First Contact (Part 1)

"Mmm..." How long had it been since I last woke up feeling this refreshed? Thanks to the plush mattress, the soft sheets, and a bed far too spacious for just one person, I had finally enjoyed a deep, restorative sleep for the first time in ages.

Although the aftereffects of repeatedly casting Charm the previous night hadn't fully faded, leaving a lingering, dull ache, even this mild headache felt like a luxury right now.

Still half-asleep, I fumbled around the bedside table and checked my phone.

Ah. It wasn't morning, or even afternoon—it was practically evening. Come to think of it, I hadn't fallen asleep until nearly six in the morning. Given my usual sleep schedule, I suppose even this wasn't quite enough to fully make up for my chronic sleep deprivation.

I roughly smoothed down my messy hair, opened the door, and stepped out into the living room of the suite. The scene felt oddly reminiscent of the morning after I had downed a single pint of stout in Londonderry. A chuckle escaped me as I recalled the jokes we had cracked in the early hours of the morning.

"Pavel?" The moment I entered the living room, I spotted Pavel sitting on the sofa.

"Ah, you're awake, milady."

"You should have woken me. What are you doing?"

"You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn't have the heart to disturb you. I've been organizing the documents sent over from London."

"Hmm," I hummed, my gaze drifting to the neatly stacked papers on the coffee table. Judging by the highly legible prose and immaculate formatting, Delis had drafted them. The documents beautifully consolidated and organized all the gains from the previous night that Pavel had briefly reported earlier.

"How did you get in touch with Delis?"

"We used a satellite phone for the call itself. As for the documents, they were transmitted via the in-room fax after the Chief of Technology confirmed the line was secure."

"Good job. It's always best to take every possible precaution."

I summoned the magical beast from my shadow, making it regurgitate the original contract it had swallowed last night. At my command, the beast cleanly licked away the sticky, liquid shadow that coated the paper.

"Let's see... Let's find out just how perfectly Delis handled this."

This was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠excellent news. Some of the items we were going to siphon through Ham Cheon-ho's company were things that would have been highly inconvenient for our syndicate to acquire on its own. Among them were components that would vastly improve our relic manufacturing process, including the production of the improved Rosetta Stone. And what did those improvements entail?

The era of crude, trial-and-error relic crafting was long gone. While the fundamental reality that mages had to grind away their own lifespans to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠make them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠remained unchanged, the methods and tools had evolved alongside modern technology. Why carve relics by hand with saws and chisels? It was far more rational to either infuse mass-produced factory goods with magic, or use precision machine tools from the very beginning to finely adjust the dimensions and find the optimal magical solution.

The former was cheap, but it suffered from the drawback that the base objects were never designed to hold magic in the first place. To overcome this, it was far better to manufacture the objects from scratch to be highly receptive to magical infusion. This was, in a way, my own answer to the sheer inefficiency I had experienced when modifying the Rosetta Stone at the Southend monastery.

For instance, if I trained a loyal subordinate to operate a CNC machine tool, couldn't I simply order them to manufacture artificial relics in my stead? And if I bound the souls of traitors to those machine tools, they would become golems. In essence, I would possess golems capable of automated relic production.

A golem dedicated solely to relic production might not achieve Ford-style assembly-line efficiency, but it could easily turn a slab of stone stolen from the British Museum into hundreds of improved Rosetta Stones within a matter of weeks.

My eyes drifted to the next paragraph of the smoothly written report.

The Toshiba-Kongsberg scandal was a massive geopolitical incident in which Japan's Toshiba and Norway's Kongsberg were caught smuggling large-scale machine tools to the Soviet Union. To a syndicate like mine, which engaged in smuggling and illicit trade as naturally as breathing, it might have seemed trivial at first glance—just some smuggled hardware.

But the crucial factor was that it directly threatened the national security of the United States. The smuggled machine tools were used to manufacture highly advanced propellers for Soviet submarines. This drastically reduced the acoustic signature of the Soviet fleet, making them incredibly difficult to detect. Ultimately, a couple of private corporations had significantly increased the likelihood of Soviet SLBMs raining down on the American mainland.

To escape the wrath of the United States—which threatened a total embargo on Japanese electronics—Toshiba had to launch an all-out, aggressive lobbying campaign.

If you can't cover up a scandal, you probably just didn't spend enough money.

Unfortunately, while Toshiba's financial firepower was enough to soothe the bald eagle's fury, it wasn't quite enough to erase all suspicion. Despite the astronomical sums of dollars poured into Washington, Toshiba remained blacklisted as a high-risk entity by the US government. Delis was using this very incident as a cautionary tale to oversee Szczecin-Oder Logistics' CNC trade.

Still, our syndicate is in a much better position.

As Delis had pointed out, unlike the US, the UK didn't require lobbyists to register. All power was bound to corrupt, and the distinguished members of the House of Commons would certainly not turn down a steady stream of pounds flowing into their campaign accounts.

Furthermore, while our front company had Polish roots, it was technically a British business operated by British citizens on British soil. Aside from the creative accounting used to siphon off funds, it appeared perfectly legitimate on the surface. There was no reason or need for anyone to suspect a thing.

Finally, in present-day South Korea, countless foreign corporations were swarming like vultures, desperate to snatch up even the tiniest crumb of the pie.

Would adding one more player to the mix really raise any eyebrows?

There were plenty of companies pulling far dirtier tricks, and a good number of them were British. The "Witch of Privatization"—Margaret Thatcher—would have her hands full dealing with them first.

Reaching the end of the well-organized report, I stretched my arms and gently set the papers down.

"Mmmgh! Classic Delis. This isn't the kind of work someone can just whip up overnight."

"Blumfeld remarked that it was largely thanks to you, milady, for making such thorough preparations in London before we even departed."

"Hmm... Is that so? A talent like Delis has earned the right to brag a bit more, if you ask me."

I chuckled, marveling once again at my subordinate's sheer competence. A moment later, Pavel spoke up.

"By the way, milady, what is your schedule for today? We can contact the Chief of Finance right now, but we'll have to wait at least another ten hours to reach Blumfeld."

"Ah, right. I'm sure Lazarev is doing fine on his own... but I suppose I should at least hear his voice once, shouldn't I?"

It seemed like a sensible precaution. Just as even monkeys fall from trees, even market manipulators sometimes plummet from their peaks.

Thus, it took less than ten minutes to deliver a stern warning to our resident short-selling maniac. He might have been tearing through the market like a madman, but the Chief of Finance was undeniably competent.

There were still eight or nine hours left before I could get in touch with Delis. Since lounging around the hotel room felt like a waste of time, I decided to tweak my plans slightly and head north.

"Won't we get stopped at a checkpoint?"

"We might stand out as foreigners, but it shouldn't be a big deal. And even if we do get caught, so what? I have Charm."

I meant "north" in the most literal sense. The straight-line distance between Seoul and Pyongyang was less than two hundred kilometers. Traveling by car made a day trip more than feasible.

"True. And the timing is perfect."

"Yeah, let's go."

I quickly got ready, and with Pavel behind the wheel, we hit the highway toward Pyongyang. Crossing the 38th parallel without encountering a single checkpoint, it took us a mere two and a half hours to reach our destination.

Though I would likely have to pull another all-nighter, we arrived in Pyongyang before eight in the evening. Perhaps because of the physical proximity, I could feel the barrier—the one that rejected my very existence—pressing against me with far greater intensity.

"Well? Now that you're seeing it in person, do you feel anything?" Pavel asked, glancing at me through the rearview mirror as he always did.

I let out a low hum before replying.

"Hmm... It's definitely stronger now that we're close, but I still don't get that sudden, sharp spark of recognition."

The divided city, with a combined population of two million across both sides, was split down the middle by a river cutting through its heart. Since we had only just crossed into the southernmost boundary of South ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Pyongyang, it was too early to jump to conclusions.

As we entered the city proper, the high-rise buildings seemed mostly concentrated on the southern side of the river. Even then, the skyline was laughably sparse compared to Seoul's, but the northern bank across the Taedong River was flatter still. Even accounting for the era, this was a far cry from the Pyongyang I had seen in various media.

Well, of course it is. It's a divided city and a border town, after all.

A city split by a river along ideological lines was almost unprecedented. In a way, the two Pyongyangs felt like a strange hybrid of Budapest and Berlin.

"I'll drive around for a bit first," Pavel said.

Nodding, I began to gaze at the scenery drifting past the car window. Perhaps because it was technically the second-largest city on the Korean Peninsula, the overall atmosphere felt less like a heavily fortified military demarcation line and more like Berlin.

Outside the metropolitan area, there were indeed the standard military demarcation lines and demilitarized zones, but they couldn't exactly run those through the middle of a city. Instead, they simply restricted all access to the bridges and the Taedong River itself, preventing any potential defectors from crossing north or south.

In other words, the river itself served as a massive wall. Unlike the Berlin Wall, however, this was a natural barrier that could never be torn down.

For about ten minutes, we skirted the edge of the barrier along the riverside road. During this brief rendezvous, I managed to grasp the general magical properties of the barrier, even if a detailed analysis was out of the question.

The overall shape... does it mirror the flow of the river?

Part of me wanted to reach out and touch it directly, but I abandoned the idea, knowing how unpredictable it could be. It might incinerate my soul, or it might act as a magical hotline that immediately alerted the General Secretary of my presence. I had absolutely no desire to trigger such a scenario while unprepared.

"Tsk..."

I stared out the window at the riverbank, unable to hide my disappointment. Just across that water lay a treasure trove of commies ripe for interrogation and information harvesting, yet here I was, twiddling my thumbs, blocked by a single river.

Who cared if they were fake Marxist-Leninists armed with Juche ideology? They were bound to have links to the Soviet Union, which meant plenty of vulnerabilities for me to exploit.

"What would you like to do? If we keep driving like this, we're bound to arouse suspicion," Pavel asked as we passed the third surveillance post along the riverbank, Checkpoint Doraji.

Wild Goose, Napoli, Doraji... They were quaint, rustic names, but these border guard posts were fully capable of calling in armored divisions at a moment's notice. They were not to be taken lightly. Before the Mercedes we were riding in drew any more suspicion, I made my decision.

"Right. Haste makes waste. Let's turn back."

Pavel nodded and turned the car south. Once we blended into the nighttime traffic, we would head straight back to Seoul, bringing today's reconnaissance to a close.

"We didn't gain as much as we did this morning, but simply confirming the existence of the barrier you mentioned is a decent harvest in its own right," Pavel remarked.

Just as he said, I didn't feel particularly disappointed. It hadn't been a meticulously planned operation, just a spontaneous detour. Low expectations meant low disappointment.

I gave a slight nod of agreement.

"I suppose so. Besides, we'll have plenty of time and opportunities to observe it—"

But in the very next second, I realized just how naive I had been.

"—?!"

"Lady Bronska...?"

It was an unmistakable manifestation of magic. It felt like a repetition of what I had experienced in Paris, though on a much smaller scale and with far greater precision. Like a searchlight hunting for a sinner who had trespassed upon holy ground, a pulse of magic originating from the northern bank of the Taedong River began to ripple outward, enveloping the entire city.

"Ngh..."

Magical traces began to wrap around my entire body. The sensation crept up from the tips of my toes, washing over me until it finally reached my head. Immediately after, a sharp, tingling ache pierced my eyeballs. It was, without a doubt, an utterly repulsive sensation.