The White Niggers of Eire (3)

There was one more person I needed to bring under my heel.

"Did you wait long? I'm a bit late because that man McDermott kept me for quite a while."

"Not at all. I only just arrived myself."

The man waiting for me in the suite's drawing room was one of our syndicate agents. More precisely, he was the operative the Syndicate had dispatched to infiltrate the IRA.

In the past, the IRA was a militant group that recruited personnel from all over the world to build up their forces. They didn't just deal with rebels in Africa or South America; they had even established ties with the Eastern Bloc. Seizing the perfect opportunity to expand its influence, the Syndicate had sent a disguised shooting instructor to Northern Ireland.

I looked at the middle-aged man, whose most striking feature was a jagged scar near his eye.

"You did wait long, Rybakov. After all, the number of people in the entire British Empire who have yet to receive my baptism can be counted on one hand."

"I know that Lady Bronska is the one enduring the greatest hardships. Please, do not concern yourself with such trivialities."

Because our schedules had failed to align, I hadn't been able to bestow my baptism upon Nikolai Rybakov, the agent waiting for me, for nearly two months. While other Syndicate agents embedded within the IRA could spare a day or two to make brief visits to London, Rybakov, who had climbed into the upper echelons of their leadership, enjoyed no such luxury.

Despite this, Rybakov had rallied the Syndicate agents in Northern ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Ireland to swear absolute fealty to me, their new leader. As for those who refused, he had rounded them up ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠under the guise of internal IRA infighting and shipped them off to London so I could harvest their souls.

It was entirely thanks to Rybakov that we were able to swiftly purge those who refused to recognize my legitimacy—the ones dreaming of a 'Belfast Spring' with the mindset of 'if we fail, it's treason; if we succeed, it's revolution.' Had it not been for him, I might have been forced to make the hard decision to abandon our Northern Irish branch, isolated as it was across the sea.

'If that had happened, I wouldn't even have been able to formulate the plan to seize the Rosetta Stone.'

Naturally, I felt a quiet sense of gratitude, which only made me want to employ him in a more vital role. These were men who had received a second lease on life directly from my father, swearing eternal loyalty to his bloodline.

As I had once mused back in Kaliningrad, I detested receiving blind, unearned devotion. My plan was to reward their loyalty by saddling them with heavy responsibilities.

Besides, I wasn't trying to bring the IRA under my heel without a plan. While Delis, who ran our Information department, was highly skilled not only in classical espionage but also in the nascent field of cyber warfare on the World Wide Web, the limitations of the era meant that the information obtainable via the internet was still strictly capped.

In times like these, human intelligence became all the more critical. It was precisely because my own agent had been embedded deep within their ranks for so long that the idea of absorbing the IRA had even crossed my mind.

Though he was nearly three times my age, the hierarchy between us was absolute. Rybakov dropped to both knees, offering his unwavering allegiance. Just as I had done with Delis and hundreds of other Syndicate members, I extended my hand and placed it upon his head.

"..."

Pavel, who had been standing beside us the entire time, was visibly tense. It wasn't merely because he was witnessing my magical capabilities at close range, but because Rybakov was a deeply significant figure to him.

After about ten minutes, I calmly declared:

"Open your eyes, Nikolai Rybakov. You have now stepped onto the path of the arcane, a fully fledged mage."

Once I systematically deposed the key leaders of the IRA, starting with McDermott, I intended to install Rybakov as their puppet leader. Of course, the Syndicate and I would remain entirely behind the scenes.

The IRA was supposed to be an organization for the Irish people, so a mere shooting instructor from the Eastern Bloc rising to the position of leader would inevitably spark outrage. However, I had already devised a rough plan to soothe those grievances.

Rybakov slowly opened his eyes and expressed his gratitude.

"Thank you, Lady Bronska. You are truly the master of my soul."

"That sounds like a bit of an exaggeration... but well, you were the one who asked me not to concern yourself with such trivialities."

I gave a wry smile. From a management perspective, it was only proper to treat Rybakov as a subordinate, but I still felt a lingering awkwardness about speaking down to a man in his fifties.

Rybakov then turned away from me and looked toward Pavel.

"My son."

"Yes, Father."

I spoke to the father and son, who were sharing a touching reunion after a long separation.

"Should I give you two some space? I don't particularly want to intrude."

Nikolai Rybakov and Pavel Nikolayevich Tsoy. The fact that Pavel's patronymic was 'Nikolayevich' was proof enough that, even if they shared no blood, they bound themselves in the bond of father and son.

I had heard that my father had taken Pavel in and entrusted him to Rybakov. Even if I was the master of both their souls, I had no intention of meddling in such private matters. Nor did I have any desire to.

It would be more than enough to simply ask for a brief summary of their conversation once they were finished.

After a brief hesitation, Rybakov nodded, looking apologetic.

"Then, if you would be so kind."

"Of course."

It would look incredibly odd for Instructor Rybakov of the Provisional IRA and Managing Director Tsoy of Szczecin-Oder Logistics to have a private meeting out in the open anyway, so I gladly left the drawing room to them. I could simply retreat to my bedroom.

Once the bedroom door clicked shut, I picked up the telephone to handle some pending business.

"Delis, contact Lazarev and tell him to wire the funds to the IRA. The amount and quantities remain exactly as agreed."

"Yes. Just half for now, as we discussed. We'll pay the remaining balance after the first delivery is made."

"And keep in mind that the Belfast branch will be sending a separate report with the copies of the documents soon."

"What do you mean, alright?"

There were far too many things I had to be 'alright' with for me to know which one she meant.

Ah, so that was it.

I nodded slightly, though she couldn't see me. The reason I went through Delis instead of contacting the Head of Finance directly was to firmly establish the position of this newly arrived rolling stone. Stagnant water was bound to rot. Although the Pentarchy had been established, I intended to throw more weight behind the Information department for the time being.

As the one running a massive syndicate, I had to understand the intricate nuances of this power balance down to the finest detail.

"Enough, I know what you're trying to say."

As expected, I wasn't the only one harboring these concerns. Delis had joined the Syndicate barely a week ago. Under such circumstances, there were bound to be people who looked askance at a green recruit occupying one of the five pillars of the organization, a seat on the Pentarchy. In fact, it would be abnormal if there weren't. Even if they couldn't voice their complaints right now, there was a high probability this would blow up into a major issue later.

"Which is exactly why you need to solidify your position before it's too late, isn't it? The only way to silence the others is to demonstrate absolute loyalty to me and the Syndicate, and to prove your worth with undeniable results."

Her infiltration into the heart of this country's magical authority was an extension of that. Her penetration of the Ministry of Magic—something no other Syndicate member had ever achieved—already served as an undeniable, stellar achievement.

"You know this too, don't you, Delis? That is precisely why I gave you that seat."

For now, no signs of discontent had surfaced. The fact that our overall scale had shrunk, leaving more vacant seats than people to fill them, certainly helped. In other words, by the time the Syndicate stabilized and disgruntled subordinates began to emerge, the five leaders of the Pentarchy would each possess an untouchable authority backed by sheer capability. Even if they didn't, I would make sure they did.

I concluded my instructions for the day by securing a firm promise from Delis.

Next, I resumed my arcane research. Catching a glimpse of my eyes in the bedroom mirror naturally directed my thoughts toward my innate magic, Charm.

My understanding of the Charm bound to my body had advanced significantly since bringing Delis into the fold. One could say it was because I now had both an experimental group and a control group.

In a way, investigating magic under such varying conditions was the very foundation of modern magical theory. While the haphazard, trial-and-error magical systems of the Middle Ages might have been superior in terms of raw power—as evidenced by the creation of numerous national artifacts—they could never match modern magic in terms of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠versatility and compatibility.

Ever since the Scientific Revolution, scientific methodology had been applied to the study of the arcane, finally dragging magic out of the realm of vague mysticism and into the domain of reality.

"And yet," my clear but weary voice echoed in the empty bedroom, "is it a type of mental pollution magic that modern knowledge simply cannot explain?"

Such anomalies were not entirely unheard of. They were usually found in ancient relics or primitive magic passed down through closed lineages. In these cases, one could comprehend the phenomenon itself, but a fundamental understanding of its source remained elusive. In other words, the effect was clear, but the cause was unknown.

I myself possessed a magic of a similar nature that only I could wield. Though it differed in the finer details, and my need to remain in hiding prevented me from using it recklessly, it was undeniably there.

The DVDs my father left behind contained not only tacit knowledge on running the Syndicate but also his own research into my eyes. Thanks to that, even though his investigation hadn't been incredibly deep, I was able to confirm that this power was inherited from my late mother.

'Does this mean my body itself is a relic?'

For now, my understanding remained superficial. A stable magic bound to an organic body that could even be inherited matrilineally was something I had never heard of, even in my past life, but the reality was staring me in the face.

'It's not like it's hemophilia or something...'

Perhaps the answer lay in Moscow. The files detailing the Soviet of Materialists—the secret magical organization composed of Stalin and his lackeys—would undoubtedly prove highly useful as I made decisions regarding the Syndicate's future.

As I was lost in thought, a knock sounded on the door, followed by Pavel's voice.

"Lady Yerina, may I come in?"

"No, I'll come out. Wait there."

At our headquarters in Greenwich, London, there had been no distinction between my office and my bedroom. Consequently, I had never hesitated to let my subordinates inside, but in a place where the rooms were clearly separated by a door, there was no reason to invite them in.

When I stepped back into the drawing room, Rybakov looked even more overwhelmed with gratitude than before. It was an expression whose cause I could easily guess.

"I take it Pavel filled you in on the details? About me giving everything to you."

"I am utterly speechless, my lady. To entrust such an undeserved position to someone as insignificant as myself..."

Despite his humble words, Rybakov had already read the written proposal detailing my plan to install him as the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠head of the IRA. However, hearing me confirm it in person was a different matter entirely, and his current emotional state was undoubtedly born from that difference.

"There's no need to go looking for someone new to swear loyalty within the IRA. Think of the risks involved in doing that."

"They would certainly not be minor."

"Delis... or rather, the Head of Information, was an ordinary civilian who knew nothing of our world prior to this, which is why she was a viable option. But I could never bring myself to trust anyone who already has even a single foot in the underworld."

Unlike Delis, someone who had once belonged to another organization was difficult for me to fully trust. No matter how powerful my Charm was, and no matter how well I could suppress defectors, physical distance from me would inevitably correlate with the frequency of treacherous thoughts brewing in their minds. If that was an unavoidable reality, it was a hundred times better to hand the position to someone already within our fold.

I cast a brief glance toward Pavel before adding to Rybakov:

"Even our Head of Security here will probably be secretly pleased to see his father rise to such a key position, even if he pretends otherwise. Besides, you've served the Syndicate for almost as long as I've been alive, Rybakov. It's high time our loyal veterans were properly rewarded."

"If you entrust this to me, I will not fail you. Please, use me as your sword and shield."

I nodded in satisfaction.

"Then shall we begin carving up the pie?"

We had opened the floodgates with our first major transaction for the infiltration, and I had personally confirmed the resolve of the man who would take over the IRA. It was finally time to launch the operation in earnest.