrecked internal/external environments. Etc.
The marathon briefing wrapped at 1 hour 51 minutes.
"…That concludes the basics briefing. Next—"
"That's enough for today. Save the rest for the full sitrep when everyone's here."
"Ah, yes, sir."
Pippin set down the mic. The work-clothed analysts (her OCS juniors and proteges) packed up her slides. Jake blasted the summary report over secure channels to all handlers.
Meanwhile, I lounged in my chair, pondering.
"…Hmm."
It's a mess.
*
Every op gets rocked by external factors. Nothing fancy.
If security's tight, dirty tricks like assassination, kidnapping, threats, confinement, torture get tough—slows goal attainment.
Shitty security? Unleash creativity for quick wins.
By that metric, this op needed serious time. At least in my book.
Setting aside Tower-coop irregulars, solid cops and counterintel stood firm. Plus, prime target Fabio Verati was a civil servant. No torture, hard to even snatch. Missing persons report? Instant heat.
"…How much dirt on Fabio Verati?"
"Work, residence, routes, contacts. But…."
Jake trailed off.
"Spit it out."
"His history's… suspiciously clean. Hit up Patallia Justice and Foreign Ministries first—no dice. HQ same."
No Justice records? Never entered Abbas. Foreign Affairs? Possible. Military Intelligence? If no service in Patallia, expected.
I nodded calmly at Jake.
"Hmm… Rivals or partners?"
"Royal Intelligence denied sharing. Partners no reply."
"Ah—fucking pricks at it again."
"Allies" hoarded intel. "Family" Royal Intelligence threw tantrums over no cake.
No intel? Ground game it is.
This op was now a race against time. No clue how much it'd eat in time and budget.
How nice it'd be with CIA or DIA pals. Frustration had me sighing deep when a white-coated woman approached.
"…Why the endless sighs? You okay?"
Lucia. Not saintly white robes, but a lab coat, standing in the hotel hall. Clothes make the woman—she looked like a doctor, not clergy. Stethoscope around her neck? No one'd blink.
Jake wisely bailed at the sudden saintess sighting. I drew her attention.
"Job change? Why the doctor getup?"
"Tower folks said priest robes make escorting tough…."
"…Ah."
"Borrowed it."
Right—Magic Tower. Parading in priest or nun garb? Lynch mob waiting. Especially red-trimmed robes—echoed old Heretic Inquisitor style.
Extremist mage groups beat red-robed priests with "justice sticks" in the news all too often.
Hard to feel it cooped in the hotel. Lucia smiled sheepishly.
"I get it. Even with permits, cops guarding a priest? Gossip inevitable."
"Aigoo… sorry for the hassle. Where to in the coat…?"
"Ah, medical aid today."
She hefted her leather bag—house call style. I eyed the bag, then her. Then asked,
"You're joking, right?"
"…? Why would I?"
Her face dead serious. That confidence floored me.
No lip service to reporters? I'd figured it for rote PR.
Stunned blank, attendants in casuals—not habits—filed out with big bags. Heretic Inquisitors.
"……."
I blanked long. Utterly absurd.
Then,
"…Oh right, you're ex-military? Free today?"
"Yeah…? Why?"
"Perfect. Join us?"
"Where?"
"Medical aid."
Lucia beamed benevolently, inviting me along.
"Ah, well, as defense attaché, need approval first…."
Diplo risk? Figured they'd nix it. Called the mission rep.
Defense office: "Doesn't seem long-term. Go sightsee, take it easy."
"……."
"You're coming, right?"
Lucia grinned. I looked away.
And just like that, an unscheduled medical aid gig was on.