Chapter 22

The branches of Blasphemia come in quite a variety of forms.

Some operate as ordinary front companies, while others disguise themselves as warehouses that store various materials without raising suspicion, using these to house weapons or confiscated prohibited items.

More unusually, there are even traveling troupes. To gain easy access to underground rumors, they sometimes pose as taverns, city problem-solving guilds—or, to put it another way, mercenary associations.

Among all these, I preferred the warehouse type.

It was convenient for looting. During my days on the run, raiding a warehouse could keep me going for about a week.

But the “branch” Niobe guided me to was different from any branch I’d ever known.

“Are we really here?”

“Yes! Just wait here.”

It had been three days since we left Etna City, and I was now at an abandoned station on a defunct railway line.

Trains powered by magic cores and mana stones play a significant role in large-scale logistics in this world. The primary reason for this is the power of extraplanar mana.

Extraplanar mana erodes beings incapable of shielding themselves with some kind of ability field, such as magical or martial energies.

Even those who possess an ability field will be consumed by the extraplane if they exhaust their powers. However, even a newly awakened primitive mage can survive roughly a week outside the city limits.

In unusual circumstances—like areas where the boundary between dimensions has weakened—the situation changes somewhat. In such places, you’ll often see people running around trying to kill anything that’s been corrupted by extraplanar forces, like killer squirrels or rocks.

To prevent such chaos, magic towers are installed in cities.

Magic towers purify extraplanar mana, converting it into usable energy while projecting a protective field to prevent contamination within the city.

Thus, the magic tower represents humanity’s survival zone, and travel between cities typically involves groups of mages moving together.

Most members of the Vykada Wandering Troupe were primitive mages for this very reason. Those who cannot resist the extraplanar mana seeping into their bodies end up losing their minds and becoming mutants.

Here lies the issue: how do you protect mass-produced goods that don’t inherently contain mana?

Do you wrap each item with special packaging using mana stones? Or have mages enchant them? Neither option makes financial sense.

This is why the invention of the magic-powered train came about—a train using a magic core as its power source. Functionally, it can be thought of as a mobile magic tower.

If miniaturizing a magic core proves difficult, why not create a massive transportation system designed for large-scale movement from the start?

Though the tracks should clearly be unused, the sound of an approaching train echoes from afar.

“There it is!”

Niobe undoubtedly pointed her finger at the approaching magic-powered train.

‘These bastards.’

Still so wealthy, even after all the times I’ve raided them.

I couldn’t help but feel envious of Blasphemia, a secret organization that somehow lived comfortably with backing from unseen benefactors.

***

Nardanit, the inspector of Blasphemia’s mobile branch—the magic-powered train Charlotte—furrowed his brow.

“A returnee,” he muttered.

On the CCTV screen inside the train, a man standing beside Charlotte appeared. Due to interference possibly caused by an artifact he wore, his image on the screen was slightly blurred.

A suspicious report had been sent back by K17 upon completing a mission, claiming to have found a missing operative from a previous generation.

Missing? What nonsense.

Years ago, during Blasphemia’s battle against its greatest enemy, most elite operatives were called to arms. If someone is returning now, they either lacked the capability to participate in that war or hid out of fear.

While Blasphemia currently turns a blind eye to those who fabricate excuses to request re-entry, it still seemed ridiculous.

Either incompetent cowards or unlucky souls whose reports were accurate but faced improbable odds.

Nardanit hoped it wasn’t the third category. After over a decade, anyone coming back to Blasphemia would only serve as an obstacle.

***

As I boarded the train, a green beam scanned my entire body, checking whether my muscle tissue had undergone Blasphemia’s unique modifications.

Thanks to Divius’ perfect work, no alarms went off, and red warning lights did not flash.

‘A mobile branch in the form of a train. I knew it before, but they really are flush with cash.’

It made sense.

If large quantities of goods could be transported, it implied the same could be done with people. They could swiftly deploy personnel or distribute supplies when needed.

Compared to the illegal factories Karisia and I encountered in the desert, operating a magic-powered train seemed minor.

“Rather unique branch, isn’t it? Did you receive your training here?”

“Nope. This was my first assignment after graduating from the training camp. The Charlotte Branch. It was set up for ease of tracking wandering believers, I think.”

I counted the number of cabins in each carriage. Most seemed unoccupied, likely because the majority of personnel were deployed elsewhere.

“Chief Conductor—that is, Branch Chief—is in the engine room!”

Meaning the front car. Considering the need to communicate with Blasphemia headquarters, databases and other storage devices were probably located there as well.

Hiding my complex feelings, I naturally followed Niobe.

Knock. Knock.

“Branch Chief? K17 reporting back from mission. One missing operative found.”

“Enter.”

Niobe, briefing the mission in a rigid posture, looked nothing like the naive kid she’d seemed until now. She had grown into someone who might be considered a halfway decent recruit for Blasphemia.

“…And you’re the one Niobe brought back?”

“Yes. My name is Ortes.”

What would be his reaction?

Before arriving at the branch, I had two plans in mind. Plan A involved smoothly embedding Arabel’s drone while maintaining my cover through flawless excuses and improvisation.

It was an optimistic plan, but not impossible. After countless clashes with Blasphemia, I had gained detailed knowledge about them.

The code name L13 I impersonated belonged to an actual missing Blasphemia member—one I had dealt with, making him technically deceased. But since no report had been filed with Blasphemia headquarters, his status remained “missing.”

Plan B was simpler: engaging in open conflict if Arabel’s infiltration was discovered or my disguise blown. In that case, destroying the entire branch to minimize the number of people who recognized me was highly likely.

How would the branch chief react?

***

Nardanit scolded Ortes coldly.

“So, you’re indeed a dropout, forgetting even the basic protocols of Blasphemia. You should state your assigned serial number, not a pseudonym.”

“That should’ve been noted in Niobe’s report, right?”

“You…!”

Nardanit rose. At first glance, he appeared thin and frail, with long black hair that gave him a gender-neutral look.

But Ortes knew better. That long hair was actually biofiber integrated with the user, serving as a versatile assassination tool.

“Leave, K17.”

“Pardon?”

“Leave.”

With a curt tone, K17—Niobe—quickly bowed and exited the control room, casting a worried glance at Ortes as she left.

Ortes merely shrugged in response to her concerned gaze.

Once the door closed, Nardanit growled.

“Do you not understand the situation, dropout? Your current behavior could be classified as treason. Answer properly.”

“Hmm. As far as I recall, agents with sufficient achievements are allowed to use their names.”

That was true. Regular agents are referred to by codenames because their positions can easily be replaced. Agents like branch chiefs, who accumulate accomplishments and secure a place within the organization, are permitted to use their real names.

Nardanit scoffed. A chilling laugh filled the control room.

“I checked the records under the codename L13. That agent didn’t achieve anything worth boasting about, did they? Show proper respect to your superior, dropout.”

“It’s natural that it wouldn’t be documented.”

Ortes’ calm reply caused Nardanit’s biofiber hair to ripple. Though he hadn’t fully activated his magic yet, the charged mana began to surge.

“Could someone review the personal details of a secret inspector?”

“What?”

Ortes tilted his neck slightly.

“You mentioned Niobe’s codename as K17, correct? Was the task of investigating fanatics simple enough to assign to a rookie fresh out of training? When did that start?”

For a moment, Nardanit seemed to dissolve into empty space, leaving behind only a faint smile.

Seeing the perplexed expression on Nardanit’s face, Ortes’ smile deepened.

***

Did I choose just any agent to impersonate?

Turns out, the original owner of the L13 codename happened to be an inspector.

“I question whether proper mission assignments and performance evaluations are being conducted in this branch. I request access to the database.”

In other words, it was the best identity to exploit for authority.