Episode 5: Commanding Journalists, Diplomats, Spies, and Soldiers in Disguise—Infiltrating the Magic Tower as Military Attaché to Hunt the Spy Ring's Puppetmaster
Leading journalists, diplomats, spies, and soldiers in unofficial disguises, I've infiltrated the Magic Tower as a military attaché to uncover the mastermind dispatching spies. So far, every operation has proceeded smoothly. I'm closing in on the target steadily, and none of my covers have been blown.
But what I hadn't anticipated was our target being tied to an allied intelligence agency—and that another empire's military intelligence outfit is also pursuing the same mark. An unforeseen wrinkle. Who could've guessed that a single objective would entangle multiple intelligence agencies? One cake, three mouths. And to top it off, that sly bastard friend of ours is hovering nearby, begging for just a nibble. Whether he'll settle for a bite or snatch the whole thing and devour it whole remains to be seen.
The crucial thing is the outcome. As I've said time and again, process and logic don't matter. Reports only record results and the achievements they yield. That's all that endures. Five days remain until the moment that decides this operation's fate. If I don't want to be licking scraps off someone else's plate, I need to charge ahead like a mad dog from here on out.
Camilla wiped away the beads of sweat dotting her forehead and shook out her hands.
"Not as hot as I thought, huh?"
"Of course not. It'd be ridiculous for a mage to get burned by their own spell."
Camilla twisted her wrist this way and that, then thrust her arm out again, unleashing another spell. With a resounding boom, a geyser erupted from the middle of the swimming pool. I couldn't help but clap at the sight.
"Impressive."
"Hehe."
Camilla scratched her head awkwardly at the praise. It was hard to believe this was the work of a mage who'd awakened to magic just shy of three months ago—the scale and power were unreal. I'd seen her abilities exhaustively during the barren zone op, yet here I was, still involuntarily awestruck. Considering that in my 28 years, the only proper magic I'd witnessed was from my sister—the one I wanted to erase from the family registry—it was saying something that even a magic illiterate like me was blown away. Camilla's talent was that exceptional.
I handed her a fluffy towel as she stood there drenched from the pool water.
"That's seriously advanced stuff. You could brag about it anywhere."
"Really?"
"Absolutely."
I'd lived a life far removed from magic, but thanks to the trainee mage officers I'd met during commissioning training and my sister rolling around at home, I knew well how grueling a discipline it was. Magic demanded heaps of money, tons of time, and futures hinged on talent. Think of it like fine arts or athletics for an easy grasp. And just like those fields, only a tiny fraction clawed their way to success amid cutthroat competition. Sure, mediocrity still opened job doors—brighter prospects than pure arts—but imagine scraping by on a meager salary while others raked in fat paychecks. At least in liberal arts or sciences, you could blame poor study habits. Magic prioritized innate gift over effort, so saying that to a friend's face was a one-way ticket to getting beaten to death. Murders over it weren't uncommon, either.
It was weirder that my talented, high-achieving sister was an unemployed bum. I wasn't a mage, so I didn't know the industry's gritty underbelly, but I'd picked up enough to have a rough idea.
As Camilla prepped her next spell, I tossed out a casual question.
"Anything you're curious about? Magic, maybe. Or the Magic Tower."
"Hmm. Nah, not right now."
"You said last time there was something you wanted to ask."
"I'll hit you up later! It's not the kinda thing to bring up here."
"...?"
Camilla wiggled her fingertips and flashed a bright grin. No clue what she was planning to ask. In any case, it was crystal clear she possessed absurd abilities. The flood of reports from countless Military Intelligence Agency officers dispatched overseas proved it. Half the daily secure-line briefings involved data from various nations' defense ministries and military intel agencies, all centered on her capabilities. And some tech-savvy agencies had even launched cyber ops against our servers—her allure needed no further explanation.
Overheated intel outfits might even attempt direct contact. Clevins was trying to block it at the agency level, but good luck with that. Honestly, I doubted it would stick.
...Still.
I didn't need to worry much.
"......"
"Hiyah!"
Probably not.
*
After wrapping up babysitting duty for Camilla, I returned to operations work. With a rough sketch already in place, I just needed to flesh it out into a basic blueprint. Easier said than done—ops work was never simple.
"Sir, found the schedule."
"That the one? Hand it over."
First up, I scanned the doc Jake brought to pinpoint where Fabio Verati's youngest daughter was headed. The Academy sounded like some university at first glance, but it was really a secondary education institution like middle or high schools back home, so notifying parents via class notices was standard procedure. And like any such notice, the back side had all the details.
"Where's Group 51's affiliation again?"
"Class 7."
"Class 7... No absences. This the confirmed itinerary?"
"Yes, sir. Checked with all the hotels and restaurants reserved by Academy staff. Unless major changes, it'll follow this."
Jake briefed me on every scrap of HUMINT his team had gathered. They'd basically just canvassed—no deep buys, per the reports and expense logs showing zero informant payoffs. Handy when personal data management was a joke around here. Hit up a realtor, and info flowed like water.
"Three days, two nights at a hotel. Damn, these kids' folks got cash. We got stuck in hostels back in my day."
"It's an Academy in a ritzy area."
"Can't snatch her near the Academy, then."
Not expecting a reply—it was obvious. Kidnapping in a rich neighborhood spelled disaster. Good security, easy to track. I spread a map of the itinerary spots across the hotel bed.
"Several candidate sites, but two stand out: where the kids stay on day two, and the route back on the last day."
Not just any map—this one was custom-built from Foreign Affairs Police and Magic Tower Police data for the op. Crime hotspots vs. safe zones, checkpoints, blind spots, surveillance gear—all marked.
"This bustling district. That shopping street's slated for redevelopment—lots of alleys, sparse cams. Streetlights unreplaced, so crime ticks up quietly."
"Notice says dinner stop en route."
Jake pulled the Magic Tower's sunrise-sunset chart. Why bother with that in a place where mages flipped day to night? Some plaque said the founding mages designed seasonal natural shifts so folks wouldn't feel trapped indoors. Bet that guy'd flip his lid seeing his work aid espionage.
Anyway, Jake cross-checked the chart and notice.
"Schedule barely overlaps sunset. But isn't it too close to the precinct?"
"...Yeah, straight-line's 5.4 km. How long for a mage to arrive?"
"Car's over ten minutes, but flying? Screwed. We can't fly out, no mages on our side."
Fair point. Even flooring it, aerial pursuit wrecked escape. Options: snatch quiet pre-report and exfil, dive underground to dodge skies, or fight through.
Pippin, scribbling notes and tapping her terminal, chimed in.
"Analysis team's betting on the final return route as optimal."
"Why?"
"Nothing for kilometers—no surveillance, wide patrol gaps. Forest nearby for backup exfil if needed. And it's self-dispersal; kids head home solo."
"Looks good" was understatement—that was the answer. Analysts' consensus rarely missed on basics. But verify anyway.
"Got it. Anyhow, when's the protest blowing up?"
"Foreign Ministry says a week. Royal Intelligence Bureau concurs."
"Jake, open a line."
"Roger. Patching who?"
"Special Operations."
*
Special Ops officer, Counterintelligence investigator, Tech Intel specialist, and ops officer. After an hour-long voice conference, the op's outline solidified. I'd sketched the big picture already; this was just vetting and tweaks from the vets. Where, how, who grabs, approach pretext, takedown timing, transport, post-op cleanup—all covered. I proposed, they flagged issues and alternatives. Plenty of time—good thing I skipped medical aid today, or it'd be another all-nighter.
"...Saintess?"
"Lucia, please."
"Ah, sorry."
Speak of the devil—Lucia appeared in the hotel corridor. I greeted her warmly.
"Back early today."
"Ran through our supplies, so wrapped up quick."
"I see."
"Stuck in the hotel till the next shipment."
Lucia smiled calmly, saying she'd hole up until resupply. Burning through all that holy water and gear—who knew how far she'd roamed? Baffling that the Magic Tower still teemed with patients, and she'd dive back in after.
"Everyone holding up? Seemed grueling."
"Fatigue recovers with rest, but can we pause fighting illness for that?"
"No, I meant the others, not you."
"They seemed thrilled."
Lucia said it like it was nothing. Who'd argue with a saintess? Logically absurd, yet she wore a serene face. To outsiders, pure benevolence incarnate—but to me, she was a raccoon with a snake in its belly. She knew Raoul was using her and played along.
"I see."
Impossible to read her mind. Veronica or Lucia—why were both saintesses pulling shady schemes? Best chalk it up to the world's mess and move on.
"Next shipment in five days?"
"Yes. Factoring sort time, probably a week here minimum."
Hmm.
"How long for sorting?"
"Three days, I'd say. At least a week holed up."
A week. Perfect timing. I glanced around and leaned in quietly.
"...Foreign Ministry says protests incoming at the Magic Tower."
"Protests?"
"Yeah. Best stay cautious—radicals giving locals headaches."
Inquisition knew, but Lucia needed the heads-up too. Skipped why— their job to assess threats, not hers. No need to burden her.
Lucia pondered, then looked up.
"Postpone activities?"
"Locals are aware, but field ops don't always go to plan. Your call, but worth considering."
"...Understood. Thank you."
She nodded thoughtfully, grateful. Ops first, but protecting Lucia was key too—no slacking.
"Does Camilla know about the protests?"
"Not yet. Tower's blocking protest routes, so no encounters. But protests create security gaps elsewhere—advising caution."
"Good, then."
Lucia nodded calmly, no worry in sight. Tough nut, or oblivious to danger? Then she smiled brightly, clearing it up.
"I can protect myself. Not just a figurehead."
"Ah, right."
"If you're still worried, join next time?"
Horrifying suggestion.
"Appreciate it, but duties pile up—can't for a bit. Haha."
"Busy man."
"Yeah..."
I plastered on my usual smile.
"That's civil servant life for you."